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I wanted to just vent a bit tonight if you do not mind. But I do want to add a "Trigger Warning" to those of you who are reading this. I will be adding these to my blog posts now, whenever I feel they are necessary. PLEASE do not hesitate to ask me to add them to posts that you feel need them. I know how important they are. TRIGGER WARNING: OCD, MPD, DID, Anxiety, Depression and Mental Illness Mental Illnesses.....So drastically misunderstood by so many that it baffles your very soul to see others laugh in the face of other peoples' suffering. To watch in full willingness to the pain and frustration of someone close to you, and either do nothing to help or do the exact opposite, unknowingly endangering that person's wellbeing or state of mind. I see it every day, to be rather honest with you. It saddens me greatly. Not only because it is being done to others that I care about, or even strangers that I do not fully know, but also because I too suffer from both the ignorance of others and Mental Illness. By now the fact of my Multiple Personality Disorder are rather clear. It is the reasons behind most of my blog posts. But other illnesses also play an important role in my daily life, along with the daily life of my 'siblings' or 'headmates'. My host and dear brother holds record, so it seems, for to most 'labels' that I can even imagine. Including but not limited to OCD, MPD (obviously), social anxiety, emotional anxiety, depression, claustrophobia, Bipolar disorder, and more. I myself can only self diagnose considering my situation, being that some doctors may not even see me as a factual person but rather an imaginary manifestation of the mind. From what I have found of myself and what I have researched (I assure you, I am not a WebMD sort of man.) I can say with honest conviction that I do suffer from OCD, light situational Depression, Claustrophobia and perhaps anxiety. I say perhaps because it may just be situation demanding. Situation being high mentally tasking situations such as large crowds, lots of talking--things that would prompt a large sensory overload. Again, this is only self diagnosis. But the sheer ignorance that people show who are not afflicted by such disorder is beyond....upsetting to say the least. The other day while I were on duty at work, I stopped the vehicle and saw two young girls mocking and laughing at a young man who was busy fixing his shirt. Apparently he had somehow missed a button on his shirt and the whole thing were crooked. Some people would just chuckle and correct it with a shrug of their shoulders, being no more daunting a task that retying your shoe. But to him, this was a drastic catastrophe that needed correcting immediately. The fact that his shirt were uneven and incorrect drove him to such a measure that he whipped off his shirt right there in the 23F winter weather, shivering and embarrassed, fixing his buttons as if it would save his very life. And they laughed.....They giggled and patted his shoulder and told him he was silly. He was obsessed. That he needed to "chill out" that it was "just a shirt". You see these types of situations everywhere. Not too long ago, during the summer shift changes, Ren were working at the bar instead of on patrol. He rather enjoys this switch, as the constant interaction of people helps him to overcome his social anxiety--but with the very important detail of having a very wide counter-top between him and the customers. This very important but seemingly silly detail makes the whole situation tolerable for him. Something about having that mandatory, unavoidable space between him and another person is the only reason that he can stand it at all. His coworkers chuckled and said he would be fine without the counter, not really fully understanding the need for such things. Of course, you cannot blame them or be angry either. Those who do not experience war, cannot understand the terror of a gunshot. As another example, you have the situation of repeated notions. Tourettes Syndrome. People usually associate the condition of Tourettes with swearing uncontrollably, but do not realize that these 'ticks' can be a very vast variety of symptoms. It may be constant sneezing, twitches, blinking constantly, lip biting, giggling at bad times---all these things can be symptoms of Tourettes. Ren also suffers from Tourettes Syndrome through the tick of 'cheek chewing'. He continuously chews on the insides of his cheeks, creating what can only be described as 'reversed Joker Scars'. It is subconscious and, at most times, unavoidable. The best solution we've been given thus far is 'chewing gum' to chew on instead of the cheeks. Of course, it comes with the downside of damage to your teeth and developing cavities. But with the alternative to possible mouth cancer from the damages to your cheeks---I suppose that is the best choice. But it amazes me how many people have told him "just stop doing it". Ha! If only it were that simple. "Just stop doing it" Its a phrase that people like us hear often. "People have it so much more worse than you do. Just cheer up". That is as effective as cutting off your pinkie and saying "Other people have done something worse. Just stop hurting already." Society