I should have been keeping a mood journal, or at least writing things down, during the time I was on these different medications. Since I didn't, I will have to make assumptions and inferences based on the entries, or lack or them, in this blog.
I wish there was software available that could consolidate all the things I might have written during any given time period--texts, emails, notes to self, journal and blog entries, half-written song lyrics, everything--and collate them on a spreadsheet, something that can be sorted by date, mood or any other parameter or keyword. I'm sure the NSA has something like that, or maybe the FBI-CIA-M-O-U-S-E.
This blog functioned as that repository for a while. Since, for the longest time, I had no real communication with the outside world, written or otherwise, this blog was it. But now, having other people with whom I communicate in writing, I find myself a bit more diffuse. There is no monolithic response to "how's Andrew doin' today?"
I'm over here saying this, and then, two seconds later, I'm over there writing that. Some of these transitions can be quite alarming, like, what are we dealing with here? Multiple personality disorder? A two-faced, lying bastard? I mean, I don't necessarily go back on principles (when I finally admit to having them) but I can be regularly contradictory, swinging from pole to pole on the spectrum of--well, everything.
So a "how ya doin'?" from my mom, or from my best friend, or from my therapist--all of them can and do generate different answers. They can all be true, but some of them are more heavily filtered or redacted, and I don't know how anyone could ever get a complete or true picture, if such a thing even exists.
I didn't like Facebook for that reason. I couldn't be just plain old me. I had to tailor everything through the lens of acceptability. All posts had to be grandma-approved, and my internal policeman was stopping me at every turn, saying, "Are you sure about this? Better go back and re-word that. Someone might take it wrong."
That kind of social anxiety was an unnecessary burden. I'm more of a "fuck it, I Guess I'm gonna say this, consequences be damned" kind of guy. But when I have friends, and their opinions about me matter, a kind of paralysis takes over, stifling my ability to speak or create content at all.
This whole thing makes me question: who am I really? Am I the person I present over here? Or am I the persona that I created for this group that person? How can I accurately answer the question "how are you?" if I can't decide exactly who I am at any given time?
Multi-faceted was the best term I've heard to describe the phenomenon of this illusion of contradiction within oneself. It is also the most forgiving. I don't have to be this or that, I can be this and that. And, like the wind, I can change direction. Does the wind ever feel like it lacks conviction because it can shift so readily? Come on, wind, pick a side already!
So, on Sunday, October 29, Day 2 of no Lamotrigine, who am I, and how am I doing? I'll have to get back to you on that.
I know that yesterday, I wrote a long-winded email, and as usual, I'm questioning my judgment in sending it. Perhaps those should have been "inside thoughts." I don't know where I will land when all the dust from my chaotic mental journey settles. I hope I still have a friend.
I guess it is a good test of friendship, whether or not it can withstand one of the parties going off the rails a time or two. Sorry, dear friend, for all I have put you through. I didn't mean to point my stream of consciousness fire hose directly at you.
And Singapore, you are my new
It's actually nothing much, but it gives me great pleasure to create an illusion of depth sometimes. Oh, yeah, I'm a regular tromp d' ouile.
