I had my blood drawn today. Some lady just pricked my skin with a needle and that was it. All for my beloved lithium; all for you, my darling.
The last three days have been odious hells. They have debilitated the safety and accuracy of my thoughts. The remembrances of the past days are clouded because of the states I was in at those moments. There has been yelling, there have been tears and all has been lost. I should be happy. I’m moving finally into a brand new house which is so wonderfully pretty and I may get a canine fiend: a wiener dog. Oh yes, also my vinyls of my favorite band…..Why the hell am I still sad then? Why am I delaying the process of my life with tears?
Yesterday was when I became aware that I was not well off mentally. I did not take my lithium in the morn because I ran out. All was going along fine until something triggered my anger, vehemently unhinging my mental health. It was lunchtime and I wanted to pick up the meal I had ordered. There I stood casually, exploring humanity with my eyes, until some blasted, hateful twats cut me in line. I know my food wasn’t going to run out because it was reserved for me but it meant that there were not going to be enough minutes to consume it. This has happened every time I waited to pick up my food and this had done it. My mouth almost opened to release some screams. I knew I had to control my temper otherwise I might have ended up getting reprimanded by the secretary again. It took ten minutes to get my food and my chocolate milk had run out. Could my day have worsened ever the more? I joined an acquaintance the counselor advised me to talk to (because she thinks we are shockingly similar) and dipped in the pool of gloom at once. Her table group jested about sex, drugs and other topics that my mind couldn’t handle at that moment. I was already making decisions about my schooling and my life overall. This is how my mind is: it overreacts about everything. All the young humans were too fastidious for my mood and for my haughty personality.
Once the minutes to eat meals were over, tears were in the process of being formed, not yet in salty water. I entered the office and phoned my sister continuously but she failed to pick up. The arrogant secretary was urging me to go to my Drama lesson. Oh, no. I could not go and witness more extraversion from others. I’m too diffident for that class. So I decided to curiously go to the lavatory and lock myself in the big stall, the handicapped one. I saw my headphones sticking out and music was playing. Of all the times I wanted to listen to my CD player as it malfunctioned, it played now? Hmm….it was the Type O Negative album I am besotted with. I quietly sang along while reading my Tony Iommi’s autobiography. Nice, I still couldn’t read. Broads and more broads came in and left. Ah, who cared? I felt fine there though it reeked like piss. It was when Type O almost gained permission to grant me a climactic musical feeling that the hypocritical secretary caught me. “Unacceptable!” she said, “Up!”
Aww…my Type O….I wanted to finish hearkening to my Type O!! I know I was being a deviant by skipping a lesson but this was none of her business. She’s just a blasted secretary. I phoned my mother and asked her to take me home already. Here again in my mind and heart came the feeling of imprisonment. I felt unhappy everywhere I went. There was no escape from this. How and when was this going to end? My mother told me that she was to come soon.
To my well-being, the principal bade me to enter his office. Ooh, just explaining to him what the hell was troubling me and about my issues made me feel like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. I told him how I wanted to get this education over with already. In Peru, you could end school as early as fifteen years old, or that’s how I remember. Normally sixteen-year-olds graduated. If I were there now, I’d probably be in my third year of college. He asked me what was with me; why I was behaving like this. Well, I spoke of my difficulty of adjusting to America after six years still. Maybe I am a little homesick. My mother joined us and she told him that I couldn’t adjust to Peru either. All right, the issue is with me then. Barbies were my friends in the earliest times of my life and then I moved on to my favorite band. Ah, even in these days I can’t experience the imagination I had with my Barbies as a child. I just clasp them in my hand now and they do nothing. I guess I’ll write books about the characters that lived in the world I made up for them, Barbie Fashion.
Then….then….the man said how I was close-minded and how I was to be miserable all my life if I stayed like this. By Christ, human! Did he not know that I am ailed with turbulent mood swings? How the hell am I supposed to pay attention to other humans and be friendly when my mind is being my foe? I told him I couldn’t keep going for that day because I was feeling bad. I was too tired to even describe how foul my mood was. He said that he dealt with “crap” also and that he could easily go home because he felt “bad”. Oh, did he….Was he mocking my sadness? I was deeply offended. He then spoke of how I had this quiet, “tortured soul” look and that I needed to better my behavior. For the love of Touko Laaksonen! The man went on and on of how I was stuck in his educational place and that I needed to “meet people”. I sighed and nodded, just to quiet him. I described what I was feeling as my mother rolled her eyes and the other man who accompanied him groaned. They wanted me to stay there for the remaining school day. Oh god, how was I to do that? That was not very nice. So, that is how it was going to be? Again, these thoughts were persistently being narrated by my conscience. There were just too many humans. My stability ruptured and I started to weep. Right in front of strangers. Again. The reason for the tears was because of the thoughts that float in my mind constantly. That I am trapped and cannot get out from this torment in my head. That I’ll never have liberty over my moods. And that I will never be at ease with other presences of strangers.
I begged for my mother to take me home again and she did. She parked in front of a nail salon on the way and told me she was sick of my manipulation. The door was slammed when she left. Even the woman who gave me life couldn’t handle me. I buried my face in my palms and wailed as loudly as I could. That is when my mind dramatized the negativity of my situation and I felt hopeless. That wasn’t very nice. Just days before I was crying my eyes out at night and wanted to press the nearest pillow on my face until I’d run out of breath. Luckily I was too down even to do that. Yet as I cried in the vehicle, I mercilessly thought of what should keep me alive. My brain was so brainwashed with nihilism that I could not think of anything that I wanted to live for. No longer did I care of my dreams or wants. I just wanted this to end. Now, now. Why did I let myself think these things?
The hours of the day passed and the intensity of my thoughts deepened into that morbid topic. What way? It was all too painful. The pain didn’t seem to matter anymore…Then I started to think some things….I wouldn’t listen to my favorite songs anymore. I wouldn’t watch more Vincent Price or Pola Negri. No more Sabbath. I WOULD NOT LISTEN TO MY FAVORITE BAND EVER AGAIN. I would damage the lives of those who love me. By God, my mentality was so perturbed that I just wanted to soak in the bathtub and slit my wrists. NO. Why did my brain idealize that as a form of escape? I would die. My life is on the shore. It is just starting. By God, I haven’t even been to Finland yet. I hate blades and cuts anyway. What made me have these thoughts? I would never, in the godly name of Touko Laaksonen, romanticize killing myself as an escape from life’s petty predicaments. Then I remembered that this was a side effect from stopping my medication so abruptly. Sweet lord, I just missed one pill.
Today, I just minded my own affairs and didn’t bother with any other twats. The staff is a bit resentful to me now due to my raising my voice to them. I wish I could continue my studies at home because there I wouldn’t have to be in the verge of a crying jag in front of educational authorities. I didn’t take my pill this morning because I had to get my lithium levels checked which also meant that I had to fast. There was some cheating by consuming chips. My blood is much more crimson than I thought. Death still meanders in the river of my thoughts but they are gladly ignored. It’s been on my head again since August. I hope they don’t lock me up again. Mental facilities kill you with tedium and heal you with pills. I spent half a day in captivity in one and that is where I was diagnosed for the marvelous first time. You never do forget your first time.
I’ve been spending my days watching some Sherlock Holmes films with my Basil. They make me giggle like a timid schoolgirl. There is also an early Vincent Price costume picture….and some Bette Davis. Movies are quaint distractions. I want to feel better. I really do. We fear for the best and hope for the worst.