Friday, July 29, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 29

Since I’ve dropped out of graduate school I’ve had a lot more free time so to distract myself from my mania I’m working at my college job again. I’m sealing boys (here I’ll dumb that down, making blacktops look black) and reaping some of the awards recently. Since I’m outside all day I’ve been bronzing something fierce and my tan looks T.A.N. (It helps that I have some Indian in me too, yeah I’m half Cherokee and Choctaw, my baby she’s a Chikiwawa, she’s a one of a kiiiiiiind). I’ve also lost close to 25 pounds since the summer began (it’s nice to not lose your breath when you get up to go to the refrigerator). I also sealed my high school the other day and when I went inside to piss some funny stories came rushing back to me.

One of them involved my brother Poncho, a free sitting commode in the boy’s bathroom without a stall, our in-awe Athletic Director, our shell shocked Biology teacher and a nasty case of the shit grunts and hollers from my brother on the exposed pot (side hurting hilarious at the time). Another involved me losing my V-Card my senior year (yeah Mom this post will probably be one of the ones you are “unsure” about so you might want to stop reading—Happy Belated Birthday and that warning was part of my gift).

It was my senior year spring break and one of my good friends John Boy and I made our way down to Florida with my parents for spring break. We stayed in a retirement village (not really but there wasn’t many spring breakers there our age). Anyhow there were a few soccer girls that we ended up impressing my talking with lisps and acting gay (I wish that wasn’t true). One of these girls took a liking to yours truly and then took his V-Card. It definitely wasn’t like any of the porno’s I had seen leading up to this rite of passage into manhood either. Instead of the screams and moans I was prepared for, it was actually a pretty somber and quiet experience and I think she even fell asleep during it (yea, I like to keep the ladies satisfied). I definitely built the whole experience up too much in my head prior to.

I tend to have the same problem nowadays when it comes to finding a new doctor. I’ve decided to start looking for one that’s a little closer than the hour and a half I’m driving now. This will be about the tenth doctor I’ve tried or been in contact with since my diagnosis yet I still get excited about the thought. I suppose I still believe that I’m going to find that doc that actually makes living with this BMD easier. I have these big expectations that I’m going to have this awesome relationship with my new doc and all the disdain feelings from the medical hassle and battles I’ve fought prior to will disappear. I hope I’m not building myself up for another let down. It’s just that I can handle being pretty shitty in the sack but it sure as shit would be nice to at least have a doc that doesn’t make me feel even more crazy while I’m doing it.

Side Note: I forgot to mention it earlier but the best part about my V-Card story is that John Boy had a surprise for me the morning of the first day back to school. Seeing how we never locked our lockers (I don’t have time to mess with combinations) he was able to leave a welcome back collage on the inside of my locker. Yep, he found my girls pictures online (God bless the Internet) and printed off a bunch and taped them to the inside of my locker (cured my case of the Mondays).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, July 22, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 28

I’ve always seemed to have a tough time finishing in my life. It took me a couple times to get through kindergarten (stupid home address and me not knowing it), I never seemed to be able to dial the last number to my crushes home phone line (where was texting when I needed a comfort blanket of non-contact human communication), fifth year senior in undergrad, just dropped out of graduate school, woke up in a psych ward two weeks before my move to San Jose, and the list can go on and on. I’ve come to realize though that it’s out of my control, I really don’t have much say in the matter.

What reminded me of this is a picture hanging up in my high school as you walk in the doors (don’t act like you’re not impressed).

I zoomed in on myself to give you the full visual effect of why I was a virgin until I was 19. In any manner this picture was of a state track championship team in which I did nothing to help earn (literally nothing). I was in less control of winning that trophy than the person who actually made the trophy. Now on the contrary my senior year in track I actually did have a lot of control, or so I thought.

I was a hurdler and coming into the State meet had won both my regionals in the 300 intermediate hurdles and the 110 high hurdles. I was a favorite in the 110’s and considered competitive in the 300’s for the titles. 16 guys make it to state from the regionals and the prelims/qualifiers the day before State get the field down to 8 (just enough for the 8 lanes on the track, very clever OHSAA).

At this point in my life I had decided to essentially walk-on a DIII soccer team in the fall for college and hadn’t thought about track as a future. Since I was walking on a DIII school you get the gist that I wasn’t really recruited, so much so that most would say not even a little bit. Well the folks from Kansas had seen my academics and began lightly recruiting me at the State meet to run there if I could perform well during the weekend. All I had to do was finish this and I’d be set.

