to all of you that cared, thank you. to all of you that worried, do so no longer. to Dancer, Dream, Sarah, in particular, you went out of your way, you took time of your day, you made sure i was OK.
to a l l , the Merriest, Happiest, Most Joy-Filled Christmas possible.
a brief sinopsis: my previous post finally made it past the Save as Draft state. in keeping with the cinematographic theme, what you read is the "theatrical release." perhaps some day you shall read the "Director's Cut."
12.24.2006
12.20.2006
Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling
Surely, there are many ways in which risk-taking behavior related to hypomania could manifest itself. A patient could have been reared in a strict family setting during formative years (nurture?), and/or needed to exercise absolute control of both bipolar states due to the nature of employment. Specific to hypomania, and based on such environmental factors, the manifestation could appear controlling, or controlled itself.
Rather than “running credit cards to the limit,” “engaging in risky sexual behavior,” et al, pushing physically to endurance limits, could be a potential sign of a patient’s hypomanic state. While I have developed this theory on-the-fly, it is likely the subject of doctoral theses defended.
I am writing this, head propped back on my Aeron (a small self indulgence—we all have them—my idea of an object of beauty (I did not get a bag, car, or what-not)), eyes closed as I do. Edits will likely abound, but the moment this is, and seize it I must.
stuck in traffic, not quite rush hour, after all, it is close to holidays and working stiffs that we all are, except the lucky few who need to burn the vacation time they have accrued rather than loose it (never mind, that the paternalistic enterprise sees it fit to institute a " vacation bank,” to “donate time to fellow employees who may need it." As thoughtful a gesture as this is, the root may be less altruistic—you feel encouraged; you can guiltlessly work yourself to oblivion™, not take the time off, and donate the balance to some worthy cause. How is that for slogan of the day? I need to trademark it.
So traffic, yes. Turn the curve of the off ramp and think, “there is my trail. I must go run”. I exit the highway, I turn to the park. All this unplanned until 50 seconds back.
When I arrive, it is dusky. I peel off work togs, put on exercise ones. It becomes duskier as I strap my Polar to my chest (courtesy link to dispel some of the mystery of my writing). “Wait. I forgot. I have new shoes: brand new Pumas Even better!
I decide not to stretch (oopsie!), to compensate for growing duskiness, absorbing nightfall. I strap my ‘Pod to my arm (today, I want a director, a guide, someone to keep pace with). I begin. But alas, what is this? My shoelace undone! Thirty seconds into a run, full bore (wait, you shall see, for there is more). I tie. Done. Go.
Four hours earlier, I am yawn-yawn at my place of employ, now this. Full bore. I mean, four-foot-stride-run-like-a-Texas-dust-devil full bore. This is not leisurely. This is brutally, but not really, since I am doing it for fun, for need. I need to do it. I have to.
With upbringing in which a patient exercises control, and later in life, work environs that demand utmost control, for to flinch could mean death, or to reveal, guaranteed loss of employment…
As you can see, flinch quite often, I do, but controlled, concealed—I hope. My main hypomanic risk-taking manifestation is this push-to-the-limit-thing—well, driving insanely fast at times and small other things like that aside. No shopping sprees, hyper-sexuality, credit unruly. Just this. This silly little thing that actually may be good for me, non?
[...A minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; I throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? I saw them last time. Raccoons?"
So I manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and I bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if I were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! I must...] be delirious: my shoelace unknotted. So I stop the watch, tie the culprit up, get back on track.
the dark gets darker, night's door closes on me, and I on this trail, perhaps minutes before the park closes (dusk, it says: "park closes at dusk." A winter thing (Winter Solstice in two days)). Dark as it is, I see.
I see ahead. I am in tunnel vision mode. Totally absorbed, unconsciously running (quite interesting, come to think about it). Luckily, I know this two mile trail. Except of course, pebbles move, mud, yes, delightful mud grows like a canker on the trail.
The canopy changes now from deciduous—oaks mainly—to a small patch of pines, and then the open before the next stretch. I can see. I can see for a minute or two. I can see that there is mud ahead, and no way around it. But I do not care. How could I? Why should I? It is not the mud per-se, it is not the upcoming new-shoe-baptism-by-mud. “How deep is it?” “What does it hide?” “Will I twist an ankle?”
The tunnel blinders come off when my shoelace becomes loose yet again. My feet tell me they are wet with the squishy-squishy voice. They are far from happy. It is 43 Fahrenheit. I am not equipped for this run. All I have is two layers of t-shirts, and shorts (Brrr!)
Now the uphill. I keep the banshee-like running up. I look at the Polar’s screen, which intriguingly has no backlight, and accidentally turn the stopwatch off. Frustration. Expletives. Numerous. 8:08 it reads before it resets.
Start it again. Run.
but perhaps that is why the patient fears it, fears "losing" self to it. The patient could be frightened to "falling prey" to the greatness that this driving force could push to achieve, and become "worried as much as elevated." A feeling such that the patient could not break free, a “Mein Kampf.”
