At The Park

It was a breezy afternoon. The sun set its ray through the tress, and the weather was comforting. There were many people walking by, people having a family picnic, people walking their dogs or spending a lovely afternoon exercising. But his eyes were focused on them.

He wathced as they walked hand in hand. So content and so happy, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

He remembered her. Everything about her. Everything they had shared together. Their late night dinner dates, their lunch dates, their slow stroll in the park. He remembered how her hair fell on his chest everytime they’re lounging together on the sofa. How he used to brush them and twirl them with his fingers while he watched TV and she read. He remembered the way she would look deep into his eyes and how it would sooth his worries and cast his fears away. He remembered the way she talked, the melody of her voice, the lullaby it brought with it.

He remembered everything.

“Daddy.”
He looked up.

There, a few feet away, stood his son. Waving his hand and gesturing for him to get close. “Come here, Daddy! Come here!” he called.

His lips went to a curve, then turned into a big wide grin. There he was. There they were. His pride and joy. His angels. His family.

“Marc?”
She was bending down so their son could grab hold to her fingers. Her shiny, red hair fell ever so gracefully, waving in the air as the wind gently breeze through. She was smiling; the smile that made him feel as if everything is alright in the world.

“I’m coming.”

Tranquility

Tranquility is the time I have when I’m alone. When my thoughts are mine and the surroundings are quiet enough to understand that I need the space and the quiet. Tranquility is away from it all; an escapism from the outside world whatsoever.

Even in my sleep, believe it or not, I cannot find it.

I remember one time when I was little; about 7 or so, I decided out of nowhere to meditate. I dimmed the lights in my room, sat with my legs crossed, put my hands on my thighs, and closed my eyes. Whatever meditation was, I was keen to know the true feeling.
At first, it was… noisy, so to speak. My thoughts were scattered everywhere, my mind jumping from one thing to another, thinking, “OK so what’s the difference between meditating and sleeping?”
But then after about a minute or two, things begin to quiet down. I enjoyed the whole thing. There was no one in the house, except for the housekeepers who were at the garage. I opened my eyes, and I could feel my burden (whatever a child of 7 considers a burden) and my negativity went away. I declared, with absolute certainty, that what I was feeling then was tranquility. It was peace all over, and it lasted quite a long time.

I’d never felt that way again; lately if I’m trying to meditate there are thousands of voices passing by or my mind just wouldn’t shut up. That moment in my childhood is one of the few that I remember down to the very last detail, and I miss the feeling.

My form of getting the tranquility lately is to be away. From my parents and other people, to be exact. But I am… misunderstood. Either that or I really have become an anti-social person. They think that something’s changing, that I’m too cocky (even my parents think that I’m cocky) to sit down and talk with them and with my sisters. That I’m spending too much time in my room and on the computer.

How am I suppose to tell them that I think I have Bipolar Disorder? How am I suppose to say that, lately with the mania, my sleeping hour is a wreck-that I cannot sleep unless it’s 3  or 4 in the morning, feeling like I have too much energy to rest? How am I suppose to say that, despite my happiness, I have my worries of my condition. I know that it is dangerous and not healthy, and I seriously fear for my health and my mental condition? Would I have the courage to tell them that, for me, my talking with them is just a serious fake attempt to be nice to people that I think I don’t even know. It’s fake. And I, to tell them the truth, am done pretending.

Parents are parents and I don’t blame them trying to get to know their children; otherwise they’d feel like they’re a failure. But we’re not interested in the same things, and I get judged by it. They would say that I’m weird, or have a strange way of thinking, or whatever, you name it. So do my sisters. They’re fed up with it, too, but still have the energy to put on a face. I don’t. I’ve spent so many years of my life arguing and hating my dad for his abuse and arguing with my mom about TV or about life principles that I’m just done pretending. I don’t know them, mainly because they won’t let me. They’re not the kind of people who would come into their kids’ room and say goodnight and give them a kiss on the forehead. They’re the kind who would come in to yell at us.

I’m not writing this to make it sound like I’m the victim or to gain pity; please. I know that I have my own faults. But the thing is that when you’re almost 20; and still have them dictate what you should or should not do…

Maybe I should try meditating again.

Excuse Me While I Squee With Glee *Thanks for the title, Mycah!*

 I finally got my long-awaited Enchanted DVD. My Enchanted-feast (meaning; I don’t watch any  Enchanted-related videos, do not listen to the soundtracks; all in the name of not wanting to ruin the magic ) is finally paid off!

