My Louisianne sister is safe: she's up in Tulsa, OK, where her husband's family lives, far out of the path of Katrina. She and her husband woke the kids up at 3 am, Sunday morning, got out of the house by 5:30, and were in Tulsa by nightfall, long before the storm hit. I wasn't really worried about them: this is the third hurricane-type-thing that they've dealt with this year, and while this one is by far the most serious, the methods of dealing with them all are pretty much the same.

What I'm much more worried about is myself, and what it means for me. Natural disasters trigger an old and incredibly strong fear that I used to have, and guess I still do have. I worry that, all of a sudden, natural disaster after natural disaster, combined with the effects of global warming, will devastate the United States, destroying our economy, and making life for a poverty-stricken man such as myself very difficult. Tensions will be running high, and gay people, being the hot-button minority group these days, will see a huge surge of anti-gay attacks, both from everyday people and from the government. I'll have to move to Canada as a refugee.

At least my neurotic fantasy provides a path to safety: Canada. The only problem with this is that, in reality, I feel like I'm obligated to learn French, so that I'll be more likely to be accepted into Canada, and I'll have a slight advantage over the other refugees. Every time I think about languages, and try to decide what I should study for my language requirement for my degree, French rears it's ugly, nasally head, and I feel that I have no choice but to surrender to it; but then, as I begin to study the stuff, I realize how much I dislike it, and how much I just don't care about it. I've never met a French person that I especially wanted to talk to (not to say they're bad or anything, I've just never clicked with any of them), and I'm not particularly attracted to the culture. I have no French in my ethnic background either. There's no connection between me and the French language besides this neurotic fantasy. Therefore, to affrim to myself that I will NOT be forced to move to Canada as a homosexual refugee, that my life is not going to become a living hell that will force me to run away from my country, I'm going to study Swedish instead. My quiet, stony grandparents were swedish, and it's the closest thing I have to an ethnic identity besides being American. I'll study Swedish out of love, not out of fear.

Psych Stuff

I just got out from seeing my therapist/counselor-thing. He's weird and awkward, but I think I might be able to work with him. We've already established a good rapport, and I think things we'll start making more progress when I start being more vocal about my needs. He's not very proactive, but he is non-offensive, which is very important to me. I tend to get a little over-sensitive about certain issues, and someone too brash or callous wouldn't last very long. A nice boring guy is more acceptable to me than a go-getter with a set plan of attack and a do-or-die attitude.

I didn't take my medication last night. I feel really good today. I'm probably not going to take it again. I told my counselor, and he was...not exactly supportive, but he was defintely non-judgmental. I don't think my psychiatrist will be the same way. She's probably not going to be aggressively angry with me, but she definitely won't approve.

"The One"

Last night I dreamed that I had found my life partner. He was a bit overweight, not very attractive, and not exactly my type; but he was the one. We started out as just friends, but it seemed very natural for us to hold hands, to be affectionate towards each other, and to always be together. We weren't on the same wavelength really, but we were on complementary wavelengths. We always had lots to talk about, and never really got bored of each other. He had a good heart, and was involved in the community, which I respected him for. Also, we had friends in common. At the point when I woke up, we were both realizing that something beyond being just friends was happening here, but we hadn't talked about it yet. It felt very secure and comforting.

Now I look back and I think yuck, how could I be attracted to someone so ugly? This is rather sad for me to think about: that I could have something so good, but run away from it because of superficial things.

I'm thinking of quitting my medication. Since I've been on it I've been more depressed and more paranoid than I was before. I feel so hopeless about life, in a way that I don't remember feeling in recent years. And my paranoia...I had gotten it down to a manageable state before, but now it's starting to get a little out of hand.

Anyway, the whole point of me getting on this drug was not because life was unmanageable, but because life would become unmanageable every time I tried to quit smoking. Well, I recently did try to quit smoking again for about four days, and the feeling was way worse than it usually is when I quit. Usually I feel great for about 3 weeks, and then the weirdness starts in. This time the weirdness was there right from the begining.