Much, much darker now, as I enter the forest again. But I look back because, in front of me, I can almost see a shadow. Is there a moon? No, only clouds. I am now almost there, to the trailhead. Lungs a bit challenged, for the air is cold and the earth uphill. I look back again; eerie glow. Moon? (Hmmm...)
The trail turns its final bend. "Shadow?" "Again?" As my body motions, my brain theorizes: "there is a moon indeed, and it is behind the clouds." I drop the thought at the 300 yard marker.
There. Done. I add the time to the 8:08. Two miles, cross country, in the dark: 14:49. No physical damage.
Rather than “running credit cards to the limit,” “engaging in risky sexual behavior,” et al, pushing physically to endurance limits, could be a potential sign of a patient’s hypomanic state. While I have developed this theory on-the-fly, it is likely the subject of doctoral theses defended.
I am writing this, head propped back on my Aeron (a small self indulgence—we all have them—my idea of an object of beauty (I did not get a bag, car, or what-not)), eyes closed as I do. Edits will likely abound, but the moment this is, and seize it I must.
stuck in traffic, not quite rush hour, after all, it is close to holidays and working stiffs that we all are, except the lucky few who need to burn the vacation time they have accrued rather than loose it (never mind, that the paternalistic enterprise sees it fit to institute a " vacation bank,” to “donate time to fellow employees who may need it." As thoughtful a gesture as this is, the root may be less altruistic—you feel encouraged; you can guiltlessly work yourself to oblivion™, not take the time off, and donate the balance to some worthy cause. How is that for slogan of the day? I need to trademark it.
So traffic, yes. Turn the curve of the off ramp and think, “there is my trail. I must go run”. I exit the highway, I turn to the park. All this unplanned until 50 seconds back.
When I arrive, it is dusky. I peel off work togs, put on exercise ones. It becomes duskier as I strap my Polar to my chest (courtesy link to dispel some of the mystery of my writing). “Wait. I forgot. I have new shoes: brand new Pumas Even better!
I decide not to stretch (oopsie!), to compensate for growing duskiness, absorbing nightfall. I strap my ‘Pod to my arm (today, I want a director, a guide, someone to keep pace with). I begin. But alas, what is this? My shoelace undone! Thirty seconds into a run, full bore (wait, you shall see, for there is more). I tie. Done. Go.
Four hours earlier, I am yawn-yawn at my place of employ, now this. Full bore. I mean, four-foot-stride-run-like-a-Texas-dust-devil full bore. This is not leisurely. This is brutally, but not really, since I am doing it for fun, for need. I need to do it. I have to.
With upbringing in which a patient exercises control, and later in life, work environs that demand utmost control, for to flinch could mean death, or to reveal, guaranteed loss of employment…
As you can see, flinch quite often, I do, but controlled, concealed—I hope. My main hypomanic risk-taking manifestation is this push-to-the-limit-thing—well, driving insanely fast at times and small other things like that aside. No shopping sprees, hyper-sexuality, credit unruly. Just this. This silly little thing that actually may be good for me, non?
[...A minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; I throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? I saw them last time. Raccoons?"
So I manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and I bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if I were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! I must...] be delirious: my shoelace unknotted. So I stop the watch, tie the culprit up, get back on track.
the dark gets darker, night's door closes on me, and I on this trail, perhaps minutes before the park closes (dusk, it says: "park closes at dusk." A winter thing (Winter Solstice in two days)). Dark as it is, I see.
I see ahead. I am in tunnel vision mode. Totally absorbed, unconsciously running (quite interesting, come to think about it). Luckily, I know this two mile trail. Except of course, pebbles move, mud, yes, delightful mud grows like a canker on the trail.
The canopy changes now from deciduous—oaks mainly—to a small patch of pines, and then the open before the next stretch. I can see. I can see for a minute or two. I can see that there is mud ahead, and no way around it. But I do not care. How could I? Why should I? It is not the mud per-se, it is not the upcoming new-shoe-baptism-by-mud. “How deep is it?” “What does it hide?” “Will I twist an ankle?”
The tunnel blinders come off when my shoelace becomes loose yet again. My feet tell me they are wet with the squishy-squishy voice. They are far from happy. It is 43 Fahrenheit. I am not equipped for this run. All I have is two layers of t-shirts, and shorts (Brrr!)
Now the uphill. I keep the banshee-like running up. I look at the Polar’s screen, which intriguingly has no backlight, and accidentally turn the stopwatch off. Frustration. Expletives. Numerous. 8:08 it reads before it resets.
Start it again. Run.
but perhaps that is why the patient fears it, fears "losing" self to it. The patient could be frightened to "falling prey" to the greatness that this driving force could push to achieve, and become "worried as much as elevated." A feeling such that the patient could not break free, a “Mein Kampf.”
Much, much darker now, as I enter the forest again. But I look back because, in front of me, I can almost see a shadow. Is there a moon? No, only clouds. I am now almost there, to the trailhead. Lungs a bit challenged, for the air is cold and the earth uphill. I look back again; eerie glow. Moon? (Hmmm...)
