What to say?

You would think that in three months I'd have had some thought come to mind worthy of this online journal space. But there isn't. No life changing events, no stories of overcoming or going under. Life has remained on an even tilt. That's what has driven me into grand seclusion. I will admit that a lot of the extra time I used to spend waiting in the groups hoping, praying someone would respond to a post so I could respond to that response has gone to World of Warcraft. But even in that new arena of social usurption (no, not a real word) I find many of the same issues arising and I have come to realize that, unlike the doctor says, it's not me. I choose to think differently (using Apple's old slogan) but that doesn't make me wrong. It only takes a little time of working around a group of doctors before you realized this world is socially fucked. The societal hierarchy is set in stone it seems and no one will help me shatter the pillars we all have set it up on. I don't want to say some of us are elitist, thinking we are better than others. I don't want to use it because I find myself believing that way some times. Not like the bigot asshole I work with I have to hear call every woman "suge" or "babe" and keep referring to Obama as "Hussein." But there are times I just want to scream at the world "wake up, open your eyes and minds, we don't have to be hippies to get the fuck along." And yet a doctor will tell a nurse your department is incorrect and worthless and then treat the patient for the diagnosis you reported. And the old asshole in the Cadillac believes you owe him something because he has money. It's a conundrum that confounds me so much that even nude alternative girls haven't been enough to ease the pain of living. Sadly, for that sentiment and the loss of my "need" for the group forums here I am considering dropping my subscription. When it takes you three weeks to finally peruse the "latest" sets you've got to consider that...

What to say?

You would think that in three months I'd have had some thought come to mind worthy of this online journal space. But there isn't. No life changing events, no stories of overcoming or going under. Life has remained on an even tilt. That's what has driven me into grand seclusion. I will admit that a lot of the extra time I used to spend waiting in the groups hoping, praying someone would respond to a post so I could respond to that response has gone to World of Warcraft. But even in that new arena of social usurption (no, not a real word) I find many of the same issues arising and I have come to realize that, unlike the doctor says, it's not me. I choose to think differently (using Apple's old slogan) but that doesn't make me wrong. It only takes a little time of working around a group of doctors before you realized this world is socially fucked. The societal hierarchy is set in stone it seems and no one will help me shatter the pillars we all have set it up on. I don't want to say some of us are elitist, thinking we are better than others. I don't want to use it because I find myself believing that way some times. Not like the bigot asshole I work with I have to hear call every woman "suge" or "babe" and keep referring to Obama as "Hussein." But there are times I just want to scream at the world "wake up, open your eyes and minds, we don't have to be hippies to get the fuck along." And yet a doctor will tell a nurse your department is incorrect and worthless and then treat the patient for the diagnosis you reported. And the old asshole in the Cadillac believes you owe him something because he has money. It's a conundrum that confounds me so much that even nude alternative girls haven't been enough to ease the pain of living. Sadly, for that sentiment and the loss of my "need" for the group forums here I am considering dropping my subscription. When it takes you three weeks to finally peruse the "latest" sets you've got to consider that it isn't worth what it used to be to you. That and I'm 31 this year salivating (when I do peruse) 18 y.o. punk chicks (aka alternative ladies). I remember when a friend of mine came to that realization a couple years ago.


There's one other matter I'll post here for limited prosterity. I drove myself to the ER on the first day of the year due to chest pain and an impending feeling of doom (which is actually a symptom many people have before they have a stroke or heart attack, a feeling of something "not right"). They found nothing wrong with me and the doctor said I need to cut back on caffeine, that he nearly bet that was my problem. He suggest (sounds better than demanded) a follow up with my doctor who only heard one thing I said when I saw her: stress/anxiety. She put me on psych meds. Now understand that she put the stethoscope to me once but otherwise sat on the other side of the room never actually checking me over. She put me on one, didn't do anything. Put me on another that made me feel much worse so I stopped taking it. When I told her she got pissed. And get this, a medical nurse practitioner that never so much as gave me a physical tells me that I NEED to be on SOMETHING. In her "expert" opinion I am depressive with moments of bipolar disorder. Her next move, instead of running more physical tests on me, is to send me for a psych eval.

I am not crazy. Yes I'm depressed. I have tried to be myself, I have tried to fit into the world and neither worked. That doesn't mean I'm crazy. Since everyone likes to self diagnose let me take a gander at it: if I got laid and had a friend to brag about it too I believe my problems would be solved. But there is no girl that crossed the threshold of indifference with me. No friend besides the one who wants my money (not that I have money, just more than him). Having gone to school and being stuck doing a deadend job not in my field doesn't help either.

So imagine that. I am crazy because all I need out of this world is a good woman, a friend, and a feeling of doing something worthwhile. Lock me the fuck up, I don't need to be roaming the streets.

Oh, along with the above, I need a competent medical practitioner to take the time to find out what is wrong with me, for there is something going wrong. May not be heart or thyroid; I know for a fact that my mind works perfectly... in a, uh, manic-depressive artistic sort of way.