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2020-07-24 01:59:09 (UTC)


"No Glory in the West" by Oliver Peck

July 24, 2020 Friday 2:00 AM

Caffeine only functions in my body when it is least convenient, i.e. right now, when I am hypothetically exhausted but really awake and enduring a headache that was only vaguely softened by the Excedrin I took earlier (hence the caffeine) which, ironically, I took so late because night time is usually when my headaches get worse and I wanted to sleep but the pain was distracting (I haven't been getting enough sleep). Anyway, fast-forward and I'm tired but wired, having just spent about 4~ish hours horizontal (not counting the half an hour I spent downstairs reading Jane Austin's Emma at around midnight in an attempt to coax sleepiness into my eyes).

Bad memories bobbed up. Even good ones turned bad. Find myself disgusting in the details, it is interesting. All these things swirling in my head—guilt and humiliation and shame and worry and fear and all of those are slightly different things and there were probably more varieties of the blanket term "anxiety" but honestly who cares. The point is I was thinking a lot and my head hurts and it hurt to lie down. My head has been hurting since July 21. It's a bit chilly right now. It was very humid today, so I'm glad for the change.

My hair is lighter. I bleached it yesterday at around 5 PM. I had a lot of anxiety about that too because I asked my mom to do it because when I did it last week it came out patchy since I had a hard time with the back which made me rush on the front (I think the real problem is that I was less meticulous about measuring the ratio of bleach to developer). I don't trust anyone to do anything of any significance to me, so it was nerve wracking. I felt like she could not be slower. It was agonizing. My hair is still a bit uneven, but it looks better except for a patch on the back of my head, but the whole point of lightening my hair (I'm at a level 4 or 5, from my original hair level of 3—so not a crazy different or anything, but definitely noticeable. Almost lighter than my eyes now. I like it when my hair matches my eyes, it makes me look brighter)—anyway, the whole point of lightening my hair was so I could dye it in a week or two (plum), and I have to use developer for that process too, which will probably lift a bit more brown (but not much—I feel that my hair really holds on to its color).

I don't know why but even though I showered at like 7 PM my hair is still damp, and I can't tell if that's because 1) it is humid 2) there is still some coconut oil in it (I used it as a protective measure both before and during the bleaching process) or 3) my hair is very thick. It is perhaps all three, but I especially hope it is not #2 because I don't want to have to wash my hair again tomorrow. This is why I don't usually put coconut oil in my hair.

What do I have to do to sink out of reality and become a fake-person or a wall and just sit there doing nothing in the Sims, empty-headed empty-hearted perfectly content in my non-humanity. Oblomovite. Maybe that's why I liked reading that book (we only read the first half in my Russian Novel class but I enjoyed it very much). His lethargy is something I deeply relate to, and it is a trait of mine that I loathe. Sloth. What is the noun for sloth. Slothity? The sin of Slothity? Or is sloth itself the noun describing extreme laziness. I don't know.

Anyway I think I should be a ghost and not a person. Like, a kind of whisper. Or I meant wisp. But I hope I'm empty as a ghost, not the same thing but like... bodiless. I want to be kind of empty, occupied by everything else and not myself, and lacking any needs and therefore being free to just sort of exist without existing. Like, without impression. That's my pitch, is that I should be a ghost. What do you think. Will you please offer me this position.

I am surprised that I have been enjoying Emma. I typically don't like 19th century novels because I hate the flowery language and all the propriety and customs. I feel much too removed and alien from that environment and it doesn't interest me. All the struggles of stratified society and all that. It's not that those days are over, but at least here, it is not the same and I fail to make the meaningful connection between Then and Now beyond the vague notion that it has some sort of bearing on Today, blah blah blah. But Emma is cool. Emma Woodhouse is a really interesting and fun character, and I am really hoping to see some romance develop towards her (I have a strrrronnng suspicion that Mr. Elton do be likin' her and she's oblivious, thinking he is so in love with Harriet; I laughed because it reminded me of the exact same situation I saw in one of CallMeKevin's GTA videos with Grognak the Destroyer or whatever. Essentially, it is a series of videos on this GTA thing with a bunch of other people and they're all really committed to the RPG, with surprisingly amusing outcomes, especially given CallMeKevin's tendency towards oddly innocent trolling. Anyway it was good, but I thought it funny that this kind of situation occurs over and over again, in old novels, in fanfictions, and in fucking Let's Plays lmao).