The trail turns its final bend. "Shadow?" "Again?" As my body motions, my brain theorizes: "there is a moon indeed, and it is behind the clouds." I drop the thought at the 300 yard marker.
There. Done. I add the time to the 8:08. Two miles, cross country, in the dark: 14:49. No physical damage.
Trailer
I cannot believe they screen trailers for films due out next summer:
"Spider-Man 3, coming summer 2007."
As much as I dislike this practice, here is my own:
...a minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; i throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? i saw them last time. raccoons?"
so i manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and i bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if i were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! i must...
Read "Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling" coming soon to a blog near you.
I must go now to learn tennis.
"Spider-Man 3, coming summer 2007."
As much as I dislike this practice, here is my own:
...a minute thirty into the run, my 'Pod acts up. think "roadie tripping on the main amp's power cord at a death metal concert:" silence; then, uncontrolled anger, followed by expletives. many; i throw them out there. oh! right..."there is no one here but me. deer? i saw them last time. raccoons?"
so i manage to fix this technical issue on the run. and i bound, and leap, my arms, breast high, my hands not fisted, half-open, grabbing-like, the air in front, as if i were pulling myself up a rope; then...not again! i must...
Read "Cycling, Rapidly, Cycling" coming soon to a blog near you.
I must go now to learn tennis.
12.19.2006
energy potential ad infinitum
Yves Deruyter leads prayer.
inner peace burns like fire.
my mood, a live wire.
may now never expire.
i do not endure; this is no ill.
dare i ever inquest this thrill?
inhale, suffuse, degust at will,
or instead avoid getting my fill?
stigmata: my ears bleeding.
intensity, thunderous beating.
heresy! you accuse seething.
my body, my mind, time: meeting.
how else to convey,
what words cannot say.
feelings that i must obey,
or be swept by the fray.
chemistry peaking.
subduedness, meds preaching.
should i be weeping?
the end, incessantly creeping.
why should i fear?
of this, i feel dear.
yet, trouble lurks near,
that is painfully clear.
The rest all around,
do not make a sound.
Will my secret be found,
Or forever be bound?
Repose, reach me slowly.
my feelings, so holy;
crash, I fear, I will, strongly.
this fear, a figment? Imagined only?
inner peace burns like fire.
my mood, a live wire.
may now never expire.
i do not endure; this is no ill.
dare i ever inquest this thrill?
inhale, suffuse, degust at will,
or instead avoid getting my fill?
stigmata: my ears bleeding.
intensity, thunderous beating.
heresy! you accuse seething.
my body, my mind, time: meeting.
how else to convey,
what words cannot say.
feelings that i must obey,
or be swept by the fray.
chemistry peaking.
subduedness, meds preaching.
should i be weeping?
the end, incessantly creeping.
why should i fear?
of this, i feel dear.
yet, trouble lurks near,
that is painfully clear.
The rest all around,
do not make a sound.
Will my secret be found,
Or forever be bound?
Repose, reach me slowly.
my feelings, so holy;
crash, I fear, I will, strongly.
this fear, a figment? Imagined only?
in structure lies solace
structure for me is a tally of days until my next swing .. .. .. solace ?
Jane Eyre is but over ; such a moving affair .. .. .. solace -- temporal .
as days have grown dark , erstwhile this present , my presence among you , unworthy mirage .. .. .. structure ? solace ?
structure desired is not structure real .. .. .. no solace .
structure , honey through fingers ; solace , breath exhaled .
i have no structure . i find no solace .
your ardor exemplifies structure ; your words embody solace .
Jane Eyre is but over ; such a moving affair .. .. .. solace -- temporal .
as days have grown dark , erstwhile this present , my presence among you , unworthy mirage .. .. .. structure ? solace ?
structure desired is not structure real .. .. .. no solace .
structure , honey through fingers ; solace , breath exhaled .
i have no structure . i find no solace .
your ardor exemplifies structure ; your words embody solace .
12.14.2006
¿Is It JuSt Me?
i recollect a statement from MDOC as he prescribes me the second of a number of meds: "you live at a time when mental illness is understood."....................*in classic Brontë style* i tell you, gentle reader, to interpret each period as a second past, for such is the length of my silence and disbelief.
i now recollect a statement to PDOC "why this? why me? why do i not have a physical mark of my illness? why is my scarred--activity-amucked, cortex-lightningroded, dendrites chemically-burnt--brain NOT visible to the naked eye?" it is easier(?) in this manner."
i dislike "whys;" i know better.
i hide this; i h i d e t h i s f o r s o l o n g ; i have to; i have NO choice because,____________________.
admit, there are such situations.
"out of the closet," an idiom familiar to most, is antonymous to my situation. i am not one who garners respect and admiration for honesty and spokesmanship, recognition and advocacy, of/for bipolar disorder--grateful i am for those who do--and for their perception-altering effect on the lamentable collective.
only a select few know about my mental illness: close family; and even so, and for reasons unrelated(?), i regret the excess of my communication. if by previous posts not apparent, i am one who relies on self.
now, i close my eyes. it appears, dear reader, i am on my +way+. maybe darkness forestalls all.
i now recollect a statement to PDOC "why this? why me? why do i not have a physical mark of my illness? why is my scarred--activity-amucked, cortex-lightningroded, dendrites chemically-burnt--brain NOT visible to the naked eye?" it is easier(?) in this manner."
i dislike "whys;" i know better.
i hide this; i h i d e t h i s f o r s o l o n g ; i have to; i have NO choice because,____________________.
admit, there are such situations.
