seiberwing: (Default)
If you're tired of my medical angst, just wait a few hours and I'll have happy pictures from the Pride Parade up. Pride was fucking awesome and despite my lobsterface I am so glad I manned up and went. But right now I just need to vent.

For the purposes of confidentiality, all medical professionals will be named after Transformers. )
seiberwing: (Bad Idea)
I am not in a good place right now. Certainly the stress of the impending move to Chicago (and thus the upset of my entire status quo of life) isn't helping, but I'm pretty sure biochemical interactions have something to do with it.

In addition to re-raising my Lamictal levels to 300mg (they were reduced to 200mg back in March, when I thought I could be a macho man and survive with less), Dr. P gave me a script for fifteen 'emergency pills'. They're anti-anxiety drugs that you take when things get really bad and she thinks I should hang on to them until the increased Lamictal takes hold. So far I've only taken one, and while it helped it seemed to help in the sense of an emotional aspirin rather than the emotionally-deadening anesthetic I was hoping for. At least my heart rate went down.

I'm considering taking a second. It's been almost a year since...somebody did something rather nasty to me, emotionally speaking. It was completely my fault (or more specifically the fault of me being depressed and not dealing with it in a mature fashion rather than angsting all over the internet) and she reacted by cutting me off, something that is not an unreasonable reaction but one I wish I'd been informed of before it happened. It wasn't even a clean cut, but the festering sort where I had to actually learn that I had been cut off from a third party because I thought she was just coincidentally busy/sick whenever I wanted to spend time with her because I'm kind of a dumbass that way. I suppose one might say the experience made me a stronger person, one who realized that throwing my problems on others was just going to hurt them and make them dislike being around me, but I would definitely have preferred not going through six months of a major depressive episode because of it.

It hurt. Worse than anything in my life, I think, before that my episodes had been garden variety depression unaided by a harsh reality, and for a while it was really all I could think about. And it's still hurting and I wish it would stop because I can't feel it's natural to spontaneously get upset over something I've been calm about for a while. I am not good with your human emotions. They confuse and dismay me and con me into ill-thought-out LJ posts.

I'm going to make some tea and clean my room and see if this goes away. If I don't feel better in a few hours, it may be time for another dose.

EDIT: The second dose did not happen, I implemented an arboretum walk with my mom and a pair of smoothies and that seems to have soothed matters.
seiberwing: (Default)
Note to self:

Angst is bad. We do not go the path of angst. Angst is for people who do not make light of every little thing ever. Angst is for people who actually have problems instead of making them up out of nowhere. Angst is not for people who could probably put the problem to bed entirely if they stopped making a big deal about it. Angst is for people who are not having the time of their lives. No angst.

Also, when it gets to the point that people are actually hiding the bottle, stop drinking. Loudly demanding it back and looking under the bed will make us lose more dignity points than the alcohol itself has. Although we totally were not as drunk as people said we were.
seiberwing: (Default)
I've been thinking a lot lately, about religion and death and what comes after that (and no I am not considering speeding the process along). I don't have faith in anything, and it's been that way for most of my life. I didn't even believe in the Tooth Fairy, it was just a fun little ritual that got me money.

I don't think I realized until recently, maybe a year or two ago, how much it hurts not to believe. I want to believe. *cue the X-Files music*

No porn here, sorry, just some tl;dr. )

I broke out of all of that a long time ago. The Judeo-Christian god is apparently not my thing. But I still want something to have faith in, an ideal or a deity or a personal philosophy, maybe some sort of eye-opening experience that leads me to believe in something greater than myself.

I just don't know where to find it.
seiberwing: (Nemesis Prime)
There is a guy listening to "My Immortal" in the computer room. WTF. And it doesn't help that he sings along to half the songs on his CD.

At any rate, I'm feeling vaguely screwed in the department of Organic Chemistry. It's one of those things where I know it, and then get back a 7.5/16 quiz that I thought I made at least a B on. And it sucks like nothing else.

In other news, the weather is fucked up like nothing else. I nearly got blown over on the way back from class and it's been flurrying all day.
seiberwing: (Prowl)
So I called my mom today.

Seiber: Hey, mom.
Seibermom: Hi! *off to the side* It's Seiber!
Seiber: I need to get Seibro's phone number. Do you have it?
Seibermom: Oh. Sure. *gives number* *off to the side* It's Seiber and she wants Seiberbro's phone number.
Seiber: Thanks!
Seibermom: You know, you really hurt my feelings.
Seiber: ...what?
Seibermom: It was my birthday today and you didn't even call.
Seiber: ...oops. *awk~ward*

And the worst part is I'd just sent off her card a few hours ago. I knew it was her birthday and I was still a dolt about it. Bah.

*considers going downtown for more presents. And maybe flowers. Or something*
seiberwing: (Snowgirl)
I seem to have fallen into a mental circular rut. The process goes like so:

1. I am a horrible person. I take up space, waste the resources of others, and produce nothing
2. I feel awful because I am a horrible person. My life sucks.
3. That's not right. I have a great life. So many people have it worse than me.
4. The world has a bunch of horrible things in it.
5. I should look at them, because only bad people close their eyes to the world.
6. I don't want to look at them because they are depressing.
6. Go to 1.

