Emotional Intensity

So, I found this entry sketched in a notebook that I probably copied from another notebook, not sure. I think it’s from around 2006ish, but I read it and could not picture myself writing it, even though I know I did:

Manic Depression: generally characterized by horrible mood fluctuations, yet redeemed by legends of genius sprinkled throughout our literary, artistic, and musical past. I am gifted in these areas, or so I am told. I seem to have a penchant for doubting myself and being highly critical, seeing my own achievements as small and unimpressive, also, as I am told. I always feel that my creations are somehow lacking in originality, finesse, – unremarkable when inhaled with the same breath as peers and contemporaries.

I can say this, however – I like the fact that I can generally express myself eloquently enough without ever stopping to think for the next word. When writing, at least. It’s like an endless fountain, a constant chain of thought only inhibited by my typing speed.

I am not productive enough. Every now and then, my mind spews forth something that I am proud of. I rarely become enflamed to the point of reaching a dire need to exorcise my artistic demons because the thought of what I might produce would only be average, or so it seems to me. So I don’t bother.

Yet, there is something I am always emitting with every pore of my being. Something that absolutely can not be contained. The very existence sometimes threatens my sanity. Emotional intensity. Ideals I cling to tenaciously. Dreams that I can’t let go. I am not certain of a word that encompasses all of these concepts, yet it is these that I can never escape from. These that cannot be reasoned with, refusing to mesh with the average, the acceptable, the realistic.

They are spectres, haunting me, cloaked in fantasy, assailing any happiness that could realistically be achieved by succumbing to regular standards.

So, yeah, I don’t think I’ve changed much in the last 4 years.

Bellwether

August 13, 2010

RYN: I got the rash. >.< On my boob, of all places. It was working beautifully with the Wellbutrin before that. I’ve heard not fun things about seroquel, and tried zoloft when they thought it was just depression, too. Years ago. Zoloft made me feel like a zombie – I still wanted to die, just didn’t have the energy to think about it as much. >.< Wellbutrin works OKAY alone, but not much of a mood stabilizer and not enough when things get really hard. Geodon alone is uh, unpleasant. But the two together kick ass, and not mine. I got a kick out of being right about the meds and the particular neurotransmitter that isn’t behaving for me. My psych guessed adrenaline, and so we tried Lamictal and then Gabitril (omg, that one SUCKED) before I said screw this, and went with huge doses of magnesium and fish oil. Which worked, but the doses were just too much to be reasonable long term. I did a LOT of research on meds, and then requested Geodon because, like Wellbutrin, it works on the dopamine receptors – a DRI, which based on how I cycled and what I could use to pull me out of the worst of it, was what I figured I was having issues with.

And… I was right. 😉 I find it pretty damn funny that the med that made all the difference for me is an atypical anti-psychotic.

Halcyon

Succumbing to regular standards is not happiness. It’s settling and is pathetic. Just say’n. The stars reference is my testing to see if you knew of the reference, which you do not, so nvm. The cecillia reference is to the entry with that in the title. Read er. ;d