"out of the closet," an idiom familiar to most, is antonymous to my situation. i am not one who garners respect and admiration for honesty and spokesmanship, recognition and advocacy, of/for bipolar disorder--grateful i am for those who do--and for their perception-altering effect on the lamentable collective.
only a select few know about my mental illness: close family; and even so, and for reasons unrelated(?), i regret the excess of my communication. if by previous posts not apparent, i am one who relies on self.
now, i close my eyes. it appears, dear reader, i am on my +way+. maybe darkness forestalls all.
12.11.2006
gracias
. .. . .. .i feel thanks to you. you share and open my eyes. i asked about how to manage. i was told "group." i am not "group." i have found my support. i thank you and hope to help you in some way. .. . .. .
12.10.2006
Was there a moon?
i used to fear staying up late at night, not out clubbing, but home, home sitting in front of a Google home page clicking "I am Feeling Lucky" until i could not stand it any longer, or opening a Word document and writing, and editing, and writing some more, and then deleting it all.
i would look at the clock as it passed my usual crash time, i would feel unhealthy, worry that tonight was a school night, and that i would pay for it in the morning, and i would look up again and see that some time, long or short, had passed, and i would dread the time when the sun would rise, and the cycle would start anew
do not anymore. no fear. pad around my living space. do the same as before. not worry about it. night is an extension of day. a time to let life pass. same demeanor as day. same outlook as day. after ten days i collapsed. i could not think. i could not see clearly. i pushed myself. it felt good. i was in control.
should i worry?
i would look at the clock as it passed my usual crash time, i would feel unhealthy, worry that tonight was a school night, and that i would pay for it in the morning, and i would look up again and see that some time, long or short, had passed, and i would dread the time when the sun would rise, and the cycle would start anew
do not anymore. no fear. pad around my living space. do the same as before. not worry about it. night is an extension of day. a time to let life pass. same demeanor as day. same outlook as day. after ten days i collapsed. i could not think. i could not see clearly. i pushed myself. it felt good. i was in control.
should i worry?
1:41
i have no reason to be here now.
i have no reason to be now.
i have no reason now.
i have no now.
now.
i have no reason to be now.
i have no reason now.
i have no now.
now.
spheres
apogee reached, newtonian physics take over. reentry. smoother than anticipated, but reentry nonetheless. now the mundane overcomes, which i must strive to overlook; details that make me loose hope in life. "welcome back to our society rampant with wasteful practices," they clamor, as tereshkova-like i emerge from my capsule"
i have witnessed death, decay, destruction of such magnitude, those who have survived it, live in it still, would nourish on the moldiest of our scraps, quench with our most fetid sewer dregs, rejoice in a find from our worst landfill
disheartening as it is, i turn a blind eye; i must. i focus on my small sphere of influence, the small difference i can make in someones life, which in turn makes a difference, whether i actually see it or not, whether today or in another life, in mine
i have witnessed death, decay, destruction of such magnitude, those who have survived it, live in it still, would nourish on the moldiest of our scraps, quench with our most fetid sewer dregs, rejoice in a find from our worst landfill
disheartening as it is, i turn a blind eye; i must. i focus on my small sphere of influence, the small difference i can make in someones life, which in turn makes a difference, whether i actually see it or not, whether today or in another life, in mine
12.09.2006
Charlotte and Jane
i cannot recall the last time i derived such pleasure from sensory input as of recent. hearing. Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre narrated by Josephine Bailey. the name fell into my lap somewhere, and it stayed with me for a while. i was not aware of her bibliography or biography.
tragic life her and her sisters lived--mine pales in comparison. i do not take solace in this fact. i cannot comprehend how a woman can endure such pain and create such splendor, yet i have always known there is beauty in darkness.
i am grateful to her for giving comfort, meaning, for i thirst for more as the day wanes languidly...
tragic life her and her sisters lived--mine pales in comparison. i do not take solace in this fact. i cannot comprehend how a woman can endure such pain and create such splendor, yet i have always known there is beauty in darkness.
i am grateful to her for giving comfort, meaning, for i thirst for more as the day wanes languidly...
11.30.2006
Survival Mode
-00:47:00
Sit through meeting I declined but to which I was “re-invited.” Know its outcome beforehand; know it will devolve into what it does: commiseration.
-00:24:00
All agree on what has to be done, yet cannot do. I, operating on three hours of sleep, burst out the futility of the meeting.
-00:20:00
Leave room. Immediately regret. Print four copies of “sorry” note and place on attendees desks.
00:00:00
Hope I can rely on my [Jane’s-Addiction-]-“Ritual-[-de-lo-Habitual”] to cleanse myself through physical energy departing my body, my mitochondrion, doing their best to convert into ATP whatever glucose my bloodstream carries, so that my muscles can mindlessly but purposefully burn it. But I have so neglected myself as of late. Depress Start.
