So it goes.

So I've been living here for almost a year - in July. What if it still feels like fucking July?
I just finished the Bell Jar for the first time (by Sylvia Plath, if I even needed to include that) and it made me go crazy. That is my prognosis. But it just seems worthy of eye-rolling...

I've epiphanized(is that even a word)/ truly realized/ made a reality that it is the trigger to my insanity... I totally just lost my train of though. We should differentiate the trains. The train of though should be the trein of thought... for the treng of thought... hmmm.

So I read the Bell Jar and now I'm reading Slaughterhouse-Five (vonnegut for clarity purposes). It's quite funny but sexist and it pisses me off sometimes. Anyway, I relate more to the Bell Jar.

I'm in a journalism class so I guess I should practice, 'cause that's what I wanna do right? Be a fucking journalist and write for a fucking newspaper - sounds peachy (or is it peechy). OR I can be an English major and teach kids how to do this stuff. To me, majoring in English is the same as majoring in cosmetology or cooking or something. Or anything, really. The cubby holes are driving me crazy. How can I possibly choose? How can the lady at the store tell me that she's glad I'm smart and also know that red meat sits in your bodies and rots for days and that's why your poop smells so bad and that's why we don't eat it anymore. How's that for a mental cushion? How would it be any different than majoring in Anthropology or Philosophy? You still get graded on papers based around a single idea or theme or argument or whatever - three to eightteen? eighteen pages in length, complete with bibliography WITH annotations.
Like, come the fuck on. Do I really get some sort of pleasurable fun out of that crap? Okay, so I'll teach it. I'll teach it to some girls majoring in cosmetology.

It's like my journalism teacher. He says he's the most boring person in the world and that he loves dictionaries. I feel that if I want to be an English major I should AT LEAST love dictionaries or reading the newspaper. Where's the motivation? And it's not that I'm unhappy... I go through waves.
Which brings me to my next point - I think I might have bipolar disorder or schizophrenia? Based on the umm.edu subtitle (I don't remember the university). Euphoria, irritability, both symptoms at once, gradual excelleration to an episode, isolation, inability to concentrate or make decisions, spurts of achievement or take-ons of responsibility (okay I don't remember if it said quite that, but I remember relating that to it), disrupted sleep patters (always wake up in the middle of the night to get water or eat a little bit of food or something, it's like I get up to compare the times I get up each night). So I get a therapist for free (god -or higher power or lack thereof- bless ccsf!) and i confide in my friends. It helps me realize what a mad woman I've become, while exposing my insecurities to those who turn around and agree with me in the end.... I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing. So I just shouldn't let it bother me. It doesn't for a while, then it comes back, haunting me like the ghost in the north-west corner of the apartment, the one who opens the fridge when I turn away, and flips the kitchen light back on after I've turned it off and some tugging at my shoulder pulls me away from the pillow and back to the bathroom to notice it. It pokes fun and howls with the wind. And we sit, get high, talk about it, forget about it, but I don't. I really believe it. But then there are times like this where I'm intoxicated, by myself, unable to do the things I should. Like study or do homework. I continue to procrastinate. I am afraid of the unplanned day, I'm afraid of routine. I feel that I need to plan something so close to the minute that if something interrupts, be it an emergency and in that case I'll be rightfully fucked, or unable to attend, in that case I'll feel a green steam seep from my pores.

So the internet information rightfully listed some relatable symptoms, to my satisfaction I GUESS, included substance abuse (come on, that's what it is), alcoholism etc. But who is the judge to that? Someone who feels addicted to a mind altering substance or someone who doesn't? Crazy people don't know they are crazy, right? But what if I am really crazy, and I know it, and I live with it and control it - I think I am masking it. I've sabotaged my self esteem and my living environment to the point of an explosive episode... Mania, and as Sylv would say, like an eye of the hurricane with chaos floating around her (I wish I could quote directly with page number - cream in pants). One bullet even said a sudden turn to resent the ones you held/hold close and be convinced that they are decieving you and spying on you at all times, could be a symptom - hello, the last eight months. It also said that family members find it hard to differentiate episodes from "normal expressive behavior" (I shouldn't put those quotes there) and therefore the disorder can go untreated for years. And it also said that bipolar disorder is a step into schizophrenia. Can't deny that I've hallucinated, heard voices, be stuck in a paranoid and manic state, talked in a flat tone of voice, ad hoc repeat (that's probably not accurate).

