Up, down, up, down. Though perhaps not to dwell so low, or to soar so high, as I have known myself to go, I’ve been on some pretty large sweeps of mindset of late. Yes, something of the bipolar thing. Right now, as I write this, I am on a relatively even keel, but in me I feel I can go either way in the course of some the hours — that I am in flux, still, on my way up, or on my way down. Which is sort of an interesting metaphor. I read in this zen book, a long time ago, that the Chinese word for cat was more like “catting” — the action of being a cat. Perhaps we should keep this in mind, that we are all of us, “humaning”, that nothing remains in stasis within us. Maybe that’s the lesson I’m to learn from the throes of these misdirected passions. Enjoy whatever you can while you can, for nothing stays. On the flipside, whatever trial you undergo — it shall pass. But whatever it is, I hope these swings find their gravity, and settle. As soon as may be prudent.
Strawberry
1:11am saturday, 21st january
I hate to say this. But I've got to admit. I'd love to be in flux. Highs, lows, and all that jazz. Just, to have more feelings. I think that the schizophrenia puts a cap on the amount of emotion I can experience.
My uncle was really popular in town. He was handsome and funny and really smart - after WWII he was accepted into a top engineering program in the country. To make a long story short, first he ran around the University campus naked, and then he ended up back home in a corner of the garage, spitting on the cement floor. My father remembers him doing that for hours.
When I was a kid my family would visit my grandparents at the house where my dad grew up. Uncle John then lived with them, in a separate apartment over the garage.
Uncle John was always very mysterious to me. Dad never said "my brother is sick with schizophrenia." Mostly Uncle John was just ignored. It was really easy to do. The man was like a ghost. One day I asked my uncle, "How come you never talk much?" and he thought for a moment, then replied, "There's not much to talk about." So that was the way the disease got to him. It hollowed him out. It killed his personality, and I don't doubt, his emotions as well.
Last night my husband said that I am very successful as a schizophrenic. And he said that I've got to let go of the past. The memories of who I once was and who I wanted to be are like an anchor preventing me from moving forward. That I've got to stop trying to be someone who I am not and accept who I am.
I wish that I could think about Uncle John and believe how lucky I am - or think about the many chronically mentally ill who go without, friends I've known that live in poverty with all sorts of longings......but my mind keeps playing a mean trick. I get memories, all day long of things I did in high school or college. I keep on getting memories of the time before I was sick. They aren't exciting, and they aren't filled with action or emotional drama. Usually my memories are just of being in a room with people. Babysitting, at a party, walking down the street with a friend. What I'm really remembering is what it felt like to be in my body and looking out into the world with eyes that are full of energy and possibility. I remember being still, being strong, and being free. Yes, I keep on remembering what it was like to be conscious, in my own body, with a normal brain.
Stand
5:23am saturday, 21st january
Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Albert Camus
Reflection
10:37am saturday, 21st january
I'd rather be a ghost, than a social butterfly.
Scop
11:15pm sunday, 29th january
...and suddenly I felt a great sadness take hold of me, for no reason at all, and it possessed me for a short time.
"down is the taste of the day, but things will change. I can be strong, beat frustration, keep my head up, accept my feelings now." -daryl taberski
Strawberry
Scop