+00:08:00
I shut my eyes.
+00:16:00
In the middle of a DJ Shah mix these words fade over the pulsing:
“…It's touching life, it's touching life, it's touching, and it's touching life,
Imagine the silence of light,
Full of texture, full of color, starry lights,
As the moon suspended in the night,
See it, finally everything.
It's breathing life, it's breathing life, it's breathing life.
Looking through the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful, I want it.
Looking thorough the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful,
That I want it inside of me,
Of me, of me, of me, of me. I want it.
As if on cue…
+00:17:00
…this is not happening. It has been so long….and I have longed to touch it—at least—enter it if I am worthy, deserving: the zone. I do. Briefly. Once, twice, thrice…
+00:20:00
In full automutilation mode; throb of music through my veins; eyes shut still; motion in balance, no degradation. I have kept balance while stepping as I have learned to do. Chug, once, twice. Return drinking vessel to its receptacle.
+00:30:00
Reverse direction, increase slope x 6. Reduce resistance x 2. I usually alter settings more often, but today is “special.”
+00:31:34
Shift speed as the beat transitions from one song to another, masterfully cross faded by Shah. An unfortunate glimpse reminds me I am still here. EFX display reads 175 Watts (2 x 60 W E26 Medium Edison Screw light bulbs, 1 x 40 W ceiling fan E26, and 1 x F25T12 Fluorescent lamp (I usually power 2x100 W flood lamps +/- a handful of E12 Candelabra-Screw nightlights).
+00:38:00
Have entered and exited the zone at least eight times for a total duration of one minute and a half. Not the zone core, not full consciousness/loss of consciousness of self, but satisfying nonetheless. I can feel it: my facial muscles have relaxed from a frown to an incipient smile. Been too long without it, longed for it so, have I. Do not believe myself to possess an addictive personality, but this is beyond addiction: this is biological need. Although I feel so, I still lapse, behavior shifting to the opposite extreme—total disregard for self.
+00:41:00
Hear myself think “nothing matters, nothing matters, nothing matters” at half the tempo of the music. Nothing else occupies my mind. This is it. Just my voice and silence. The zone. I am my own church. church, my religion I am. LaVey-Satanic as it sounds, I know this is more like what Buddhist chanting, the rosary prayer, the Allahu Akbar (Allah is Great) mantra accomplish.
+00:46:00
For crap’s sake! Eyes shut still, I depress Reset in error. EFX display flashes workout stats as I frantically attempt to restart. Opt for Quick Start. Litre bottle is now empty.
+01:04:00
EFX display reads 1.80 miles, 195 kcal, 18:00 Min, I think. Music has stopped too suddenly for me to transition coherently to reality. My Polar reads HR 154 BPM aver., 172 max. Interpolate for missing values and determine totals to be approximately 5.5 miles and 600 kcal. Respectable, considering.
+01:27:00
Walk to work in a smiley, happy daze. A tinge of plantar fasciitis awakens in my left foot. Pain will linger through the day, despite meds. Irrelevant; actually it is good to feel.
+01:42:00
Nipples are sore. Did not anticipate such long a session. Had I known, I would have worn poly instead of cotton.
+01:42:49
Ouch! Should cover them with Band-Aids (flashback - 7 years when I covered nipple piercing during physical exam—glad piercing was out + 3 years for an MRI!).
+02:00:00
Two litres of water later… no food. Pee very yellow. Feel life.
+02:50:00
Three bananas later, 800 mg Ibu., and half a litre of water more, I feel partially replenished, but am still peeing yellow. Must continue to push water through.
+03:23:00
Ibu. kicks in. Left plantar fascia ceases to bother. Feel the urge to run my favorite x-country trail later. No music this time, just the quiet, layered with my breath and remixed with my heartbeat…and if I am lucky a redrum track of percussive rain on leaves, resampled and looped with the sub-range neuronal electric activity thunder of my gustatory papillae signaling to my brain the saltiness of rain + sweat mix.
+03:30:00
Ravenously devour a slice of whole wheat bread. Rain falls lightly outside. Two more hours.
+03:42:00
Brita-filter another litre of fluoridated swill into my reused PETE bottle. Almost there, almost time.
+04:15:00
Pee is less yellow, still not clear enough. Chug more water. Take a sip of leftover cold decaf. Clean-up. GTG.
+05:00:00
Suck down the rest of the decaf. Go pee.
+5:30
b y e .
Sit through meeting I declined but to which I was “re-invited.” Know its outcome beforehand; know it will devolve into what it does: commiseration.
-00:24:00
All agree on what has to be done, yet cannot do. I, operating on three hours of sleep, burst out the futility of the meeting.
-00:20:00
Leave room. Immediately regret. Print four copies of “sorry” note and place on attendees desks.
