I just did a shit ton of proactive…action, for this upcoming semester. Mostly, I should have done it like 2 weeks ago but instead, I’m doing it Lucy-style: 3 days before the semester starts. I’m kind of an idiot sometimes. But, but! I did think through buying textbooks and plan on purchasing them for super cheap on Amazon. I fully promote this idea! Can I get paid for it though, that would be great? Oh! Speaking of being paid, I got a job! I need to review my nicknames for people on here, cause everyone has a Batman/Bruce Wayne identity. For now, we shall call them…The Sitters. They have a 6-week-old that will need a part-time nanny while Mother and Father cart off to work. And I was chosen! They were very thorough in their “investigation” of me but I got the job! I saw them yesterday and did a bit of training: knowing what soothes her, changing diapers (though I didn’t much need that one, I totes know how to do that), and finding things around the house. It’s still going to be a learning process but it’s exciting to know what’s ahead of me. Wow. I never thought an adventure into the unknown would be…exciting. That’s like a normal-people word, not one used by…us. It feels weird on my tongue and honestly, it’s going to take some getting used to. School is the same way. I’m looking forward to it because summer always tends to feel a bit too long around this time. Like, you just want to get the year over with but it refuses to die, keeps taking these straggling breaths. I made it through, though. Without muddling, because that was what I was about to type. No, I made it through. There were challenges, like my vacation, but it was still fun. Anyway, back to school. The only thing I’m dreading is my schedule. I think the course load will be refreshing and interesting, as these are classes I’ve never even heard about. I’m hoping it will refresh the subject some because hearing the same thing about Freud is exhausting sometimes. And then I get all implosive and apply unnecessary theories to my life. I know, I know, that’s just what undergraduate psychology students do, but it doesn’t mean it’s fun…or helpful. Though last night, Freud and I came to a certain conclusion. I wrote in my pen-and-paper journal, something I haven’t done since like 2013, because I’ve posted here instead. I wasn’t sure I was ready to share what I wrote but I needed it out. I had to draw from the source and disperse the confusion and potential undoing onto something else. And it helped. I even used the word “healthy coping skills” in the entry. But I was talking about my body image issues. Freud believed that patients with mental illness could never be cured, we (as in psychologists and the psychological community) could only help them manage the symptoms. The bend in their rod would never straighten, and would only continue to warp as time continued, especially if they did not receive help. Well, I don’t agree with Freud on many things, mostly because, as he was an intelligent and innovative man, he based a lot of his theories on absolutely nothing. This theory though…I enjoy this one. I think it makes perfect sense. Mental illness as a whole is an intelligent and cunning creature. It takes on the presence of bipolar or depression, anxiety or PTSD, and ravages your brain, your body, your life. Then, after you’ve bravely faced every battle, every bout, and came out the other side just a bit dingy, worse for wear but alive all the same, it does something unexpected. It changes it’s identity. Like a good spy, it disappears into the folds of your brain tissue to recuperate and find another source of insecurity, doubt or fear. And then? Then, it attacks, revitalized and just as destructive, if not more so. See, this new manifestation has a special talent of raising things from the dead. Particularly, it’s former identity. So once you’ve battled and beaten the initial illness, taken afternoon tea, and slept, you turn around and are facing a new but oddly familiar enemy. Eating disorders, panic disorder, agoraphobia; they serve as a new mask for the same villain, the one you just FRACKING beat into submission. I hope that tea was good, because now you have to worry about a whole new army, one that you are not trained and too weary to fight against. That’s what’s happening to me. I was diagnosed first with depression: check, battle won. I was then diagnosed with bipolar: check, forever ongoing but for now, managed. I was diagnosed with CRPS (I know, not mental but has a strong mental component): check, acceptance is key. But now, my symptoms manifest around food. I can’t eat without feeling extremely guilty. I keep track of my bowel movements and know if I eat more than i should use my super-laxative to make sure the calories are removed. And intellectually, I know that isn’t how it works. Weight loss is a struggle, as everything is in life, but it takes discipline, not psychosis. Then, after worrying and worrying, I have visions of a near future as an inpatient…again. That cannot happen. I’m not saying I will stop fighting, at least at this particular moment, but like Napoleon leaving Russia, I’m tired. I need to learn to control my brain, and to stop this nonsense once and for all. But then I think of good, ol’ Sig. What if Siggy was right and there is no way to undo the damage that has been caused? Like some kind of psychological storm, the very infrastructure of my psyche is too worn to be salvaged, and must be left as a bent pile of rebar, exquisitely ugly. I mean, part of the interest in all of this is trying to decide where this stuff came from. Was my brain warped in womb, or was it because of a series of unfortunate events? (I love that series; so excited for the Netflix version!) The theories and backstories of these individuals is beautiful and mysterious and it sucks me in every single time. But, is it all for naught? Knowing yourself, knowing who you truly are has not served anyone but Buddha well. I mean, to even survive in this world, I truly believe people are forced to kill off a part of themselves. It’s like some weird ritual, some weird sacrifice made to the gods that comes from within you. I want to hold onto my whole being though. I don’t want to enter the adult world if it means I have to lose the child I was/am. That seems to be my problem. Like, Freud thought his patients could never be cured. What if it’s because they were born different from the start, and in combination with a series of misfortunes, their inability to cope…oh my God, patients with mental illness are mutants. That’s it. Works for me. I’ve always wanted to be a part of X-Men. And make out with Hugh Jackman. Yea, that’s pretty much the only reason actually. I’ve shared theories like this before, where being “ill” and more enlightened than the majority of the population is frowned upon and shameful, but those like me refuse to let go, and that’s what makes us fucking awesome. I just feel like with the constant manifestations of symptoms, despite my knowledge and slowly, weakly built internal structure and system, is not because I’m causing them, not because somehow I want any of this. I think something is wrong with me. Something that can’t be fixed, cured, or completely abated. I think, like CRPS, it’s just a part of me, my cross to bear, and shall always be.