The problem is evident. I hate depression spells. *goes to pick out birthday present for Mom*
seiberwing: (iSki)
I'm about at my wit's end. I have my fiction final draft due Wednesday and I have...nothing. I have what could be considered a first scene. I have the pickings of the beginning of a second scene(let). I have a very good grasp on the characters and their backgrounds.

I have no story.

Mom recommended finding some problem for them to deal with. She made a bunch of suggestions and I immediatly closed the IM window (yes, I trained my mom to use IM) before I could read any of it, then sent a new message to continue the conversation. I love my mom and she writes well, but I don't want her ideas ideas polluting (in the nicest possible way, Mom, if you're reading this) mine. I just don't have any ideas.

It's not like I haven't been trying. I've been thinking over it since before Thanksgiving, banging my head on the wall trying to think of what they should do. All they've managed to do is have a few conversations and then part ways. Nothing happens. I've even tried throwing werewolves at them and all it does is get campy.

I'm no good at this. I've never written any non-fanfic piece that was any more than a single scene or scene description. I've got a perfectly good beginning of a story sitting in my hard drive, but I can't submit it now. I've got nothing.

I need to go get myself together and go into town for holiday presents. I'll be back later.
seiberwing: (iSki)
Warning, gratitous depression ahead. If you want happy things, go over to the [livejournal.com profile] mecha_erotica contest and vote on the hottest bit of hotness.

Who the heck angsts to /A Most Peculiar Man/, anyway? I mean, we don't even have gas around here to turn on and then go to sleep with. )
seiberwing: (Default)
Gah.

What is it with me tonight? First I'm a rude-ass bitch for not replying to 'Boots, and now I can't think of anything to write for creative writing class. Anything. I've been thinking on it for two goddamn days.

*groan* Why is it that every time I get a prompt I wind up having no clue what to do with it until the night before? At least all the other times I had something thought up by ten at night, even if it was crap. For this one, I have nothing. At all.

*beats head on keyboard* THINK, DAMNIT.
seiberwing: (WTF?)
[18:12] Elnphant88: my foot's asleep
[18:13] SpidergirlV: *gives it an alarm clock*
[18:13] Elnphant88: lol
[18:14] SpidergirlV: brb
[18:14] Elnphant88: ok
[18:35] Elnphant88:

I don’t know if you have been told but [name of a girl in BBG] had a seizure in the shower this morning and died. Just wanted you to know…
[18:40] SpidergirlV: ........
[18:40] SpidergirlV: Holy fucking shit.
[18:41] Elnphant88: i know
[18:41] Elnphant88: apparently she had suffered from seizures since they moved here

[18:41] SpidergirlV: Oh god. What happened? Just a seizure?
[18:43] Elnphant88: i guess...between the seizure and the shower
[18:43] SpidergirlV: Oh god. I had no idea.



Yeah. Blow to the face and a kick in the nuts. She was one of the nicer BBGers.
seiberwing: (What? I would.)
The worms crawl in
The worms crawl out
The worms play pinochle
On your snout.


I was in the arboretum back home with my mom on Monday and coming back to the car I notice something was missing, in that odd way that you know that something isn't right but have no clue what.

After searching for a bit, I noticed one of the pear trees was cut down. My pear tree. The one with a plaque saying it was planted just a few days after my birthday, the one that I used to hug every time I went to the arboretum. I stared at the stump for a few seconds, then sat down on it and cried.

I know it was diseased and probably needed taking down before it infected anything else, but still...it was my tree. It just doesn't seem fair that the tree should die before I did.
seiberwing: (Default)
Why is it that whenever I have a sunny, peaceful weekend afternoon that I might not have anything to do with (stupid buses not running on Sundays) but am still enjoying, that something happens and makes it so the rest of my day consists of either fighting off the next crying jag or being in the middle of one. And if I had nothing to do with my friends before, I certainly can't go out with them now, not in this condition.

*spends the day sitting around with her laptop, despite it being perfect to be outside in and doing things with people* I feel like I should be doing something else, or at least homework. But I can't work myself up to it.
seiberwing: (AirRLY)
The facts, as they stand:

1. My phone is missing.
2. My phone is turned off, as the only thing I can get is my voice mail; it does not ring. I did not turn the phone off myself.
3. The last time I saw it was last night, and by noon it was not in evidence.
4. My suitemate's phone is also missing, prompting thoughts of theft.
5. Nothing else of value was missing from my room, making the theft theory hold less water.
6. It is neither with campus security, nor the lost and found.
7. I'm completely fucked if I can't find it, both with lack-of-phone and explaining yet another loss of a valued item to my parents.
8. If I'm really the one who lost it, I suck.

Any ideas? I'd like to exercise all options before telling parents.

EDIT: The phone has been found! Oddly enough, it was in an obscure pocket of my backpack buried under a buttload of random stuff. But still! Awesomeness!
seiberwing: (What? I would.)
I really hate these days.