 This movie had taught me so many things; if not re-teaching me the real values of live. None of my friends get crazy about it like I do, but I don’t mind. What I got was beyond a feast for the eyes. What I got was the ability to believe in happily ever after again after a long journey of cynicism.

Waiting For The Elevator

Dear Amy, 

Every time I stepped into that particular mall and wait for the elevator; I miss your hand. I’ve so gotten used to the vivid image of you being there with me as I wait, imagining holding your hand as I watched the floor monitor. Lately it’s that constant struggle of trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re not with me.

I miss you during the small things I do in life. Walking by those escalators, going up to the movies… I was so used with my dream, and the reality was this gut-wrenching situation where I cannot close my eyes and make it all go away. I had to surge forward and put on a steady face as to not break down in front of people.

Yes, I think of you with a smile now. But it’s a smile that sliced my heart, nonetheless.

Write!

When I’m happy, I’m blocked. My mind felt like it won’t compromise new ideas, and since everything is so wonderful, why should I write? What would I write about, anyways?

Whenever I’m in a stage of oddity or depression, writing becomes my secret escape into this whole world where only things that mattered to me exists. It becomes my therapy. It becomes my outlet; my work display.

If there’s one thing that I find rather disturbing with the happy state, it’s that blockage I feel. I felt like I don’t have any inspirations at all, since what I write about are mostly out of pain. I usually think of Amy in pain and in sad wonderment, now I think of her with a smile. Is this what letting go is? I don’t know. To that question, all I can only give is a shrug.

I had a major debate with myself whether I will switch major or not couple of months ago. Last Wednesday, I found the answer.

I was told to write a paragraph; and that was all my professor said. She said, “Write a paragraph.” She gave us 5 minutes, and until about the 2nd minute, I was still at a blank. I didn’t know what I wanted to write about. Should I write a paragraph from a letter? A novel I read? A novel I wrote? What?
Finally I decided to make a snippet of a story and wrote the first paragraph. But my brain scattered the words around, and it made it hard for me to arrange them to coherent sentences. Basically all I did was write the words down and then used my correction pen all over them. Again and again.

The time ran out and I had a barely finished paragraph, containing 3 sentences. She had us cross examined each other’s work and then yapped about the theory of a good paragraph. My friend kept scratching the back of his head as he looked at my work and said, “WTH? This is… I don’t get this!”

Long story short, he went forward and asked about my piece. The professor had one look at it (I noticed), and said something I couldn’t hear. By the time he got back, I asked, “What did she say?”

“This is wrong,” he said matter-of-factly.

I frowned. “What do you mean? I’m wrong, or you’re wrong?”

“You’re wrong. This whole thing is. It doesn’t make any sense, she said.”

I smiled weakly and took the paper from him.

How should I fit my 3 sentences into her description of ”scientific paragraph” when I wrote about a man hurrying to the hospital because his wife just went into labour?
On my way home, I thought about what happened. That kind of thing is the reason why, deep down, I was scared, too, that literature wouldn’t be the perfect subject for me.

Writing is a form of expression. It doesn’t really matter to me how you write it. The structural crap and stuff, they’re just not for me. When I write, I write about things that move me; things that make me cringe or laugh or cry or shudder with fear. Things that, to me, matter. That’s why it’s so hard for me to write any scientific paper (reports) whatsoever. They’re not my type.

The professor might be a lit graduate, but even then, she doesn’t have the right to judge what I did was right or wrong. She told me to write a paragraph. I did. End of story.

9 Days To Go

Wow…
It’s almost April :O

The mass service yesterday went not so bad. I was very sleepy during the scripture reading, but had managed not to fell asleep at all. Small victory there for me. There were no sermon; almost no organ at all. But the whole thing was slow and kinda long (2 hours) because… almost everything is sung. The priest even read the same prayer twice. Whew.

Anyways I just want to post something here. Just felt like writing, but I’m not exactly sure what I should particularly write on. I have a quiz on Monday, two reports, and I haven’t finished either one of them I’ll take care of it… Which reminds me, I have to go look for word definitions on the Internet.

And looks like we’re going to the mall after church today. I’m going to look at every DVD store, see if they have the Enchanted DVD yet or not. I swear I’m gonna hunt it down! I miss the movieeeee….