00:00:00
Hope I can rely on my [Jane’s-Addiction-]-“Ritual-[-de-lo-Habitual”] to cleanse myself through physical energy departing my body, my mitochondrion, doing their best to convert into ATP whatever glucose my bloodstream carries, so that my muscles can mindlessly but purposefully burn it. But I have so neglected myself as of late. Depress Start.
+00:08:00
I shut my eyes.
+00:16:00
In the middle of a DJ Shah mix these words fade over the pulsing:
“…It's touching life, it's touching life, it's touching, and it's touching life,
Imagine the silence of light,
Full of texture, full of color, starry lights,
As the moon suspended in the night,
See it, finally everything.
It's breathing life, it's breathing life, it's breathing life.
Looking through the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful, I want it.
Looking thorough the window glass,
I see a glimpse of heaven,
And it’s so beautiful,
That I want it inside of me,
Of me, of me, of me, of me. I want it.
As if on cue…
+00:17:00
…this is not happening. It has been so long….and I have longed to touch it—at least—enter it if I am worthy, deserving: the zone. I do. Briefly. Once, twice, thrice…
+00:20:00
In full automutilation mode; throb of music through my veins; eyes shut still; motion in balance, no degradation. I have kept balance while stepping as I have learned to do. Chug, once, twice. Return drinking vessel to its receptacle.
+00:30:00
Reverse direction, increase slope x 6. Reduce resistance x 2. I usually alter settings more often, but today is “special.”
+00:31:34
Shift speed as the beat transitions from one song to another, masterfully cross faded by Shah. An unfortunate glimpse reminds me I am still here. EFX display reads 175 Watts (2 x 60 W E26 Medium Edison Screw light bulbs, 1 x 40 W ceiling fan E26, and 1 x F25T12 Fluorescent lamp (I usually power 2x100 W flood lamps +/- a handful of E12 Candelabra-Screw nightlights).
+00:38:00
Have entered and exited the zone at least eight times for a total duration of one minute and a half. Not the zone core, not full consciousness/loss of consciousness of self, but satisfying nonetheless. I can feel it: my facial muscles have relaxed from a frown to an incipient smile. Been too long without it, longed for it so, have I. Do not believe myself to possess an addictive personality, but this is beyond addiction: this is biological need. Although I feel so, I still lapse, behavior shifting to the opposite extreme—total disregard for self.
+00:41:00
Hear myself think “nothing matters, nothing matters, nothing matters” at half the tempo of the music. Nothing else occupies my mind. This is it. Just my voice and silence. The zone. I am my own church. church, my religion I am. LaVey-Satanic as it sounds, I know this is more like what Buddhist chanting, the rosary prayer, the Allahu Akbar (Allah is Great) mantra accomplish.
+00:46:00
For crap’s sake! Eyes shut still, I depress Reset in error. EFX display flashes workout stats as I frantically attempt to restart. Opt for Quick Start. Litre bottle is now empty.
+01:04:00
EFX display reads 1.80 miles, 195 kcal, 18:00 Min, I think. Music has stopped too suddenly for me to transition coherently to reality. My Polar reads HR 154 BPM aver., 172 max. Interpolate for missing values and determine totals to be approximately 5.5 miles and 600 kcal. Respectable, considering.
+01:27:00
Walk to work in a smiley, happy daze. A tinge of plantar fasciitis awakens in my left foot. Pain will linger through the day, despite meds. Irrelevant; actually it is good to feel.
+01:42:00
Nipples are sore. Did not anticipate such long a session. Had I known, I would have worn poly instead of cotton.
+01:42:49
Ouch! Should cover them with Band-Aids (flashback - 7 years when I covered nipple piercing during physical exam—glad piercing was out + 3 years for an MRI!).
+02:00:00
Two litres of water later… no food. Pee very yellow. Feel life.
+02:50:00
Three bananas later, 800 mg Ibu., and half a litre of water more, I feel partially replenished, but am still peeing yellow. Must continue to push water through.
+03:23:00
Ibu. kicks in. Left plantar fascia ceases to bother. Feel the urge to run my favorite x-country trail later. No music this time, just the quiet, layered with my breath and remixed with my heartbeat…and if I am lucky a redrum track of percussive rain on leaves, resampled and looped with the sub-range neuronal electric activity thunder of my gustatory papillae signaling to my brain the saltiness of rain + sweat mix.
+03:30:00
Ravenously devour a slice of whole wheat bread. Rain falls lightly outside. Two more hours.
+03:42:00
Brita-filter another litre of fluoridated swill into my reused PETE bottle. Almost there, almost time.
+04:15:00
Pee is less yellow, still not clear enough. Chug more water. Take a sip of leftover cold decaf. Clean-up. GTG.
+05:00:00
Suck down the rest of the decaf. Go pee.