has planted this idea in our minds that others have it so much worse, so much more drastic and emergent that we are forced to assume that it's really not that bad. That the person who is 'complaining' about their situation can simply 'suck it up' and move on. You do not realize how much courage it took for them to admit their pain, only to be told that their agony is invalid and unworthy of mentioning or sympathy. Perhaps they dont even want your sympathy but rather your understanding and perhaps some encouragement to endure and prosper. So many many times I have heard "so much more worse than". When Ren admitted to someone that he was struggling with cutting himself and that although the wounds were not deep, it hurt and it was addictive. The response he received? "I know someone who did it a lot worse than you. They needed stitches." Oh, I apologize...I did not realize that pain and suffering were also a competition. Pardon me while I try to outdo the damage done.... I'm not sure exactly where I am going with this blog aside from just a bit of venting. To get these thoughts off my chest and onto the screen. Perhaps to share my insight on how I feel about these situations and..perhaps even put the thoughts that others are having as well. Afterall, it can be very relieving and gratifying to know that your thoughts are also the thoughts of others. In my own situation --that actually prompted this blog---is my OCD. This is a post that I wrote upon my facebook wall. "Over Compulsive Disorder. OCD can be very difficult to live with at times. Yes, I will organize the simplest of things. No, you will not find a mixmatched storage chest in my Minecraft game. Yes, I count every single block of that house I built to ensure it is all even. No, you will not find a window that does not match the opposing wall. Or a door that is not centered. And yes, I will destroy the entire set if it is uneven. No, it is not funny. We cannot help these things....But sometimes it takes just a push from others to make it much worse. You may reorganize my things just for the fun of it, and I may smile and laugh when you shake your head at my desperation to rearrange them. You may think me crazy because I NEED things just so, or that I'm just obsessed with keeping things in a pattern. You may shrug and see it as no big deal if I realize that the pattern of the design in which I am coloring is not even, but it drives me mad. I can spend hours working on a mandala, setting the colors just so---and realize that though I've been doing one color every other flower and realize...there arent enough and I lost count--I would rather tear that paper and start anew than shrug it off. I cannot look at it. I cannot 'ignore' it. This is what OCD is. It is not funny. It is not something to giggle at. It may be funny to watch me scurry about and rearrange my things the way I need them to be, but to me, it is agonizing. My brain CAN NOT settle or relax until it is fixed. It will pester my mind all day, whisking away any sense of focus or settlement until I know that it has been corrected. It baffles me how amusing OCD is to people who do not suffer from it.Please, if you know someone suffering from OCD--even if you dont understand it---do not torment them. Do not move their things. Do not rearrange their items because it is amusing to YOU to watch them fix it. They may laugh, they may smile and giggle at how foolish they look---but it is only because they are embarassed. We know it is not normal. Thank you for reminding us of how weird we look or act. Certainly that will correct everything, yes?Please, be considerate.Just because OCD is an invisable disease...it does not mean we do not suffer." I suppose I will end here, now that I have vented a bit. I seem to have gotten all, or most, of my thoughts down thus far. I suppose the moral of this post is.....be kind. You may not see what they are suffering from, and you may not understand why or how they feel the way they do. But that does not give you a right to judge them by their faults. Help if you can. Be sympathetic or sensative to their situations, not amused or disgusted.Believe me, if they could help it...the situation wouldnt even arise. -Alexandru Sidenote: I have finished more mandalas and I will post them in an upcoming blog post. (Along with the colorings of the others)
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So, my therapist had me do a project. Well, ex-therapist. I quit her, but I never did the project. Decided to do it tonight. She wanted me to write about how I felt with my 'conditions.' Here ya go. These Things "Imagine a desert. No beginning and no ending. Nothing in sight but sand and an occasional breeze. It’s humid and agonizingly hot, every breeze that wanders through only seems to increase the heat. Every direction in which you wander only seems to send you in the same looping circles, though you cannot tell because there are no markers and no footprints. Nothing to occupy you while you wander aimlessly and afraid. You feel no thirst in this desert. No hunger in your belly. But instead of these things, you instead suffer such an overwhelming sense of failure that nothing seems worthwhile. Every step you take is agony. Your feet burn from the sand, yet