Random Ramblings

•  It’s Friday. Good Friday.
• No DVD yet.
• I should be working on my reports. Probably will do it later.
• Still happy, although the amount has decreased a bit.
• Slept with a smile on my face last night. That never happened before. Kinda freaky, but cute.
• Have to go to Church. Is rather annoyed with the scripture being sung. They do this every year and to what point, I have no idea. Other than making people sleepy.
• It’s sunny outside. A little bit breezy.
• Miss Amy, as usual. Weird thing is that I’m not carried away by agony lately when thinking of her.
• Am not used to being happy this long, so I consider this stage is somewhat strange. I like it… but strange nonetheless.
•  Is confused with the real me. Which one is it? The dark and twisty one? Or this new, hyped, happy-all-the-way-person?
• Can’t wait for the DVD. Is probably going to be here some time next week. Hopefully so.
• Swear by God that if I go to the mall, I’ll check out the DVD. It doesn’t hurt to have two or three.
• Is happy. Mood swings is occuring. If I remember the DVD, it’s sad for about a split nanosecond; it’s that impatient waiting. But then? Like a lampswitch-happy again.
• Feel like smiling all the time. Noticed consciously that I am… different.
• Have to get a 2nd opinion from another shrink. Is terrified to do so. 
• That’s about it, I think.

Tidal Wave

What I had experienced earlier (my wanting to sit on the porch all day waiting for the Enchanted DVD) was clearly a sign of something wrong. I know that it’s a totally crazy idea. I was still able to think clearly, to say to myself, “OK that’s a freaky thing to do.” But, as I said earlier, I am was somewhat compelled to do it. There was just this nagging feeling that probably, I would feel better if I do it anyways.

Surely, the DVD alone wouldn’t get me too excited, right? Well, it does. I miss seeing the movie so much, although I’ve watched it 11 times. And there’s just a whole bunch of other reasons that made me have a… sort of two take on the action. One being totally crazy. Two… it’s intriguing. Somehow it’s that picture of seeing the delivery man with the package that made it seem like it’s a sensible, normal, thing to do.

I went to bed instead, thank God for inhaling too many chloroform and I got a bit queasy. Eventually that idea got ignored, and I slept. There were… I think more than just 1 dream. There were dreams scattered around. do you know that feeling when you’re teleported from one place to another? That was just like that.

I indulge in the fact that I was somewhat able to sleep well. About 7 hours. I went to bed after putting the baby (it’s a game) to bed, and we kinda woke up at the same time. That’s cool, you know? Made me feel somewhat like a parent
After long days of not being able to sleep past 4 hours, this is a small remark of victory.

Earlier, before taking a nap, I browse the Internet trying to get myself a decent shrink. Obviously, going to the first one won’t do, and I needed to have a 2nd one. A new one. Plus, I need a 2nd opinion. Between opening the sites, I have to admit that I got scared. I got scared of exactly what, I don’t know. I think I got scared of the whole image. Going to the doctor’s office, spilling your guts out, waiting for the words to come out of their mouth, basically sentencing you to a path. Hopefully a path to recovery, but I’m scared nonetheless. For… whatever it may bring.

Now I’m calmer. But he feeling that, generally, I’m still happy about everything, is still there.

Self control

I really can’t wait for the Enchanted DVD.

And for some odd reason, feel the need to sit outside on the terrace and wait for the delivery man to come with the brown box. Not just a need. REAL BAD one. Like, “I can just stay up for days waiting. Don’t have to go to college. Don’t have to do anything. Just sit outside and wait.”

That crazy idea (for some reason, I still have the clear mind to consider it crazy, albeit intriguing at the same time) struck by me not too long ago. And if I don’t have a sense of self control whatsoever, I think I might just do that.

I need to be chained on my bed.
In my room, at least.

Lost

Should I be… happy or should I be frightened?

Today is just so surreal. I was feeling great the whole time (actually have been feeling like this for almost a week). Went to the church, watched a movie, had Japanese food for lunch… Everything was going my way. I had recognized it for the last couple of days that I was dealing with something. That something kept me up like crazy. I couldn’t close my eyes (as I’ve wrote in the previous entry). That something makes me wanna smile all the time. I do not care even if bad things happen to me or around me. I felt that need to smile. Everywhere I went, it was all… smiles. I approach things with a new sense of perception, thinking that no matter what, “things are just fine.” I have no reason to be sad, and even though I remember the most painful thing that had happened to me, I remember it with a smile on my face. Ironic smile, you know? The kind where you go, “Oh, well… It happened. I’m okay with it now.”

