Exhaustion and Coffee

After writing over thirty pages of Supernatural fan fiction and reading page after page of the NIV Bible, I can honestly say my brain feels exhausted. Being a human is so interesting. I am bombarded with opinions nearly every where I go and at every moment, and I can't hide from it if I want to learn. You find out as you grow older, that a lot of the "facts" are really glorified opinions, trusted opinions. Eventually, all I end up believing is what I feel.

The new year is coming up and I have a billion things I want to accomplish, but I'll have to settle for a few. I can't say I didn't accomplish anything this year, but this year was a struggle. My entire mind is imprinted with the image of /J/. I want to forget him, but in my brain he seems so kind and welcoming. In reality, he was anything but.

My biggest goal in life is to take my grandmother to Israel. I think she would appreciate going to the birthplace of Jesus in Bethlehem. And imagine going to Jerusalem! For me, it would be quite the experience as well. My family and I once saw a documentary about Jerusalem narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch, one of my favorite English actors, and I didn't know he had been narrating it until the end of the show.

I take to drinking loads of coffee in these trying times, as it seems to be the only thing that alleviates my tiredness. Not because of the caffeine, I don't drink caffeinated coffee. But because of the flavor, I enjoy the flavor. I drink it with a little sugar and milk. Coffee has such a nice bitter taste, but not so bitter that you want to spit it out.

I have nothing interesting to say, I am too tired.

Ducks

I haven't written in a few days even though it's been my intention to write more often. I want to have records of my own existence, as narcissistic as that is.

Today, I went for a walk. I was proud of myself for doing that because I haven't made any attempt to do any sort of physical activity for a long time. My life isn't a total mess right now, it's a bit down like it usually is, but it's heading up-- isn't it? I hope it is. That's what I'm aiming for.

For now I am just rambling about things that don't make sense. All I can think about is Supernatural the television show and how it's such trash, but I continue watching it. I hate glorifying masculinity, "I drink lots of beer, call women bitches, watch porn, and shoot things". Can you imagine what an improvement society would be if nobody gave men like that the time of day? Or night? Or afternoon? Gender is so tiresome.

Let's talk about yesterday instead. I went with Ulli, Alice and Charlotte to Hillcrest Baptist Church to watch "the Living Christmas Tree". It's basically a tree except a lot of people, about one hundred singers, singing gospel or hymns. It was surprisingly enjoyable.

Afterwards, I went to Waffle House with Haley, Brandon and Joey. I didn't eat anything, I waited until we went to McDonalds' to order my usual: two cheeseburgers, medium fries, medium drink. Possibly over a thousand calories, but it's totally worth it.

We went to Ft. Rucker and drove around, trying to take a walk in the woods. But it seemed like there was an animal in the woods so we decided against it. Or more accurately, I insisted against it because I'm still quite afraid of the dark.

 Anyway, my mom and family went to the park the other day and here's some nice duck pictures.

Chemicals in My Brain

On one of my vacations I forgot my Seroquel. It's an anti-psychotic. I'm not quite psychotic, but I needed it for the day to end properly. At least that's what my doctor thought. My dad was quite perturbed that I did not manage to remember my medication. This shouldn't have been surprising to him though, I always managed to mess things up. If things could go wrong for me, they would go wrong for me. To make matters worse, it was usually my fault.

I was feeling extremely terrible, that feeling that I get so often. It always consumes me, this tiredness, this deep exhaustion... as if I am a volcano that has erupted and I am just the remnants. I feel like a constellation of a man's face, and as he breathes out millions of galaxies get blown into the universe. I picture the man with twinkling eyes, and his eyes are the biggest stars that exist. His mouth is made of red super clusters. His soul is made of millions of stars mixed with stardust. They come all over the galaxy, galaxies, the whole universe. Except it's just me, and it's happening inside of my body.

All these galaxies inside of me, I just want to lie down and let my soul walk out of my body in a different physical form. Just for a few moments so I can take apart my whole body cell by cell then atom by atom and return it to it's home. Where would I go? My ethereal form would take my lifeless body and spread it across time and space, freeing me. This is sometimes why I prefer the idea of nothing after death, existing is a burden for me so often. I feel it right now, I feel the weight of the day eating away at my heart. And what will I do with that? What good will I bring?

But I will wake up again and try again and again and again until the end of my life.

So in the hotel I turned on my side and just focused, "It's only chemicals, change chemicals! Change!" I told myself it was only chemicals in my brain making me feel this way, so I focused on something cliche. I focused on the edge of a beach. And I felt better, and slept.

Maybe that's what life is, maybe it's the separation of each particle that makes us exist over the span of billions and billions of years until we become nothing. We'll never find out, but we can speculate now that there was no meaning to anything. That all of it was ultimately for nothing, and that is actually the best news that we could have ever hoped for. 

The Happiest Place on Earth

Before I moved to Alabama, I told myself Alabama would be the happiest place on Earth. I had somehow conjured up a vision of green pastures with horses prancing about in the fields, and kind farmer couples-- the type that would welcome young boys into their home if their alcoholic fathers wouldn't pay attention to them, or if they were orphaned. And you know what? Alabama is hardly like that, but I still have been remarkably happy. I want to say it's because of God, I know it's because of God. As usual, however, my heart is always full of doubts and questions.