The 110’s qualifier was first and I was out and running well. Leading the race until the last few hurdles when I turned my ankle to the outside and watched 4 guys wiz by me for the only four spots in the final the next day. Once again I couldn’t finish (and I didn’t take it well) but I luckily had the 300’s the next day to (I qualified for those somehow despite my pure devastation from the 110’s)make it right. And damn it if I wasn’t making it right. Coming down to the final 100 meters and 3 hurdles left I was in second place closing in on the leader. Then I heard the worst sound I’ve ever heard in sports; 10,000 people in unison going:


Yep that was for me. I clipped the 8th out of 10 hurdles and fell (also the first time I fell in the 300’s in four years). I was able to look up in time to see the entire field cross over the final two hurdles and through the finish line (bye bye Kansas) while I was on all fours in the middle of the track. I just couldn’t finish again, like I never was supposed to or something.

I have trouble with the notion that I’m not in control of what happens in my life. I feel as though I should be able to control what path my life will take when in fact it’s anything but that. No matter how much I belive I can control, it’s really not up to me. It never was. I mean if I would have finished anything I’ve listed above I sure as shit wouldn’t be here today. An while at times this BMD really seems like a pain in the ass because of this, I need to realize it’s really not up to me. I’m not in control and whether I know how to or not (more likely not) I’m going to have to finish this thing, I don’t have a choice.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, July 15, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 27

I really wanted to take a mental health day this week on the post but then I realized how ironic that would be seeing how this is blog is about mental health. The reasoning behind this desire was that I had a pretty crappy weekend last weekend (well if you call going to jail crappy, which I do). I can’t get into the details because the case is still pending and, you know what, that’s a lie. I just plain would rather not talk about it. However I can say with quite confidence that as bad as jail is, it’s got nothing on a psych ward.

That was actually the first words that came out of my mouth when I saw my parents once I was released last weekend (they’re real proud of me). I by no means want to downplay my experience locked up because it did suck something fierce but at least I knew what was going on. While in there I was still cognitive of what was going on around me, why I was in the place I was in, and knew eventually what would come of myself in there. When I’m in the wards, it’s anything but that.

Doing time on the wards for me is usually filled with my mind racing as fast as it can trying to keep up with my next thought. I’m lost within a world that I keep changing and altering in order to fulfill some reality I’ve created in my mind. I have no idea where I truly am or where I’ll end up. The wards are a giant puzzle in my head that the pieces keep changing shape and color whenever I look away, its mass confusion to the point of terrifying.

Eventually though I do settle down in the wards a little and the world does slowly come back to me. For the first few weeks I’m usually out of the hospital I imagine my mind works like everyone else’s usually does. Instead of jumping from one idea to the next I’m able to focus and concentrate. The clarity of the world comes into view for me and I spend hours doing nothing (and love every minute). I can recall my dad laughing when I told him I’d literally spend hours at Target or Kroger not needing anything but just shopping right after I left the wards just because I could without my mind pushing me elsewhere.

It’s difficult to probably relate for most because what I’m describing is more than likely a natural part of you non-crazies out there. You probably weren’t the kid who was always asked to speed read in school if the period was running down. Or constantly reminded to slow down whenever an oral (haha, oral) presentation was being given. I don’t exactly know why but whenever I did these things it was always a game to me; a challenge of myself to see how fast I could get my mind to go. Pushing my mind to its limits just to see if I could get there only to suddenly come to the realization that I was just deciding on what type of deli meat to get at Krogers (my mind can be a tricky bastard like that).

I must admit I do miss those few weeks after the psych ward from time to time now. This is especially true when things seem to be coming at me faster than I can keep up (like getting arrested). I liked spending hours in a grocery store thinking about nothing but what I might be hungry for later that day. Nowadays I seem too busy or in a hurry to even realize what’s going on right in front of me. I’m too infatuated with attempting to keep up with my speeding mind that I just can’t seem to slow down and enjoy the ride.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, July 8, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 26

.e4 (The Lost Posts) I

So I’ve decided this week to add a new feature to the blog that incorporates the past ideas I had but never wrote about. I’ve got post-it notes scattered about my desk with a few words scribbled on each of them about an idea I had to write about my BMD. I also will jot down (or type down I guess) some ideas in my phone if I’m out and about as well. So I was glancing through these notes the other day and the idea came to me that I should challenge myself (seeing how I dropped out of Grad school) in some way and try to write about these notes and try to recreate (the best I can) what the post would read like if I had written it when I had the idea (take into account that this is spanning from the past two years to present day; I can barely remember what I was thinking about yesterday).