Joe had been saying that for a long time, but have I ever listened to him? Nope. I had to hear it from myself to actually have the courage to do something different. That time about my friend who offered me multilevel marketing, too, was the same. The second he got his leaflet out, he nudged me and whispered, “Can’t we just get out? I think he’s gonna talk about business.”
I threw him a look. “We cannot! I said yes to him. Just hear him out.”

That guy chased me down to do the business, btw. And I was too nice to refuse. I didn’t want him to look at me and have me labeled as “the friend who refuses to help me out in recruiting people.” I was being nice. It took me a good day of thinking to realize that I was destroying myself all the while. Joe threw me an-I-told-you-so-look and shrug, while I satred at him with an I’m-so-doomed-look.
Yesterday, he called (I didn’t pick up the phone) and sent me a long message, telling me about this big MLM convention that he thought I should attend. I was having a migraine, a bit snappish, but happy nonetheless; the migraine didn’t brought me down to Nuts-ville, as it often does. I just let out a long sigh, feeling obliged to text him back (he sent me a long one, so… it would be courtesy to at least explain to him why I didn’t reply all his messages and pick up his phone calls).
I put it out quite blatantly. I told him I was sick (which is just no way in hell would I go to the convention) and quite frankly, I’m not interested in doing business. I put it out as short, as nice as I could. There was nothing more I could do. That was stitching my wounds right there. That was preventing my cell phone to run its battery from un-necessary beeps of phone calls and incoming messages.
What went through my mind was that I had had enough, and I was done of trying to be nice. I had to save myself.

I felt a lot better today (I only got 4 hours of sleep yesterday; damn concert blaring its sound all the way to my room when I didn’t even know where it was. Still, I wasn’t angry. Normally that kind of thing would totally ticked me off, but it didn’t) so I went for a movie and everything. During my waiting for it, I read Kay Jamison’s An Unquiet Mind, and I related to what she put down a lot.

The whole story of my Internet diagnosis had been brought up. So was the story of me being diagnosed by the real shrink. What he said and what the test revealed to me was completely the opposite of each other. 3 different tests showed I, most likely, have BpD. He just sat there and said that I didn’t.

If I want to argue, I can say that the symptoms I feel are rather similar to that of the description of BpD. Now, I think, I’m having a mania. Not the hyper one, but just enough to make me feel good about myself. I’m more confident, more open, more courteous…
And all the while I’m terrified if I have to go back to that phase where I just can’t find anything good about myself. That phase where my mind would completely take over and my brain would be “super advanced”, it’s hard for me to keep up. I’m terrified of the depression. The backlash that’s waiting for me at the end of the tunnel… Oy…

I took 3 different tests from 3 different websites, and all of them said that I’m likely to deal with BpD. I thought, “OK, so I’ll just get the official word.” But when I went to the shrink and he told me that I do not, I’m left alone and confused. I know I need to get a 2nd opinion. But when? Where? Who, most importantly, would I trust to know this bizarre happening of myself? My parents? My friends? My cousin? My teacher? Or Jesus, maybe? I don’t know. I need somebody who has wit and intelligence to give me a proper diagnosis. I was nervous as hell the time I went to my shrink (plus his room was waaaay too cold!) so I stuttered a bit. I had my journal with me, but I didn’t have the courage to get it out and show it to him. I rambled about feeling empty, about feeling mad about stuff that I don’t know, about my inability to sleep well, about wanting to talk most of the time, about my mind taking over me, about the voices I hear. Now, looking back, I think I told him everything. So his diagnosis left me stunned. “Wasn’t those things the things a Bipolar would feel? Now he’s saying that I’m not? Then what am I?”

I can safely say that it’s PMS, but that wouldn’t be logical. My states of depression would not end with me lashing on things. It would carry on for days, and I would not feel like talking at all. Now that I’m happy, it’s scary. It’s like, “what happened?”
It definitely felt good, and I’m having a grand time being notoriously happy about everything. But I can’t help questioning myself.

Sometimes I wonder about the other two tests. I wonder if I answered truthfully enough or not? Or am I, subconsciously, following that voice in my head that kept on repeating itself like a broken record that “I have bipolar disorder” and answered the last two tests based on the first one?

I’m just completely lost now.