you cannot bare to stand in one spot for too long, fearing you may scream from the pain. Yet it doesn’t matter, because every scream that escapes your lips is silent. Every wail and cry is unheard in this vast and seemingly empty desert of sand and dune. No one can hear your grief. No one can comfort your fear. Ghosts only occupy your mind, though they whisk away as nothing but sand with empty and concerned eyes. There seems to comfort from this burning hell, and nothing seems to comfort and relieve you. It is as if you’re burning apart from the inside out, turning hollow and dark. You think you see shadows of guests in your own personal hell, but alas, they only turn away and disappear into the dunes. Mirages, simply put there to make you hope before making you weep. There seems to be no escape, yet you’re not even sure how you got there to begin with. All you can do is wander, and wait, and hope that someone somewhere will rescue you. These things are Depression. Imagine that you are within a room. It is a tiny room, to be honest. This tiny room has only four walls of a bland grey, the floor covered in broken and cracked tiles of unidentified color. Should you know this color? Have you forgotten this color? The ceiling is low against you. So low that it actually forces you to remain laid down upon that floor, curled up in an uncomfortable position, struggling to find relief from this frustrating situation. No position seems to help, and every part of your body hurts from the attempts to find one. Not only can you find no comfort, but from places unknown, noise vibrates through these walls. These grey, oddly crowding walls. Are they shrinking? Have they gotten shorter? Perhaps you should have noticed this. Have you gone crazy? These noises make no sense. They jumble together like spilt scrabble pieces, making no sense but reaching you nevertheless. Screams inaudible. Nails upon chalk, a pounding like hundreds of hammers against your little walls. Wailing for unknown ailments, furious yelling as though angry creatures stalk for you. Should you remain quiet? Or are they here to help you? No, you remain quiet. Perhaps it is best. The noises never dull. They never quit, and they never quiet. Unyielding and demanding, these sounds pester and frighten you in your little box. You need something—anything—to lock out those taunting walls and frightening noises. Anything to make it stop, even if just for a moment to offer you repreave. Yet…you dare not move. You dare not breathe. They might hear you. They might tear apart your walls and discover you. Every scream seems to be your name. Every angry cuss feels as though it were directed at you. Every wail seems to be of your cause, filling you with despair. And among these things, the whispers can be heard. Are they mocking you? Perhaps. Are they rumors of your existence, spoken either kindly or of ill will? You’ll never know. Are they perhaps just comments of your agony, or broken and weak attributes? Can they see you in that box? Or perhaps they are nothing at all. Perhaps you’ve simply lost your mind. Is this all a game that you’re failing? Regardless, they persist. Should you listen? It hurts to hear their sounds. But what if it is something important? Maybe you should know these things. If only it were all silent, you could perhaps breathe. The tiny confinement limits your air, cutting away your ability to think clearly with all the noise and that agonizing sense of dry drowning. You want to escape. You want to flee as far and as fast as you can. But instead, you have to wait for someone to open your box and let you out. These things are Anxiety. Your day begins as it always does. You don’t remember when exactly you fell asleep the night before. Or what woke you up today, for that matter. Regardless, here you are. You stare at the ceiling in a sense of hopeless ambition, feeling as though you’re sinking. You almost hope you do, actually. To sink down so far that you will never have to come out. Yet, you do. You somehow insist on getting up, beginning to dress yourself. What will you wear? Will you conform to society’s demands, or will you do what makes you feel normal? Let us assume for a moment that society rules today. You wear what they demand, a sense of aching in your chest as you slip into the clothes that they deem appropriate. You feel ridiculous and hideous, yet you endure it. Perhaps you wander to the bathroom and paint on a face that is not yours? Wearing a mask with bold lettering stating “I’m fine”. Perhaps you will do something with your hair. You’re not entirely sure what to do with it, because everything you attempt seems odd and unfamiliar. As if you’re modeling yourself in someone else’s image. Someone you are not, yet….someone you are. They say you are. They insist you are. With a heavy sigh and a broken heart, you wander from your room. Will you work today? Will you go to school today? It all blends together regardless. It feels as though all eyes are on you. Every detail of yourself seems flawed and obvious, and everyone is whispering about it. You are desperate to hide, even if for a moment. This isn’t you….This isn’t who you are…but its only for today. Right….? No, let us instead chose that you decide to be yourself. You set aside