So I’ve decided to randomly select a few lines from my notes on even more random weeks and try to write my posts with those few key concepts (that really aren’t that clear I must admit) for that week’s post. So without further ado I’ll introduce my readers to my key concepts for .e4 (The Lost Posts) I:

Make God laugh episode deuce & Digital arousal ;)

(Oh shit, this is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought, I hope it doesn’t suck guys, here we go…)
December 28th, 2009

Snap, flick, snap-snap, click…it jumps from me to him, click…back to them…snap, twitch, blink-blink…

The game is racing through my head now as we sit waiting for our turn to see the shrinks. The waiting room in the hospital reeks like dank weed and everyone’s eyes are glossy, red, and squinted aside from my dad’s and the elderly couple in the corner. I know they’re watching us, they’re always watching me, the game never stops.

Blink, flash, it jumps around dancing about giving the world it’s very own game of hide-&-go-seek…

“Derek? Derek Thompson? The doctor will see you now.”

The trap has been set; the players are in play; a digital revolution of a coming age…

“Hi Derek, I’m Dr. Stevens and I’ve looked over your past history from your first manic episode and was wondering if you been having thoughts of divine intervention again?”


“Anything in particular involving this?”

“That my game started the apocalypse and I killed everyone.”

“What game?”

“Well it was supposed to make God laugh through a digital arousal of confusion and deception, a sort of game of hide-&-go-seek through the online world for his pleasure. Somehow it went wrong though; I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just lost, looking for my way back.”

“Well we can help you find your way here.”

“Good, thank you.”

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, July 1, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 25

I spent the majority of my day yesterday experiencing my first funeral. My step grandmother passed away and my family spent the past couple days saying goodbye. My brothers and I were asked to be Pallbearers and I was honored to do so. A couple weeks after I returned from Chicago last year and was living with my parents my step grandmother had locked herself out and needed the spare set of keys at our house. I was home so I simply drove over to the other side of town and let her in. Even though I thought I did really nothing she couldn’t have been more thankful; she called me her guardian angel.

While these past few days have been my first experience with a funeral it was not my first experience with death. Nope, that unique pleasure I suppose goes to my first psych ward stay back in Denver at Porter Hospital. And while I may have been experiencing death for the first time, it was actually alive in front of me.

It was a couple days into my stay at the ward and I had finally caught up on my sleep and was back to normal sleeping patterns (well close to at least, still the first one up on the ward though everyday). As part of the rehabilitation program there the patients would break up into groups throughout the day. Each group had a different theme ranging from crafts, to healthcare, to emotions, to basic life functions. At the time I was a 26 year old kid who a mere few days prior was looking at bungalows on the beach in California, experiencing my soon to be new city and checking out Stanford’s campus, my mortality was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Next time I’ll do it right, I’ll finish it.”

These were the words from one of my fellow ward patients in our group when asked: “What’s one thing you would change if you had the opportunity.” This patient was brought to the ward that very day and she was still showing the bruises and mangled body of a failed attempt at suicide. She had given up, lost hope, relinquished her faith, and thrown herself in front of a train. I had never experienced death like this before in my life.

I struggled to understand what on Earth could persuade a person to willing throw themselves in front of a train to end it, and then regret that they failed in doing so afterwards. I can recall that I spent a lot of time trying to comprehend what I had seen that day. At that time suddenly my bungalow by the beach, my Ivy school aspirations, my new job and car seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things (“I’ve never seen an armored truck following a hearse”-Cox, J). My view of my world had changed forever.

Before I was released I was able to see a change in my fellow patient, especially when she was able to draw, you could see life glimmer just a bit back into her eyes. I’m not sure whatever happened to her and I hope she’s alright, because no one deserves that evil pain and suffering. But if she lost that fight I know one guardian angel up there that will lend a hand, because that’s what always seemed to make her happy.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,