So. Life after a stay in the mental hospital has so far been a pretty unremarkable affair.

I haven't really gotten started on getting my life in order yet. One step at a time is the key here, people.

While I was gone, the IRS finally got up from their collective executive leather chairs and saw fit to process my returns for the years 2005 to 2007, and duly sent me a cheque for about $1,500. Just in the nick of time: the frames of my glasses had broken while I was locked up last week, and luckily they were still under warranty so I got them replaced at a 50% discount (still costing $90) and there was something terribly wrong with my car that I was able to have repaired at a cost of $500. What was wrong with it I cannot say; the receipt is in car mechanic code that is unreadable to me beyond general terms like "sparkplug" and "valve assembly".

New prescriptions from the doctor assigned to me at the mental hospital:

I think now take I take fluoxetine (Prozac), I've been prescribed, at one time or another over the past ten years or so, every SSRI on the market. It was the last hold out.

To counteract the severe withdrawal effects of coming off venlafaxine (Effexor), which I had to do suddenly, the fluoxetine has been pretty effective. The brain zaps and dizziness are all but gone—I thought, based on reading previous accounts, that I'd be experiencing withdrawal symptoms for months. Switching from clonazepam (Klonopin) to alprazolam has made a world of difference and people have been telling me I no longer slur my words when speaking. And getting rid of the ziprasidone (Geodon), well, I never noticed it having any effect on me whatsoever so its loss in my drug regimen is not a big deal.

Apparently it takes about two weeks for fluoxetine to fully kick in, so in the meantime I've been feeling kind of meh. Once I start feeling better in earnest, I'll start getting things done. I really hope it finishes its lead-in period soon because I'm sick of feeling so down. The lamotrigine alone isn't enough to help balance the ups and downs (particularly the downs) of bipolar disorder.

I've got to find a new psychiatrist; the one I'd been seeing before was a nice guy but he's also the person responsible for putting me on venlafaxine for a year, which is, in part, what led to my being institutionalized. This is harder than you'd think; you can't just pick one at random. That's what I did last time and look where it got me. So I'm taking suggestions from people I know locally. Hopefully one will see me sometime soon; one has already turned me down.

I'm writing this daylog now because I can't sleep. I've already taken my daily allotments of alprazolam and zolpidem and, though the temptation is there and is strong, I'm not going to abuse them. I'll just wait until the mid-morning nap feeling kicks in and then hopefully go back to sleep.

There's only so much one can take; being this fucked up is no fun. But at least I'm no longer suicidal, and that's got to count for something.

Written while listening to :

Gianna Nannini – Meravigliosa Creatura

Chris Daughtry – What About Now

Led Zeppelin – Kashmir

WAZ – Ordinary Girl

Cut Copy – Far Away

Pendulum & The Freestylers – Fasten Your Seatbelts

AIR - Playground Love

Hot Chip - One Pure Thought

Amedeo Minghi – Ricordi Del Cuore

The Corrs - Breathless

Vienna Teng - Cannonball

Lykke Li – I’m good I’m gone

It’s almost 3 a.m. in the morning and I can’t sleep because of the thoughts racing as if competing in the Monaco Grand-Prix.

I’m on a rollercoaster of question marks and memories from the last 7 days of Denouement in Turkiye... If I could sum it up, I would choose the famous words of Honore de Balzac : “A sole hour of living can make up for a century of life.”

Only I would swap “hour” with “week”.

I never, ever imagined that this trip would turn out so extraordinary. I met special people and unique personalities which connect to mine...My brain was challenged by firewall attack and defense system overload by Serge.

My soul’s strings were tickled by deeply hidden emotions and stories of Julien.

Serge is the Narcissus - Adonis kind of guy that had everything and was never refused any wicked demand of a spoiled childhood. Always in the center of attention, drawn either by himself, either by his actions, addicted to self love and vanity as the air we breathe, was struck by my dare and ability to strike back his misogynistic and sexist-pig comments. On catching both of us alone, the velvet night sky put a spell on our tongues; I’ve had the most ecstatic conversation with this Johnny-Bravo guy...And he was acting all normal, shy, kind, tender, gentle, as if he were almost human.

But on being in a society of more than 2 people, he became the ‘’Casanova meets Snob’’.

I suspect that he never had a real relationship, never knew the shatters and shivers of holding hands and hugs, trembling of flesh and bone caused by sparkle of coup d’foudre ... Stars bursting inside back-bone, due to lightning-bolts of electric sensations...This is all unknown to this strange human being. That’s why he has a drinking problem. He drinks far too much, far too often.