I can't believe I've ranted so much about nothing. When I started writing this I thought I might try to write about my environment, all the frog sounds and the rain. But no.

I think I'm done. I have work tomorrow at 10:30 AM and, because my mom has to go to work at around 9:45 and I need her to give me a ride, that means I need to be up in like 7 hours. Basically, I'm destined to be tired, which sucks because I also have to finish up an edit that I'm really anxious about.

I wish I wouldn't be so nervous and sensitive about everything. I keep remembering this thing my dad said a few weeks ago, about how if a medication eventually stops working due to some sort of developed tolerance, then that's probably because it is only treating a symptom and not a root cause, and that struck me very much. We weren't talking about me, we were talking about people with migraines who got treated with L-DOPA. But you know me. Can't help reading into the implications, can't help refracting a dumb phrase into something bigger, whether or not it applies. Inexplicably a bit guilty and worried, like if this doesn't work, then the problem is somewhere else and I think I know where it is—

Lancelot used the word "obsessive" again to describe my thought patterns and I went on another brief and fairly controlled webMD hunt (not necessarily using WebMD but you know the vibe); reading up on some subsets of OCD and all that. Also I looked at some of my medical records (only some because my primary care physician doesn't seem to have anything beyond her own records). Apparently I have (mild) Major Depressive Disorder and an "unspecified anxiety disorder." I don't know if this is my latest diagnosis, but I certainly find it jarring, because I never thought of my depression as anything beyond symptomatic, and I think I'm right. I'm not depressed by some inherent chemical deficiency, but rather it usually comes as a violent reaction to my anxiety, which is the primary stressor in my life. Also, I thought I remembered seeing Generalized Anxiety Disorder on my record from the psychiatric hospital, although I guess that was a long long time ago. But also I thought my psychiatrist in my senior year of HS said I had GAD. I think maybe my doctor just doesn't know what's up with me, which gives me some unspecified nerves; why is it not required for doctors to communicate with one another?

I am desperate to know my diagnosis. I don't know why. I wonder if I want to know so I can feel worse, or if I want an identity. Id and entity. The manifestation of instinct or I dunno, I'm not a psychology person.

I don't like my primary care physician; she is one of those doctors, where I get the sense that she thinks she knows how to help me, but *I* know she doesn't know me or respect the problems I have, and to her I'm just another kid with anxiety; and to her, the anxiety is a result of the external reacting with my own weak mental constitution or something.

I know I am naturally wary and defensive when it comes to doctors. They make me nervous because I think they often don't believe you when you say something is wrong. And when they finally do see something is wrong, they find the wrong part of it. Like the lady who diagnosed me with bipolar disorder NOS, and the nurse practitioner who kept treating me for bipolar disorder for like 3 years without a follow-up screening, and my old primary care physician who didn't seem to understand that I wasn't a child anymore, etc. etc. Or even Pat, who I feel was too permissive a therapist, although I do remember now that we didn't have much of a chance to work together, given my parents neglect of my mental health (i.e. failing to bring me to appointments/frequently forgetting—a general lack of engagement with my well-being in general beyond the basics. But I have mostly worked out my anger about those things).

I have pretty good doctors now but sometimes I still feel that none of them know anything real about me and they're all just throwing random shit at the dark hole in my brain. I have a big ego when it comes to my own stuff. Know myself and as a result know no one else. There's a Car Seat Headrest lyric of the same sentiment, but I can't remember it exactly. I think I know everything. I'm just ... I almost said I'm just a dumb 18 year old but then I remembered I'm 21 lol. This being-at-home shit is probably bordering on being unhealthy at this point, what with the forgetting-I'm-not-a-teenager-and-I-don't-need-to-be-afraid-of-the-things-and-people-from-high-school thing, so it's good I move into my apartment next month.

Okay, for real this time, I should do something else. I am dreading waking up exhausted in the morning. My scalp feels cold from the dampness of my hair. I'm starting to get tired and my head feels a bit better now.

PS: I keep seeing that someone is looking at my monthly playlists on here and I wonder why. I thought it was unintentional at first but I've been seeing the reads for awhile now. So, hello. Do you listen to the music? You should shoot me a message! Unless it's some kind of weird fluke with the site and no one's actually reading it. Or if you don't want to. But I'm really interested in knowing why you'd wanna look at it, if you happen to exist. I always kept track for the purpose of hoarding information, I never expected anyone to click it, lol.