+5:30
b y e .
physical hunger engendering mental hunger
this emptiness, this hunger, this attempt i unworthily describe as asceticism, may lead me to enlightenment. like a craving for the finest chocolate confection, craving for clarity of mind is a powerful driver.
i have failed these last few days, letting physical drive mental, inhaling carbs like there was no tomorrow, straying from the path, my path. after yesterday's intensity, driven by my body demanding, screaming for exertion, fatigue (pain), I feel tired and depleted, in pain but savoring sweet agony. Bliss.
so far to go. so many obstacles. so much excitement, anticipation. so much damage a lapse can inflict. Let me get back on the path. i know it is a long difficult one.
i have failed these last few days, letting physical drive mental, inhaling carbs like there was no tomorrow, straying from the path, my path. after yesterday's intensity, driven by my body demanding, screaming for exertion, fatigue (pain), I feel tired and depleted, in pain but savoring sweet agony. Bliss.
so far to go. so many obstacles. so much excitement, anticipation. so much damage a lapse can inflict. Let me get back on the path. i know it is a long difficult one.
11.28.2006
Por qua non?
energy. sap me. finite. physical + mental. quanta. reduce by the eon, the fentosecond. count. balance. achieve? what if? what if not? struggle. the theory goes like that.
c r i p e s ! w h a t o n e a r t h a m i d o i n g u p a n d w h a t i s t h e t i m e ?
c r i p e s ! w h a t o n e a r t h a m i d o i n g u p a n d w h a t i s t h e t i m e ?
11.01.2006
Not again, please
Indeed, expectations taking their toll. I hurt physically--head. I hurt mentally--thought. I hurt emotionally--sense. I gorge on carbs as if a marathon required it. Yester was a challenge, mercury rising, Sylvester infuriated by Tweety. But the evening ended before the full impact was noticeable.
As of morn, back to -5 and dropping. Thought: too much. And I wonder, is this all I can expect? Is this the best meds can do? First 100 mg., then 150 mg., now 200...escalator switching directions arbitrarily. No controller. ATC's screen dominated by octal 7700/ident. TMI. Overload. Blank screen, BSD, black.
As of morn, back to -5 and dropping. Thought: too much. And I wonder, is this all I can expect? Is this the best meds can do? First 100 mg., then 150 mg., now 200...escalator switching directions arbitrarily. No controller. ATC's screen dominated by octal 7700/ident. TMI. Overload. Blank screen, BSD, black.
10.30.2006
Requiem
Time numbs the memory, a loss of fidelity of synaptic analog recordings: the essence of the memory is there, but its intensity, clarity, range blend with the hiss of the tape passing over the read/write head. Add to this the surges-in-electrical-current-on-an-unprotected-IC-spiking-pops-onto-the-magnetic-media-through-the-write-circuit the bipolar brain causes, and...
10.28.2006
two hours and 20 minutes
the drive. the why. the fortune of sound. absence of else. rain, it did not stop. the day (morning?) before, up until three. the rain did not stop. low clouds. splatter on the windshield, droning, and in the dark, later that night, refracting any light, breaking it down into 32 bit color depth. yet with my 16MB-video-card-memory state of mind, making it hard to see, think. worry. worry for safety--why not: today is not t h e day. blurry. blurring. my mind, my vision, my perspective, my feelings.
the fortune of sound. the absence of else. softer than usual. it seemed appropriate. softer in level, harder impact. i lie: it always hits hard. impact. bass. consciousness lost. consciousness at the edge. battery. hocico. amduscia. blutengel. so many, so different. so, not what i remember. the days of love spirals downwards, calva y nada, coil, sisters of mercy. evolved. like i.
the fortune of sound. the absence of else. softer than usual. it seemed appropriate. softer in level, harder impact. i lie: it always hits hard. impact. bass. consciousness lost. consciousness at the edge. battery. hocico. amduscia. blutengel. so many, so different. so, not what i remember. the days of love spirals downwards, calva y nada, coil, sisters of mercy. evolved. like i.
10.24.2006
Equanimity
I feel so alive, but at the same time so vulnerable and maybe dead. I feel the loss of energy, the descent into demise--or what could be so. Yet I feel. The depth of the feeling, the awareness of self. Full, complete. Anything is possible here. Supernatural feats that defy imagination, not yet accomplished, not yet imagined. I do not know, for they are not imagined. I just know that I feel.
Hunger. Awareness. Body. Perception. Push. Challenge. Towards the unknown. I can now do more than I could before. In some respects, I feel better than I did before. Hunger the drive. Hunger that drives. The drive of hunger. A physical sensation. Energy saps, you feel, unmistakable feeling. No confusion whatever. Low blood sugar headache, brain trying to do its best to do its job. Energy drain. Motion reduced. Awareness. Consciousness.
Feats of incredible force, expenditure of incredible resources not supported by equal intake. One fourth driving one whole. Three hundred in 1500 hundred out. And the awareness, the know. The drive. Pushing toward that unknown. Eyes closed, balance in test, feats not easily accomplished. Eyes closed, world shut out. Nothing beyond. No noise, isolation. Beats pumping, ears drumming. And stalwart I proceed, unaware of outside, aware of inside. I do not question, I savor. I know.
This is not The Zone. I know what that is not knowing it fully. I have skirted it, toyed with it, briefly entered it. There is nothing like it. Fleeting for me; maybe less so some day. No. This is not The Zone. I linger here. I elate here, but not like there. I like it there like I like it here. I cannot compare, why should I dare? The Zone is one, this is two. Perhaps this is one, and the Zone is two. In any event, I enlighten. I relish. I feel. I live.