I don't know...my psychiatrist is totally unwilling to face the idea that this drug may be making me worse, because she just knows that it can't do anything but either make me better or create no change at all. She makes excuses for the drug, saying things like "You're not repressing the paranoia any more, so that's why you're feeling it more strongly now." It reminds me of when I was Macrobiotic, and it was obviously not working for me, yet I still held on, saying things like "I'm detoxing from all the garbage I used to eat" when I was feeling physically like shit; or "This mental disturbance seems so strong because I'm really just becoming fully aware of it for the first time, as part of the natural healing process." Come on! I'm feeling worse! It started right when I started to take the medication! What could be simpler!

Three Unrelated Fragments

Just a little bit ago, I was sitting outside of the Main OSU Library, and I was staring at a tree that seemed very bizarre looking. The thick branches were all radiating from a central point, going every which way, like thick, stiff hairs. Combined with the dead-pan buzzing of the Cicada in the background, I got the impression that I was on an alien landscape. It creeped me out. "Why this disturbance?" I asked myself, as a young man in a suit walked in front of my vision.

Last night I dreamed that I was performing oral sex on a man in a movie theater who I really didn't want to be having sex with. His dick seemed weird, and on closer inspection I realized that it was covered in grotesque lumps, which seemed obviously disease related. "No, No" he said, "those are just blueberries." I looked again, and I saw that they were in fact blueberries. However, just under the blueberries were warts. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of putting the thing back in my mouth. Then I woke up. I think that this dream is a positive sign that I'm beginning to pay more attention to the potentially damaging consequences of having unprotected sex.

I don't know what I'm gonna do with myself in-between quarters. It's almost a full month off. I'm sure I'll get into new patterns and habits, but for now I just feel very lost.

I've been reading about what the work is like for being an Actuary, and I've decided that I'm not up to it. I can't handle meetings, and I can't handle heavy responsibility. Life is hard enough already, without piling a difficult job on top of that. I need to correctly assess my limits, and find out what I'm actually capable of, and what I'm comfortable doing. My intial reaction to that is that I need a job that is predictable and none-to-strenuous. I need to do something basic straight-forward. I need to be able to do my job while in the midst of a nervous breakdown. I need to do something that I feel comfortable with, that isn't gonna push me too far. Most importantly, I need a job that I can let go of at the end of the day, or which will let go of me, so I can focus on other things.

We'll see what the future brings. As for now, I'm going to focus on just finishing my English degree so that I'm not building up any more loans, and worry about my career later on. Maybe I can get an Associates Degree in Accounting somewhere along the way...

Confusion. Uncertainty.

I believe that I am not having enough fun in my life. My life is not enough fun. I'm too concerned with facts, and not concerned enough with pleasures. For me the greatest pleasure is found through interacting with people, yet I am too alienated from the people around me to really get much meaningful interaction with them. This is nothing new. I've had this problem for years. Partially this is due to me being a homosexual, and thus I have a rather tense relationship with society; but a more important factor is my upbringing. I was, in effect, raised by hermits, who taught me nothing about how to interact socially, and in fact taught me to isolate myself. I've never wanted that, never wanted to be isolated, but I don't really know how to do anything else. I would like to believe that all my problems would be solved if I were straight, but a look at my Lousianian sister tells a different story.

I'm not about to become Mr. Hyper-Social any time soon, but it would be nice if things would just get a little bit easier.

Bah! Such bullshit! That interview was just Bullshit! What did she want, you ask? What was so important that she needed someone to have all sorts of computer skills and office experience? Gopher! She wanted someone to be a glorified Gopher! This was the job for which I was worrying myself sick. Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

I don't know...I want to go out and get a real job. I'm sick of these work-study positions where I do nothing and get paid zilch. The only reason I don't go out and get the job I want is because it will fuck up my financial aid. Which really just sucks.

I have a job interview today, at 2:00. I am nervous, because I'm wearing the wrong clothes, I have an attitude problem, and I'm awkward and incompetant. Wah!!!!

Well, like The Dolphin suggested, I should go even if I don't think I'm gonna get the job, because it's good experience for me. I has been awhile since I've had a real job interview. My last few jobs have been work-study jobs that have little-to-no qualifications necessary. The "interveiw" of a job like that generally consists of me coming in and them starting to train me in. This interview today, however, is probably going to be a real interview. The boss seems kind of harsh and exacting (though not an un-kind sociopath, like alot of other bosses out there), and I get the feeling that I'm in for a small grilling. I'll be put to the grill! I'll be sizzling and smoking! But perhaps this will be a good thing: she'll be hungry for my sizzlyness, and will want to keep me around. Professional whipping boy? I could deal with that. I'd be like Jaeger Ayers, from Carla Speed McNeil's "Finder." He's pretty cool, and I'd like to be pretty cool too, so why not?