My name is Yon Yonson I live in Wisconsin...

Maybe I made this blog so I can have a connection with the outside world of online journalism.
Maybe to practice my typing, spelling, writing style.
Maybe to impress.
Maybe to sabotage.
It's all the same to me at this point. I mean this is the kind of shit I write in my journal although the hand writing differs from entry to entry depending on my mood. And I write pretty much everyday and when you think about it that's a lot of wasted paper I could be saving by just switching my brain occupancy with the internet, like everyone else.
Like everyone else.
So it goes.

So I feel like I am able to recognize my illness, since Dr. Tati has diagnosed herself and with that will medicate herself with wine and weed and xantax/zanax and all together and mushrooms and acid in the future. But it will only prolong my process of insanity. If I let the people around me sway my way and offer me love and I return, I can stay sane. I feel that a lack of love can cause one to be crazy or me, at least. I feel no love from my family so I call them in balling tears the size of boulders (reference to the Rock n Rollers gang of SF from the beat generation), shaking voice impossible to understand complete with snot, and anger, and cursing, and harmful thoughts for about a week. Exhausted for the next, enthused for the next.

It also read that episodes are enhanced in a woman around her period - hence, during her PMSing. Which totally happens to me... it's embarrassing to say that my episode was a week before my period. I didn't know that at the time, and to be honest it didn't even cross my mind. I remember I used to be able to recognize it. I've had episodes like that before - It's almost like I'm seeking someone to put up with my shit, like a child. I just give into my true emotions and I break down to an innocent and pathetic jelly pool, floating among it alphabet soup (word soup; also a symptom of schizophrenia) and noodles shaped like question marks. Other questions sprout, should I go to Oregon or should I stay in the state? Should I try cutting myself 'cause it looks like it helps people? Should I be gay or straight - rather, AM I gay or straight or bi? Should I get another job or should I mope in my filth day in and day out 'cause the truth is, I deserve it.

So I exited out of UC applications because the one for winter 2010 isn't up, and the deadline for fall 2009 already passed.
I just want someone to do it for me. So it goes.

Now I have to make an appointment with a counselor at school so they can tell me what to do.
I don't want to move away from San Francisco anymore because I want to live with Cesar and Bailey and be up here, with everyone. If I can't stay in SF then I want to stay in the Bay Area.
But I'm torn between my family and my friends.
But I just want to be me, I just want to find that out.
That sounds really retarded, but it's true. I feel alone, that no one (and I mean pretty much fucking no one) understands me. I feel lost, I feel that I need a break, which is what summer will be for... what if I took the summer off and then came back up to SF with Cesar and Bailey and then after I finish my GE I can go to Sonoma or Santa Cruz or something.
OR SOMETHING.

God I don't even know.
Lava cake.

Maybe I'll go to sleep now and wake up extra early to cram for my anthropology midterm.

Then I stare at my silly painting, and vomit creeps up my throat when I think about my other one at school in my little art class slot.

My art teacher reminds me of a pothead fat Jack Nicholson. He's kind of sexy in the most nasty way, sunspotted crackled face from acid trips and speed and sunburns and a big beer belly from beer and sitting on his ass painting and the only hair on his head is white, and he is a bubbly aquarian with a holey Amoeba shirt (that says San Francisco and Berkley on the same shirt??).
Divorced a few times, wears gold shiny rings and collects antique toys, I can only imagine what his house looks/smells like.


No one's going to read this... So it goes...
My name is Yon Yonson(I think I may have spelled it with an h), I live in Wisconsin....