Hunger. Awareness. Body. Perception. Push. Challenge. Towards the unknown. I can now do more than I could before. In some respects, I feel better than I did before. Hunger the drive. Hunger that drives. The drive of hunger. A physical sensation. Energy saps, you feel, unmistakable feeling. No confusion whatever. Low blood sugar headache, brain trying to do its best to do its job. Energy drain. Motion reduced. Awareness. Consciousness.
Feats of incredible force, expenditure of incredible resources not supported by equal intake. One fourth driving one whole. Three hundred in 1500 hundred out. And the awareness, the know. The drive. Pushing toward that unknown. Eyes closed, balance in test, feats not easily accomplished. Eyes closed, world shut out. Nothing beyond. No noise, isolation. Beats pumping, ears drumming. And stalwart I proceed, unaware of outside, aware of inside. I do not question, I savor. I know.
This is not The Zone. I know what that is not knowing it fully. I have skirted it, toyed with it, briefly entered it. There is nothing like it. Fleeting for me; maybe less so some day. No. This is not The Zone. I linger here. I elate here, but not like there. I like it there like I like it here. I cannot compare, why should I dare? The Zone is one, this is two. Perhaps this is one, and the Zone is two. In any event, I enlighten. I relish. I feel. I live.
10.20.2006
Sanctum @ 160 BPM
Not at peak, yet bliss nonetheless.
Felicity through deprivation.
Depravity. I crouch and reflect, two river-smoothed pebbles circling in my hand, like Bogart in the Caine. Sunset.
Felicity through deprivation.
Depravity. I crouch and reflect, two river-smoothed pebbles circling in my hand, like Bogart in the Caine. Sunset.
10.10.2006
No soy dramaturga
Inner peace. Exaltation. Outer peace. Exultation. I walk through the streets eyes closed, mind clear. I arrive. Must open them after a while. Do not want. Do not feel. Somethings must be real. 20 hours, 1000 words. Was it worth it? Who is to tell. Push. Tire. Enjoy the fire. Is this the shadow? Is this the water? Truly focused. Must be trouble. Storm-a-brewin'? Nothing doing. For now, savor; it’s a favor. For now ride; no need to hide. Feel. Real.
10.05.2006
Torquemada y más
Torquemada: Inquisitor General, Spanish Inquisition. "The hammer of heretics, the light of España, the savior of his country, the honor of his order."
Swing, dramatic. Physical, unreal. Mental, I lost track. Setenta minutos on a stationary bike with 165 average heart rate and peaks of 190. All that on 1000 kcal. hypofisicalmanic? hipo physical mania? mania hipofisica? hipomania fisica? physical hypomania? mania hipo fisica?
Swing, dramatic. Physical, unreal. Mental, I lost track. Setenta minutos on a stationary bike with 165 average heart rate and peaks of 190. All that on 1000 kcal. hypofisicalmanic? hipo physical mania? mania hipofisica? hipomania fisica? physical hypomania? mania hipo fisica?
9.29.2006
With rapid cycles, tomorrow will not matter
Tomorrow will be too late. It will have all passed then. I just hope I can make it through the rest of the day without incident. A call, a simple call. An ear to listen, a heart to understand. The trigger? Who knows. The music? The growing frustration?
It is difficult to understand, I know. And I know he says he does. I say sorry. I have always said sorry--probably more than needed--for this and other things. I am used to it. It does not matter. It has become part of my life, my routine. Despite what he says, I do not, I cannot fully believe he understands. I think he wants to see a wound, a physical sign of the damage. I sometimes wish that too. It would make it easy to explain, others would find it easy to understand.
Now I have the double burden of surviving this, and hiding it as well as I can. And despite all I say, and how hard I try, it weighs on me. How could it not? Yet I let him go, get off the phone, move on with his routine, because perhaps that is how he copes, that is all he can do. More than anything *tears welling in my eyes* I want to believe him when he says he understands. More than anything...
Yes, it will pass; it will pass as it always does, thank goodness for that *tears again.* I do not wish it to pass forever in the terminal sense of it, really I do not, but it sure would be nice to feel normal, level again.
It is difficult to understand, I know. And I know he says he does. I say sorry. I have always said sorry--probably more than needed--for this and other things. I am used to it. It does not matter. It has become part of my life, my routine. Despite what he says, I do not, I cannot fully believe he understands. I think he wants to see a wound, a physical sign of the damage. I sometimes wish that too. It would make it easy to explain, others would find it easy to understand.
Now I have the double burden of surviving this, and hiding it as well as I can. And despite all I say, and how hard I try, it weighs on me. How could it not? Yet I let him go, get off the phone, move on with his routine, because perhaps that is how he copes, that is all he can do. More than anything *tears welling in my eyes* I want to believe him when he says he understands. More than anything...
Yes, it will pass; it will pass as it always does, thank goodness for that *tears again.* I do not wish it to pass forever in the terminal sense of it, really I do not, but it sure would be nice to feel normal, level again.
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