those things, and you avoid that mask. It has been put away for now, and you can use your authentic smile and enjoy today. You dress as you wish, and do your hair as you please. Yes, this looks right. This looks pleasing for once. Is that a smile I see? Yes, I think it is, actually. Perhaps today will be fine Perhaps today you will enjoy being out of that bed. But wait…they’re still looking at you. Are they looking even more? I cannot tell, to be honest. But…but wait. Those things you don’t like. They’re hidden, aren’t they? Those things that you wish you could remove yourself, but know it will end you for certain. They cannot be seen can they? But it feels as though everyone sees them. Everyone seems to point, even if not physically. They whisper, they talk, then they giggle. Do they know this is really you? Or do they think this is a mask? Do you blend in, or do you stick out like some freakishly abnormal thumb? Perhaps you will be the mask again tomorrow. Perhaps it is safer. But wait…the mask hurts. But doesn’t this hurt? Nothing seems right. These things are Dysphoria. Today you are happy. Today you have had no cause of alarm, and you’ve found a rather enjoyable time either playing games or spending time with friends. Your smile is priceless, your joy unavoidable. It seems contagious, as if you have gotten the laughing virus and no one is immune to your illness. You find a smile on the faces of others enjoyable, and you thrive on these things. You giggle and you jump around, having a blast and perhaps even singing without shame. You dance as if your mother will be embarrassed, and you have no shame. But wait…what is this? Where did this darkness come from? Your smile disappears. Your chest aches and you can feel your heart sinking. As if it were a literal disease, your heart sinks into your stomach like the titanic and disappears. You look around, and everyone is still smiling. Why wont they stop smiling? All you can think is “stop smiling at me!”. You want it to stop, and its making you furious. What is this feeling? Where has it come from? Nothing had upset you that you can remember. You were so happy five minutes ago. What changed? People will ask you what they did wrong. You have no answer for them, yet somehow it is annoying that they ask. They will ask you ‘are you angry at me?’ and you will struggle to figure that out. Are you angry with them? But weren’t you just happy with them? Did they do something wrong to you, or have they done something that somehow impacted your emotion? You cant even put words to it. It is as if someone has taken your happy. They have taken that little spark in your eyes and put it in a box, and they’re holding it hostage. Perhaps it will come back. You want people to give it back to you, and you want them to understand that they did nothing wrong. But you wish they’d stop asking you what is wrong. You don’t know what is wrong, and it is frustrating to try and figure it out. But wait, what is this emotion now? Are these new things? These things are Bipolar. You have your desk, and it is your own. Your own design, your own order, your own creation. Things are just as you please, and nothing can damage that. You know how things are to be done, and how things will work, and these things make life pleasant. You enjoy your things and your desk, your creations and your order. Yes, your order. The patterns in which you place things, making them as your mind has decided ‘yes, this is right’. You will not understand this order, but you will obey this order. You may try to explain it to others around you, but this is a language that they do not understand. You walk away, pleased with this order. But wait, you come back. Someone has altered your design. They have changed your order. These things are not in their places. Your mind falters like a car out of control, screaming tires and smoke. No, no, no, no! This must be corrected! They have changed things! What has been changed? You cannot decide. No, no, this must not be. These things make your head ache, your heart beat rapidly, your hands sweat and your fingers shake. No, this must not be! You scramble to fix these things. People point and laugh. This is amusing to them. They will alter them later simply to watch you panic once more, though they hardly understand the pain your head feels at this moment. These things must not be so. Your order must persist. Your design must be as it was. Your stomach is in knots, as if this alter of design will cause you harm. As if this change of pace will bring forth a sense of dread unknown to man and misunderstood by all who witness it. Wait…yes…yes, this is better. This is your order. Yes, you have fixed this disaster. You have brought peace to this chaos. You’ve done it! You’ve brought back your order, your design, you have recreated the life in which they have destroyed. Yes, you can breathe now. You can breathe. You can relax. All is well, and all shall remain well. So long as the order is kept… These things are Over Compulsive Disorder. There are more of these things. Perhaps we will speak of these things later. These things have made me tired. Warren G." Also my Mom called me Ren. Kind of a big deal, but I'm still cautious about it. It's not like her to cooperate so well....
