ReadingLirael, Measure for Measure, The English Patient, Heart of Darkness, Suikoden III, Candidate for Goddess
Watching House, Rick Mercer's Monday Report, Gilmore Girls, Scrubs, Corner Gas, Aishiteruze Baby, Prince of Tennis, Hikaru no Go
Playing The Bard's Tale, Katamari Damacy, Curse of Monkey Island, Final Fantasy VI, Disgaea: Hour of Darkness, Pretty Barbie Dressup Party Final Fantasy X-2(group gaming)
Back-burner Star Ocean: Till the End of Time, Star Ocean: The Second Story, Final Fantasy Tactics: Advance, Baldur's Gate: Tales of the Sword Coast, Planescape: Torment, Final Fantasy VII
Obsessing Firefly, Erik and Ray, Impulse/Bart Allen, Ford Prefect, Monkey Island, Nostalgia.
Upcoming Things of Importance January 5 First day of classes January 14 Birthday party
layout
Is by Meimi, that wonderful Goddess who brings joy and happiness to the hearts of Ingrids.
This time, Meimi brought joy by doing a layout of Isumi Shinichirou and Waya Yoshitaka, of Hikaru no Go. It is full of wub.
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I think it'd be better if I'd just left the post about lynching
1/29/2005 01:06:28 PM
"And that's why it's nice to have a clitoris! The end!" - Bootsie, Friendly Hostility.
This is one of those depressing, self-involved entries that I mostly just make to get things off my chest, because actually talking about them with another human being is . . . not what I want to do. At all. Ever.
I sometimes wonder how you decide when you should do something you wouldn't really want to do, even though it would probably make people you care for happier.
For totally random example: I know I have a problem. Some kind of problem. Some kind of medical or emotional problem. Somd kind of chemical imbalance. Not, I think, a really severe chemical imbalance. I mean, I can still function normally in society, I don't have alternate personalities, I've never done horrible things and then blacked out the memory of it. But I've had a pretty good idea since before high school that I have something wrong with the way my brain works that can make me a very miserable person at the drop of a hat. Since it hasn't really gotten any better since I've grown beyond that whole pesky hormone problem that I kind of hoped I could use to explain the entire thing, it's clearly something else.
I've had a lot of people, many in a very concerned manner, ask me if I've ever thought about getting professional help. One of them very, very recently.
I never have. I've never considered it, not even in passing. I don't want to pay someone to talk out my issues, and I don't want to get some kind of mood altering drugs. I don't like talking to people about my problems. Ever. Whoever they are. Certainly not strangers. And drugs just feel wrong to me. They alter your brain chemistry. For me, that's the same as altering who you are.
No one's perfect, and part of what makes people who they are are the quirks and the weirdness and the things that make you so happy you could burst, and so unhappy that despair weighs on you so heavily that your very soul hurts. Human emotions and chemicals are weird and confusing and, for me, hard to understand. And I don't know how much any of the things I love doing are linked to them. But I don't want to loose them. I don't want to trade them for some kind of chemically induced happiness.
Since I'm not very sociable, and can still do things when it hits, I don't really think it's a problem when it does happen. But since I moved to Saskatoon, I've been socializing more than I did when I lived in Prince Albert (when I could go months without leaving the house to hang with people around my own age) and . . . sometimes it happens in the middle of a social situation.
And it doesn't go away until I've slept it out or cried it out or whatever I need to do. And I can't stop it, either. I can see it happening, and I know it's really stupid and irrational and there's no reason for it to be happening, but I can't stop it. So then I get, on top of the unhappiness, a massive guilt for bringing what I'm sure is a very uncomfortable and inexplicable silent gloominess to things.
Now, my friends are all really smart. Like, really smart. Brilliant. And not just in the not following mob rule being accepting of people politically correct kind of recognized smartness. Smart in the way they see the world, in the way they think about things, in all the stuff they know about and understand. They're brilliant and it's beautiful and wonderful and kind of awe-insipring sometimes to be around them when they aren't just being goofy, because it just hits you that these people are smart and someday they'll probably do great, wonderful things. They'll change the world, make people laugh, move minds. That's the feeling I get sometimes when I'm around them.
But sometimes the awe sort of gets messed around because I'm a horrible, nasty person and my brain does horrible, nasty things to thoughts and feelings that should be good. I get the same feeling I get when I went to a special lecture type thing on the Anatomy of Curiosity in the Tempest that my Shakespeare prof was giving.
I went because I was curious about what he'd say, because I like Shakespeare, because The Tempest is one of my favourite plays.
And I got there, and people were socializing before the lecture, and talking casually over wine and cheese and stuff. But . . . it was casual talk about really smart stuff. Academic stuff. Stuff I didn't get at all.
I was in a room where every single person was smarter than me, and I was horribly, stupidly out of place, and I did not belong there. Smart people belonged there. Learned people. Academics. People who think the deep thoughts. Not someone who's clearly just a kid who just wants to hear about some neat stuff in a play she thought was cool.
I get that feeling a lot around my friends, and it can kick the depression and the gloominess and the silent-stoicism into full gear. There's only one or two other things that can make it set in that badly, and I don't even want to express them in rambly journal entry form.
I've lost a couple friends because of the stupid way my brain works. Some of the best friends I've ever had, who helped me more than anyone else, and who I cared about a lot. And I don't want to loose these friends too because I'm stupid and socially inept and a miserable person.
So, in that light, would it be better to just throw in the towel and go to a doctor and ask about getting a perscription for something or other that'll fix my brain? So my brain stops trying to sabotage me at every other turn? It's not, I think, like there's really that much at stake, whatever part of me is tied to the mood swings and the misery. I don't really do anything that matters that much, and whatever I loose by fixing my brain won't really be a major loss.
I just don't know any more.
Maybe I just need dumber friends, Ingrid, Signing Off
Take a look at "professional help". Doesn't mean you have to do it. But explore the option, whether it be counciling or medication. I've had at least one person very close to me make very major, positive changes in their life just by going for counciling for a few weeks and making a real effort to figure out what they *wanted* to be like.
On the other hand, you might still decide you don't want "professional help." But there is no harm in taking a look at it...
And as for your friends...never underestimate the power of simply reaching out to some of them you think you've messed things up with and saying, "Hey...can we try this again?"
