Therapy is like, the best! ^_^

[Violet]

I love how she thinks, too. Quick as a whip, that one. And I've seen some of her dreams.. Which are so deep, it's hard to find my way out of such beauty.
Which is partly why I admire her ability to grace me with her presence now and again. I think we all have the same ability to take our internal voices and make personalities with them; it's merely a reaction to our environment, only some of us can do it more colorfully than others.

If only dreams sold. I can't even get kudos with them

Internal can feed off of itself... 'environment' includes more than the external stimuli.

I knew a diagnosed "schitzo" at the last place I lived. I gave the guy a cigarette, while he giggled to himself at something someone in his head had
obviously said about me. I didn't consider him a threat, as most would and do. We are all just people, quibbling over our own internal voices. If schitzophrenia is a disorder, then so is having a god voice in your head. Same diff IMO.

Keep updating, Violetta

Such stereotyping does not exist without reason. Fractures under pressure form breaks... and what way it breaks is anyone's guess.

[LastPoet]

It's been a long time since I had a poll that you could click all options, so I am pleased.

Also yes, please include a map next time

[Violet]

It's been a long time since I had a poll that you could click all options, so I am pleased.

Also yes, please include a map next time

It's not my fault people can't follow directions

[Mystical]

I love how she thinks, too. Quick as a whip, that one. And I've seen some of her dreams.. Which are so deep, it's hard to find my way out of such beauty.
Which is partly why I admire her ability to grace me with her presence now and again. I think we all have the same ability to take our internal voices and make personalities with them; it's merely a reaction to our environment, only some of us can do it more colorfully than others.

If only dreams sold. I can't even get kudos with them

Internal can feed off of itself... 'environment' includes more than the external stimuli.

I agree with you.. Dreams are valuable, but only to the dreamer at the moment. One day perhaps there will be a dream machine, and all of us dreamers will be celebrities.

I knew a diagnosed "schitzo" at the last place I lived. I gave the guy a cigarette, while he giggled to himself at something someone in his head had
obviously said about me. I didn't consider him a threat, as most would and do. We are all just people, quibbling over our own internal voices. If schitzophrenia is a disorder, then so is having a god voice in your head. Same diff IMO.

Keep updating, Violetta

Such stereotyping does not exist without reason. Fractures under pressure form breaks... and what way it breaks is anyone's guess.

And yet the pieces broken might very well be the strongest gemstone on earth-- Diamonds. Pressure makes beautiful, strong things in its' wake. Everybody fractures. It depends solely on how they respond. You, sweet Alice, respond like a champ.

[Violet]

I agree with you.. Dreams are valuable, but only to the dreamer at the moment. One day perhaps there will be a dream machine, and all of us dreamers will be celebrities.

Celebrities? You would have the dream fall off of my canvas and flood the world? Dripping... dripping... drizzling? Staining the walls, the floor... the ceiling as a hazy night sky through the bleeding clouds; bitterly starless, the sun itself a distant candle drowning in the sea of tears.

Still, nuclear fire is a terrible thing, and it's glow pierces the cloudgaps in our sky... but can its rays ever caress the earth? Even could they: would they puncture the crust... or is the sun's light but skin deep?

And yet the pieces broken might very well be the strongest gemstone on earth-- Diamonds. Pressure makes beautiful, strong things in its' wake. Everybody fractures. It depends solely on how they respond. You, sweet Alice, respond like a champ.

Broken is strong? Maybe... but it is a painful thing to see, and an ugly thing to look at. Dirty and wretched for having bathed in magma and breathed in ash. Is the price of 'strength' worth what must be endured for it? I will never have contentment... or satisfaction with my life; I as a person cannot feel those things. It's too late for me to turn that around, and I cannot be 'fixed' without melting down every facet of my being and having it ferociously beaten until it is a simplified lump of unrecognizable metal. Whole again... but recycled. Reused. I can die... and perhaps arisen will be a new person in this body. But what a waste of "strength" bitterly gained for sake of appearance bitterly wanting. There is no cure for having endured... those broken to pieces can only stand in pieces; binding them together can never bring them together.

It's not better to be broken, Bunny, no matter the shininess of the slivers: sanity is a pretension of dozens of conflicting personas vying and dying... joviality is a mask for a poisoned face of bitterly icy medicinal murder... confidence is a concealing makeup testily worn while pretending to function as advertised. Peel them back, and peer into the funhouse mirror of the shards just large enough to see... and you'll find a distorted storm that is far far closer than it appears.

Psychotic people don't make for great paperweights.

[Drich]

See, first person is much better.

Drich disagrees.

---

I really didn't know what to expect of a therapist recommended to me by my gay nurse fairy... but my elder brother had set me up an appointment with her, and then conveniently not informed me he'd done so until the evening of the day before the appointment. Which left just about zero time to reset one's circadian rhythm, and just a few hours to catch up on one's beauty sleep.