They're usually beautiful days that I spend inside for one reason or another, mostly because I don't want to go outside my room. I do homework and get distracted, every creative work turns to ash(see? Bad metaphor) and is deleted, every little embarrassing thing I do makes me want to crawl under the covers and never come out again or touch the internet. I hate it, but it just happens on some days. Every once in a while it'll even get me crying and then I feel even stupider.

Maybe I should go for a walk or something.
seiberwing: (That's Just Prime)
Just...screw my creative writing teacher.

I made a teensy bit of criticism of one person's imagery piece, and he tells me that we're just supposed to offer our 'observations'.

"But I was just offering my observations that there was a contradiction there. The car had 'gone through hell and back' in one paragraph and 'had just a few dents' in another. There's no need to get on my case about that."

"We'll have a big talk after class."

Gah. He's a superior git, is what he is. He said that he'd be the only one giving crit for a long while (not that he seems to even be paying attention to what we do) because we 'are trying to foster a trusting enviroment' and 'we do not know enough about writing yet'. One girl in the class has written a damn novel, I think we know what we're doing.

And then, just when I think I'm over it, I come home to this (name removed to protect the innocent):

--I just wanted to get back to you one more time after our conversation this afternoon. After our talk, I went to the chair of Literature and Language and spoke to her about our exhange. She gave me her full support with this.

There is absolutely no room in this class for your rude remarks such as "There's no need to jump on my case about it" Or the last thing you said as you walked out the door which was, "When you talk to me, talk to me like a human being."

These are rude and immature remarks and there's absolutely no room in my class for this. Your attitude and your rude remarks interrupt and take energy away from the class. I don't have time for them.

Perhaps I didn't make it clear enough to you that I wanted exclusively positive comments from class members on each other's work. I will be willing to give you another chance as far as that's concerned. However, it is totally unacceptable for you to be saying that I talk down to you when I address you as I would any other student.

I am the teacher and as the teacher I set the rules and I expect them to be followed with respect and willingness. That's not to say I don't want student participation and response. The class is full of wonderful and thoughtful response, and I've seen that you are quite capable of that kind of response yourself.

So if you show up in my classroom next Wednesday, I expect you to be polite, thoughtful and attentive. To not respond to any critique I may have of your response to someone's work. I expect you to refrain from any "comebacks" or rude replies. If you are unable to meet those conditions, unable to practice such restraint, then I think, and the chair of the department said this as well, that it would be a very good idea for you to drop the class.

If you would just let me know that you received this.

Otherwise, I need no other response. If you show up in class, then I'll know you accept my conditions.


Bastard. I'm waiting a bit to respond, so I can calm down and not start crying again. How are we supposed to learn this way?

Edit: Well, I'm talking to my writer mom on the subject, to whom I sent a copy of this post. And she being the person who raised me, said: Seiber, he's got a point. He's the teacher and you were the one being an idiot here for talking back to him and being so rude. I'm wondering if I should try and go back so as not to get on anyone's bad side and still get creative writing class. It'll involve a lot of ass-kissing, but...

Son of Edit: I'm putting the issue on hold until tomorrow when I'm a little calmer. Now I honestly don't know what to do.
seiberwing: (Default)
I feel like someone kicked me off a cliff and told me to start flapping. I don't know anyone here (besides Price) and it's very hard to have to make new friends now. I'm having to simply walk up to people or groups and start up a conversation with no prior introduction and it scares the hell out of me. I'm not a social person, really. It makes me just want to hide in my dorm with my laptop the whole day.
seiberwing: (WTF?)
Not as if I was going to see it before, as it looked moronic, but Will Ferrell slash is simply not my cup of energon.

I'd like to know where my self-esteem went; it's taken a bit of a vacation and left me wonderng if everyone is secretly annoyed by me for one reason or another. This is a rather unhappy feeling and results in far too many anxiety dreams and the need to apologize for every single thing I've ever said or done.

Also, get a life already, girl. Was it not bad enough that you ended up on i_wank?
seiberwing: (WTF?)
My latest attempt at treating my ADD is called Provigil. It's a stimulant that affects my central nervous system, activating bits of my brain that aren't usually hooked up to each other, or hooked up as well. At least, that's the summary I got out of Mom.

Actually, was called Provigil, as I'm not going to touch the stuff anymore. See, about three days ago I finally took the dosage up to 400 mg/day. And now I'm highly regretting it.

I'm a doof for not paying more attention to my reactions and noticing the symptoms earlier. I had a lot of trouble sleeping despite being exhausted, I was sweating more, being overly nervous, and having mood swings that Galvatron would be proud of (Dear Mom: I am *so* sorry about putting you through that), plus having to get a drink every 30 minutes or so.

Today it all came crashing in on me. Had to leave work after two and a half ours there because my stomach was upset, my throat felt like it was closing up, and for various more side effects that made me feel like I wanted to go curl up in a corner. Even driving home was a bit of a struggle on account of feeling like I was going to drift off into Dreamland and the curb at any moment.

I should be all right tomorrow if I just ride this thing out, having none of the more serious side effects listed for the drug (minus a mild bit of fever)but damn. This is not a happy thing I am dealing with now.
seiberwing: (Default)
Random non-specific interwebs thoughts. )

In other news, the Alexis/Starscream bunnies are back. With swords.

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