And if I was Jaeger, then I'd be like, serval thousand years in the future, and I wouldn't have to go through with this nerve-racking interview.

I got an e-mail the other day from someone who saw that I was writing about sex addict stuff on here, and wanted me to check out his website ( http://scaorigins.com/ ) which goes into the history of sex addict groups and what-have-you. It's interesting, for those out there who are interested in that kind of thing.

For some reason this kind of depresses me, though. I've just been seeing the world in such a negative light lately, and even just someone requesting that I look at their website just fills me with distaste, and sends me searching for ulterior motives.

The other thing about this is that I've been avoiding thinking about my sex addiction lately, and it's odd to be reminded of it. I know that I have to start doing more work on it soon, but...I don't know...it's difficult to get started on it. I'm not sure why. It's like I have a wall in between the thought and the action.

Maybe it's because it takes a creative leap. I've actually been feeling almost anti-creative lately, only wanting to deal with the facts that are right in front of me. To take the effort to break beyond my immediate psychological surroundings is scary, I suppose. Or, it would be scary, if I would let myself feel anything in the first place. I instinctively stop myself before the process of dealing with this addiction gets too far underway, so I don't even have time to get to the initial reaction.

Well, for my own mental and physical health, I do have to deal with this soon.

I wonder if it wasn't a mistake to start going to school. I wonder if I wouldn't have been better off just sticking to an earlier plan I had, which was work at a place that will do some tuition reimburesement (like what I had at Huntington Bank), and get an Associate's degree in Bookkeeping or Payroll Accounting. Then I would have had something like a career, except it would have been like Career Lite, which is sort of my ideal: a job that is a little bit interesting, but not so interesting that I lose sleep over it, or have to spend more than 8 hours a day working on it. I would get about 14 dollars an hour for a job like that, which would be just fine. I can't really expect too much from myself anyway. I'm struggling as it is, just trying to live a low-key kind of a life. If I can stop myself from dying of exposure or starvation, and instead die from just getting old, then I'll consider myself a success at life.

Actually, the main criteria that I have for whether or not I'm a success at life is if I have love and friendship. I would feel eternally blessed if I found, at the end of my life, that I had love for most of the time. Right now it's not seeming so much like that's happening. Gay guys (including me) seem so angry and defensive, so bitchy and mean (yes, even the one you would call "straight acting") that it seems like forming a loving bond with any of them is just impossible.

I think I'm just getting anxious and bitter because I've been thinking about what it will be like when I start working again, and it's reminded me that for most people the goal of life is not to work for the good of everyone, and help the world become a better place, but is instead to scramble as close to the top of the pile as possible, then spend the rest of your life trying to pull the people above you down so you can take their place, or kick back those who are trying to come up so that they won't threaten your position. The really sad thing about this, is that if you do manage to make it to the top, then the only benefit you get is that power to make sure that you STAY on top. That's all. So what's the point?

Regrets.

I'm about to start rewriting my resume, 'cause I'm about to apply for a job. I really need to get a more solid work history. I've always done well at my past jobs, but I've always quit before I advanced very far, so I have very little to show for it. For example, I quit my job at the Science and Engineering library, here at OSU, just when I was starting to be treated as more of supervisor than a regular employee. If I had stayed there another year I probably would have gotten an actual supervisory postion. Unfortunately, working with the public really aggravates my paranoia, and while I could probably do allright now, at the time I was too freaked out to do it anymore. Another example is my job at Huntington Bank. At the time I quit there was the possibility of a small promotion coming my way, working with the business clients instead of the regular public, which would have meant a pay raise and an ever-so-slightly more prestigious job title. Also, a couple of months after I quit I found out that if I had stayed on a month longer I would have received a small award for being the most accurate teller on the line. Not much, but it would have been a nice aside to put on a resume. Again, I quit because I was getting too paranoid about the customers, or about one customer in particular, who actually was harrassing me, for whatever reason. In fact, the bank decided, due to my quitting, that they would no longer do business with that person.

Well, I can't change the past. All I can do is learn from my mistakes and be more consistent in the future. It's too bad I'm learning this now, but better late than never.