Naturally, I stayed awake nearly all night, tense and stressed-like. Managed to get myself a 1.5 hour power nap at ~05:00 (had to be there by 11:00, and had to catch the first bus in a long transit at 08:00)... took a quick cold shower to better wake up, put a bit of base onto my fugly face, grabbed a bagel, and ran naked through the streets wearing a fedora to catch the bus (which was late).*

*statement may or may not be only partially true. I would never wear a fedora, and it was an english muffin (toasted and buttered).

So, me and the girlfriend (she came with me (^_^)) get to the building about 50 minutes early, through the miracle of transportation being perfectly lined up. Which is great, because the as-of-yet unmentioned coffee was giving me horrible indigestion, and we got to eat "lunch" (which somehow just made it worse, as grease is wont to do). We somehow cross a busy road without taking a ride to the magic kingdom in the sky. Twice, we were very lucky... or was it... God's will? hock:

Girlfriend is all, 'where is this damn joint', because that's what trying to find hidden offices in the hood under blazing texas sun does to people. But by some wonder of the self-evidently supernatural variety (blessed, I'm tellin ya): we discover the office, which looked suspiciously like a hippy hookah den full of gaudy stolen gold, but which smelled like incense and frankenstein. Someone may or may not have died, I heard disembodied screaming... like thousands of imprisoned persons buried alive.



Kind of like that, but with a lot more dirt and a few more adorable earthworms.

Anyhow, I filled out the questionnaire, and my girlfriend was getting a bit suspicious... so she pushed the button to "call the therapist" out, while at the same time gripping her quite illegally carried bazooka of blasting with frightening determination. I was afraid she'd blow her load, as one is wont to do in the base of a hippy mob safehouse. SPROING, went the jack in the box, flinging the coffee table into distant conservativeland's statue of monopoly, and out came the bead-armed guards. Pew pew, went ashton's bazooka-which-was-really-a-laser, and all that remained was "The Therapist". I took her into her lounge for questioning.

So we were like 'yadda', and 'yadda', I decided to try being actually like, mostly open, for a change (but not all the way open, because I like my innards kind of... inside me. I'd say I don't have the guts, but the reality is that I don't want to lose my guts, cuz I'm just so gutsy). She told me to stop beating myself up, because I was bruising my meat in her office.

She was pretty cool... lesbian, middle aged (but totally didn't look it), with a lot of existentialistic background and shit... and very understanding of schizophrenia. Ultimately, she says her rule of 'crazy' is that the insane don't know it, and that I'm really managing it very well, considering I'm looking forward to going back in about a month, and keeping a journal in the meantime. Not of my "life"... but... of my life. It's an interesting thing to... look at when I'm done writing something.

I've got three projects to work on, and being able to actually do something about them is... good. No more putting in a shit ton of work with nothing to show for it, I say. Mel's editing of my base-lines has shown me that I can do this... perhaps not entirely by myself... but what I do is good. If keep putting things off because they're not good enough... then nothing will ever be good enough. Hope it was interesting

Metaphors, exaggerations being used to describe the truth, and just when you got the hang of it truth is thrown in naked, so as to remix the pot... I think I like it.. I don't get it all but it reads well, and draws vivid pictures.

[Thumpalumpacus]

Thank you Alice for sharing, I myself am schizophrenic, and I wouldn't have it any other way lol;.

I don't know how people without it can tolerate life... it seems so quiet, so bland... if I have a problem, it's that for all the parts of me that recognize the potential dangers: the rest of me... likes this.

I'm afraid of anti-hallucinatory pills... my creative streak is vital to me, and I value it over suffocating in a box without air that 'isn't there'. I'll suffer through the worst of it, because I really enjoy the best of it... and on my correct amount of hormones: having a good time is by far the norm.

That isn't to say that it's all activity all the time; I can be just as about as normal as the next girl. Kind of

I'm pretty happy with my creativity, and don't have any mental illness that I know of. Of course, I haven't written any hits, so clearly what music I write isn't setting the world on fire ... but it's unique, and that's my goal.

[Violet]

Metaphors, exaggerations being used to describe the truth, and just when you got the hang of it truth is thrown in naked, so as to remix the pot... I think I like it.. I don't get it all but it reads well, and draws vivid pictures.

That's the intent... add a little bit of spice to life while overall conveying a message.

One that will probably be misinterpreted a thousand times by the ten people who read it But hey... it's how they see things, and I can't say I fault that.

---

I'm pretty happy with my creativity, and don't have any mental illness that I know of. Of course, I haven't written any hits, so clearly what music I write isn't setting the world on fire ... but it's unique, and that's my goal.

Then, I'm happy for you I wish I could claim that my creativity is separate from any problems... but it's not. I don't know how to think in any other way than the way I think, and the way I think is distorted.

As long as you dig you... don't let the world get you down