My first week in Alabama was okay, I remember being in the hotel and having a mental breakdown. When my dad left for the Honduras the second week, I instantly had to be hospitalized. I remember my conversation with the nurse on the phone. It was awkward because I was sobbing, but we both decided it would be best if I spent a few nights in the BMU. I don't know if BMU stood for "behavioral medical unit" or "bayview medical unit". Either way, I spent three nights there.

This was my third stay in a behavioral health center, so I was pretty used to it. I was greeted by a woman wearing very thick mascara named Kathy. She looked to me, disillusioned. And very tired, I was tired as well, it was midnight. I had been carried in on a stretcher because it was "protocol" and it was invariably humiliating.

I heard a man yelling with the nurses in the hallway, and my eyes widened in fear. Kathy, apparently saw my expression.

"You're not like them, you know," she said to me, taking my blood pressure.

"What?" I said, exhausted. I just wanted to crawl into bed and die for a few hours.

"They're going to come back. They get clean for a few days, and then they go right back on the streets. But not you, you're going to go to college and be successful and never come back," she said with total confidence. I smiled weakly, I wasn't sure if that was true but I wanted to believe it was. It wasn't so much coming to the place that bothered me, it was being in a state where it was either the hospital or death.

"Do you have any meal preference?"

"Vegetarian," I said, recalling the taste of hospital meat.

I had to then strip down to show I didn't have any "contraband". I apologized for my body, as a usually did, and explained the stretch marks on my stomach. Kathy smiled at me and told me I was beautiful and not to worry about it. She told me then, that I didn't have a room mate, and I felt relieved when I walked into the empty, clean, room and crawled under the sheets.

I don't remember much about the hospital, but I remember an old man who I wanted to write to. He seemed so sad and he cut his arm. It was a deep scar and you could still see the blood on the bandages. And I remember a man named Ricky. He coughed up phlegm into his gown and showed it to the nurse in front of me. Besides that he was nice. I remember a veteran telling me that he had been through worse than me. I didn't respond, but stared out the window in response.

I met a schizophrenic named Ed. He was kind to me, but I remember him saying "I hope rapists get raped in the ass in hell." I felt distinctly uncomfortable.

My time was more enjoyable when I made it downstairs to the milder patients' ward. The man who took me downstairs was Polish. His name? I don't know. But he was sweet and had blue eyes. He was balding, but had a gentle beauty despite that. He had a kindness that I don't think any amount of conventional ugliness would have drawn me away from him.

"How many times have you been here?" I asked a sad looking man.

"This is my eight time," he said.

I remember looking at my crossword puzzle wishing I would fall into the floor and disappear for eternity. And I remember the days when I returned, I was angry and emotionally violent. I would lie on my bed and scream and cry out for help. But I don't think anyone can help someone who is that broken. Even today when I feel okay, I'm waiting to fall apart into a million pieces. Then whatever is left of me, that's sentient, gets to spend time picking me back up. And then I'll explode again. Each time, my foundation getting smaller and smaller until I am nothing. I await that day, once there is less of me, there can be more of God. 

Past, Present and Future

My life is a blend of strange and fantastic, but mostly strange. If have children, and they read this... well, they'll know this is all the truth. Honestly, nothing extraordinarily amazing ever happened because of me, but I'm sure something ordinarily amazing will happen because of me. Something like the sun rising. Actually, I think I'm getting "ordinary" and "extraordinary" confused. Perhaps the sun rising is more extraordinary than any Academy Award or Pulitzer Prize or whatever people store impossible dreams in.

I wish I could record my entire life in vivid detail, or at least a lot of it. I don't know why. Sometimes I think I have missed something, some little detail in the past, and if I could find that detail I could figure everything out. But that's probably not true, so I should set my heart in the future.

If I backtrack though, on what I just said, maybe that's not true. The past defines us just as much as the future does, it's like we have the personification of Past and Future playing tug-o-war with our souls. Future is trying to drag us forward, and Past is tapping us on the shoulder telling us not to forget. If I stop struggling, maybe I can find a peaceful swaying between the two, learning and remembering Past, honoring the Past, preparing for the Future, and enjoying the Present.

If you thought that was meant to be deep, it wasn't. I just have a habit on pontificating-- I want to know the truth. And it's terrible to ask people what the truth is because everyone is so sure. They are so positive that the advice they are dishing out is "right". That's why I rarely give out advice. I just try to point people in the direction that they might be happiest in.

Luckily, I don't think I really seek an audience anymore. I'm just trying to figure out what it is I'm thinking by writing it out. Except, when I write it out it turns into a bigger mess, but at least it's a linear mess. I can figure out where everything went wrong. That's a myth though, it's a myth someone put into my head, but I don't think there's much wrong with me. Sure, there's probably not anything right either, but the world right now is just from Alisha's eyes. No matter how much empathy I'll try to conjure from the depths of my soul.

Now on that note, I think this is my best mentally. Not my best physically, nor my best in my life ever. But right now, I am managing. I am not in a heap crying and babbling about demons in my stomach. Quite seriously, this is an improvement. I'm writing, and at least making sense to myself. Some people win Academy Awards at twenty, I'm happy I'm not institutionalized at the moment.

Right now, if I weren't on the computer I would be sitting, not standing, where the sea and land meet from the eyes of the stars. I would be watching the sea as it moved back and forth. And there would be no Past reminding me of what's wrong with me, and no Future warning me of the woes that will cascade on me like a million bricks when I'm older and wearier. Sometimes, on days like this, I'm so surprised because I feel dirty to my core, that life would be so kind to me, so gracious. But I guess it hasn't always been like this.