Vivid Dreams, Described Concisely

My psychiatrist, The Cold Grey Angel, doubled the dose of my meds the other day. That sounds bad, but I was taking such a low dose already that doubling it still puts me at a lower than average level. Anyway, since then I've been having vivid dreams. They've not been especially interesting, but the've been very life-like.

Last night I dreamed that I went to New York. I was nervous about being able to make my living there, but then I made friends with someone with connections. Eventually I got an interview with the Egyptian consulate.

The night before that I dreamed that I was on the Big Brother show, only we all had to keep our jobs and pay our own expenses, and there weren't many cameras. Even though eveyone was really bitchy and conniving it wasn't much different than real life.

The night before that I dreamed that I lived in London, and that I was spending my time studying French on my own, so that when I took the French class next quarter I would have an easy time of it. I felt very much at home in London.

All three of these dreams have me going to live in a place that's different than what I'm used to, but which I adapt to rather easily, or at least find a way to carve out a little space for myself. This reflects quite well the situation with my meds, which are new, and a little intimidating, but suprisingly easy for me to adapt to.

My English writing skills seem a bit sloppy today.

For about four or five days now I've been feeling very discouraged when it comes to being social. I can't seem to get into the groove of it. I want to talk to people, but I have nothing to say. The things people say to me just leave me cold, and I have no reacting inspiration to share with them. Whenever I initiate something, it allways falls flat, and I get bored right away.

I think this is partially due to all the studying I've been doing lately. The only things I'm thinking about are things from books, which don't have a lot of relvence to people in general. It's a vicious cycle: The more I study, the less I talk to people. The less I talk to people, the more I study. The only way this cycle gets broken is when I get depressed from not interacting with other people, which makes it very difficult to study. So I'm forced to get my head out of a book for awhile.

But I did talk to the students in my morning class today. It was easy, becuase there was a lot of them, and I was able to just make occasional comments instead of having to be actively communicating all the time. I could be passive for the most part, and only be active when I felt like it. Maybe I'll have the courage to make small talk in my next class too. That should put me in a better mood.

Some Hope, Some Blandness

I guess I'm kind of depressed today. I'm not getting much pleasure out of life. I mean, I am getting some pleasure, just not very much. I think, though, that it is a good indication that my medication (I'm going to stop calling it my drug) is working, because usually when I get like this the pain of studying and getting things done is just too great to bear, and I have to go do something that's a whole lot funner; but now the pain is just very slight; certainly not strong enough to make me stop doing the things that I know I need to do. So it's all right. It's interesting, and that in itself is kind of fun, so it's really all right.

I'm thinking of taking the daring move of switching my major to Actuary Science. I had my fun (such as it was) with working on the English major, but now I'm over it and I want to do something real. By switching my major it should take me an extra year to get done, and so that will cost more money; but it seems that if you get a degree in Actuary Science you're almost gauranteed to get a job starting out around 40k a year, as long as you've passed the first two tests. Then, they'll give you lots of paid time off to study up for the rest of the tests (there's 10 in all, I believe), which will increase your skills, and usually lead to a little promotion. All in all, they say it takes about as much effort and commitment to pass all the tests as it takes to go through medical school, except you're getting paid 40k a year in the process. That's a whole hell of a lot better than any deal I'd get out of my english degree. And it would feel nice to know I have a marketable skill that will keep me secure. I think that building up the extra cost will be worth it.

Maybe this is just a dream. It feels real, and I'm confident that I could do it. But time will tell. There's a whole lot of math involved (which is probably why theres not too many of 'em) so if I keep getting a kick out of the math like I have been then I should be all right. I got a 99/100 on my last Calculus exam, which I'm told is pretty impressive, so...well, we'll see!

I'm feeling very actively paranoid today. Many things are setting me off. I'm not too sure about this drug. It seems to be helping alot with my mood problems, but my delusional side just seems to be getting worse.

Probably the caffeine had something to do with it too. Usually when I drink caffeine I get an increase of my symptoms. But usually not this strongly.

Well, I'm starting to get used to this drug that I'm on, this Risperdal. It's starting to get to the point where I don't notice that I'm on it, like this feeling is just the way I am. One reason for this is because my body is adjusting itself to the presence of the drug, and Is blocking some of the effects (or so I imagine). Another reason is that I'm just adapting to it. I have a pretty short memory, in some ways, so this feeling isn't so much of a contrast to my "usual" feelings; it is my usual feeling.