I imply that by drinking he’s able to experience some sort of being-alive state.

When he talks about the women he had slept with, or if he doesn’t pay me attention, ( he usually bugged me all the time during the trip, but there were some times when he ignored me) I tend to become anxious, almost as if I were jealous...

But of course that’s silly, because I could never-ever have feelings for such a self-centered beast! Nor does he compare with My Beloved Monster...

When he got really drunk, and all could have turned out a horrid experience at the Turkish Police, he went up on the hotel’s stage and competed in a contest...which he won. During the contest, I was so restless and nervous for his safety, that I couldn’t focus on anything except a particular point on the stage.

What the Heck is going on here?!

That’s when I realized that I actually care (?!?) for the bastard...In a human-like motherly-lover way. Weird, but I can’t describe a coup d’foudre or infatuation, because I only like a part of him, which he doesn’t let out. Alas, I do feel some sort of empathy, mixed together with compassion, the need to protect and show little things which matter, as well as attraction.

If that has a name, you tell me, ‘cause I can’t find the right words to describe what I’m going through.

Julien? The little Devil!

He’s so unaware of the voluptuous cortex he possesses... The lustful grey matter of his cerebrum is so beautiful that it shatters my bones and breaks the vanes of my veins... And I see him as The Little Devil always standing on your shoulder and whispering all the wrong things...

It all started when I borrowed his iPod and stunningly discovered that all his 80 GB were made up of my faves...Some, I had forgotten about, hence last year I lost all my music due to a malfunction of iTunes.

On the second day, he came at the pool (he usually got up earlier than the other lazy guys) with a professional photo-camera. I didn't ask, but as I was paying attention to what was being said, I found out that he's very passionate about photography and that he even took private lessons !

That explained why he was carying such a "monster" of a camera! Still, he was taking far more pics of me, and I thought I'm probably fantasizing or something...But as I later found out, right out of his mouth, he was experiencing a sun-burn to his neurons.
Most probably he forgot all about it...

O.K., I'll stop lying to myself now, because if he'd already forgotten about the "summer fling", he probably wouldn't have texted me all these days, telling me how much he misses the setting sun and my impertinent comments on relationships.

I should probably answer the same, but that would mean to give you hopes. Hopes will get you nowhere, because I'm not what you want.

You can't see beyond the flesh and bone, you don't know that for me there's no "grey"; there's only "black" or "white". I never settle for half-measures, and feelings are not to be toyed with.

I'm sorry. But look on the bright side, we'll still spend precious moments together when I come back...It's far better than not spending any time together...

Bee is right, I've returned another person. I don't know where I'm standing, I have absolutely NO CLUE where we're heading, I'm confused about you, me , us, them, and I know I'll have my answers when the time is right. Until then, it's no use to torment myself anymore. I've been tormented enough for the last 2 years...

Since I haven't slept in the past 30 hours I'll count today as having started at 12 a.m. It was entirely intentional, I figured in terms of pure hours spent being tired it was far easier to stay up 36 hours so I could go to bed early and wake up at 6 than to gradually drop back my alarm an hour or so every day. Why prolong the process any more than I have to?

Now, all I have left is 5 hours, which is nothing. Considering I had no experience with staying up for more than a day this proved to be much easier than I planned. The key was to drink coffee every 5 hours before I started to get tired and to stay occupied; that, and talking to someone on AIM from 5 a.m. until 2 p.m. (they were in Australia so it wasn't a crazy time of day for them).

I really can't wait to get to sleep because really, the novelty of shadows expanding and receding slightly and inanimate objects twitching defiantly in their place wears off real fast. The same goes for things moving in the shadows in the corners of my eyes... I can't even get a good look at them anyways, what's the point?

A few things I discovered:

There is a clear limit to how tired I can get. After that point I only get less tired as more time wears on, at least for a few hours. This makes staying awake tremendously easier.

The longer I'm awake the louder everything gets. Right now I'm acutely aware of every single sound around me: The ringing in my ears, the discussions of people on the street in front of my house, the hum of cars on the roads near my neighborhood, the television left on downstairs and the horribly annoying, overpowering noise of the clacking of the keyboard. All these sounds are also extremely irritating; I wish I could shut them out.

The more sleep deprived I am the more "creative" I am. I'm not even quite sure what "creative" means right now, but if it means: to think of unique/original ideas via uninhibited/disorganized/disjointed thought processes then I'm pretty darn creative.

Time dilates only when I want it to go faster with the effect increasing in direct proportion to time spent awake. There is something distinctly unnerving about being sure you've done an hour's worth of thinking/work only to find 10 minutes have passed.

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