I'm still having the hunger effects, which I'm indifferent to, but this has decreased as well. One very positive thing I've noticed is that I'm less afraid to wake up than I used to be. I was afraid to wake up before, because I noticed that when I didn't get enough sleep I would be much more likely to have a psychotic episode. While lack of sleep is still a problem, and will never be a good thing, I am dealing with lack of sleep better than before, seeing it less as a cause for alarm and more just a slight annoyance.

Also, I seem to be more comfortable talking with other people, especially strangers. I think this is because the fear that generally accompanies a thought that I should talk to someone has substantially diminished, and so there's less holding me back from acting on that idea.

Old, Forgotten Memories

Just took a midterm in my Calculus class. I feel like I did really well. Unless I'm misjudging myself, I'm sure I'll have a grade somewhere in the 90's.

I've been talking to my sisters a lot lately. For some reason the conversation is always swinging towards the topic of our Dad. It's always a little strange for me to talk about my Dad, because I know that I was abused by him, but I have so few memories of my childhood that it's hard for me to say exactly what happened. Well, my sisters have this same problem, but they seem to remember me being abused more than they remember their own abuse. They're both older than me as well, so they remember more of their own abuse than I remember of mine. See, when I was starting to become a self-aware person, from the ages of 11-13, my Mom had finally gotten her shit together enough to start trying to do something about my Dad, which eventually led to him moving out of the house; so my clearest memories are of my Dad going crazy, but with us fighting back, so it doesn't seem so much like I was abused. I wasn't being victimized. I was being strong, and doing things to make the situation better, and so was everyone else around me.

But when I was younger I was definitely abused, both mentally and physically. No, I don't remember it, but my sisters tell me about things that have happened to me, things that they witnessed. When they tell me about these things, I get a strange feeling, like what they are saying is very familiar, as though I am very well acquainted with what it feels like to have that sort of thing happen one. I’ve tested this phenomenon by telling myself that something happened which I don’t think actually did, like telling myself that I was tortured with knives. Telling myself that this happened never feels right; I always regard this idea dispassionately. But when my sisters say, for example, that I used to get choked a lot, I’m immediately hit with the knowledge of what that feels like, as though it is something that I’ve experienced many times before, even though I can’t remember any specific instances of it. I'm not going to go into too many details, because I imagine it would make people uncomfortable, but the more me and my sisters talk about it, the more I'm aware that I spent most of my childhood being very afraid.

The only scene of abuse I remember is actually relatively benign. I was maybe 12. I was walking through the kitchen to go out the back door, and my father was in there, fixing himself a drink. He said something snotty to me, I said something snotty back to him, and when I turned around to go out the door he kicked me from behind. I rushed out of there, and when I looked back behind me he looked really nervous and scared. All I remember feeling at the time was that I was clever to get out of there so quick. Now, looking back, it's clear to me that my father was becoming less confident in his ability to control me, to do what he wanted to with me. He kicked me, and then watched to see what would happen. From what my Louisianan sister tells me, I was standing up to him more and more during that time. It paid off: he was becoming afraid of me.

So I’m very angry at my Dad; but while I’m angry at him, I’m also very sad for him as well. He was mentally ill. He used to tell us that he could read our minds and that he knew that we wanted to kill him. Actually, I have thought of that once or twice, but not when I was a kid, not when he was still living with us. So I know that his diseased mind was creating a very dark world around him. From his own perspective, he was probably the victim, defending himself as best he could from the evil people around him. I’m not excusing his behavior in any way, but the fact that he was doing all this because he was feeling intense fear, because he thought that it was the only way to protect himself, but that it was in fact all a delusion, just makes the whole situation seem especially tragic.

I’m also very sad for myself. My childhood is gone, because it's too scary for me to remember. My adolescence is gone, because I spent the whole time drugging myself. I never really grew up, never learned the skills it takes to function happily and successfully in this world, so now my adulthood is seeming like a hopeless struggle. I'll never kill myself, because life is much too interesting, and killing oneself is boring, like stopping a novel halfway through. But still, I'm not so happy with my life, and I don't expect too much to come of it.