I went through a box of old papers I had been saving to go through to see if I would get any memories that I could use in my book. Wow - that sentence would have been red inked if it were in one of those papers. Anyway, I was amazed that this girl who wrote these things is a relative stranger to me. I remember writing some of them, or at least remember the events they were about, but I didn't feel like I am her. At least not going through the box(fragment, I know). We're starting to mesh a little now, writing about this.

I found it interesting how some preferences have stuck and others haven't. I had a different favorite color on each paper I saw, but my love for my bike was evident.

Also evident was this girl with a wild imagination. I mean, where is the line drawn between having a vivid imagination and not being "based in reality." If those stories had any pathology to them, that'd be it. I admit that I was somewhat disappointed to not find anything stronger. I should be relieved, which is my first problem, but that aside, these papers looked like a "typical" girl's work.

The only odd thing was that in a series of questions we had to answer in eighth grade pertaning to ourselves, I put that I am paranoid about a lot of things. The teacher put a question mark as if asking for one of the many missing explanations in that piece of work. On a surface level, it appears like I was quoting something that my mother drilled into my head. And that's quite possible. What's interesting and what explains that and all the missing enumerations is that I had to keep my life secret from my English teacher that year. Why? I believed she was trying to take over my mind. I resolved to let her know as little about me as possible, even almost making up an imaginary sibling to put in the part about my family so that she couldn't get the codes to my brain and overtake me. Was this a product of an overactive imagination? Reading too much science fiction? Or early psychosis?

As far as I remember, the paranoia surrounding that teacher, who I believed to be a witch, dissolved the next year as she took a job in the high school, following our class there. I never again was a studen in her class, but I paradoxically took a liking to her after spending nearly a year fearing for my life in her presence.

This is not what got me thinking though, as I have since mulled my witch-teacher belief over in my adult life. What I wonder about is how that year coincides with a major life change. I moved from up north down to the eastern part of the state. My parents had both worked in the school system I attended since before I was old enough to go to school. In fact, my dad was even my middle school vice principal until the move. I didn't have a lot of friends there, but I wasn't unliked. And I had been with most of those kids from kindergarten. But then my dad took a new job, and we moved a quarter or so into my eighth grade year. It doesn't even seem like trauma to me, on an emotional or intellectual level. But what if it somehow was the spark that ignited the delusions? I don't discount that, in all technicallity, I have had delusions for almost as long as I can remember, or even as long as I can remember. But perhaps this move moved the dial another notch toward mental illness. Or maybe I'm just overthinking.

I appologize for this unedited version. I am still pondering a more public place to post these, after they've been refined. Which would make you guys the ones to first read my raw ideas. Thanks for sticking with me!

I just burnt some popcorn. Guess it has a due date for a reason. Or I'm really out of practice with popping it.

I might play on a softball team this summer! Only if it's slowpitch (the lob kind for people who really aren't softball plaers) will I play. I forgot to look at that before I signed up. The team is from the church I go to when I don't go to a Catholic church. I am excited to get to know some of the members a little more. The person that I go to for pastoral guidence said that I needed a church community, no matter what religion it is. I kind of felt called away from this church for a while, but after our diocese's ignorant move this past week, I don't see going back to being a full-time Catholic anytime in my future.

I've had to pull myself out of nightmares two times in the last three nights. Sometimes I seize when I do that, but I was lucky these times. Well, lucky to not seize. Not lucky to be scared out of my unconscious mind. I have a app that tracks my sleep so hopefully I can learn how to not be so tired all of the time since medicine doesn't work and  the caffeine that I will/can drink has too many calories. There are checkboxes for dreams and nightmares, so I'm trying to pay more attention to what I actually have at night instead of remembering one bad detail and labeling it a nightmare. So far I've had dreams like five times in about a month, two of which were on nights where I also had nightmares. I can't help but wonder if I don't get good rest because sleeping isn't pleasant for me (except during the day when I either don't get into the REM sleep or aren't in there long enough for bad dreams to take shape). Maybe being tired during the day is my body's way of saying that it likes naps way better than sleep at night. There was an article out recently that talked about human's natural state is to sleep in several chunks instead of one large one. I do know I run from REM. The techs commented at both sleep studies that I would fight/pull myself out of dream sleep. I even had a pretty vivid nightmare during the second study, but they said that they couldn't tell because the brain waves are the same as they are for dreams. That's kind of weird to me.

I went to a parade yesterday in the town my parents and I lived in for a while. They just moved from there a few weeks ago, in fact. The town's rural nature showed in this parade. There were cement trucks, tractors, large woodchippers, and lots of trucks with advertising on the sides. I was impressed that people actually came up to the individuals from work I was with and gave them candy. I guess they did look a little more disabled than the people I took to a different parade where they were totally ignored. There were only three clowns from the clown group I technically belong to. One got to ride on a motorcycle. That would have been fun. I have thus far been too shy to walk in a parade with this group. My town's festival is coming up in June, and I'm getting up the courage to walk in that one.

Stale, burnt popcorn does not smell good.

We have had two official sessions of our group at work. It has been difficult because it's our first time, and this is a randomly developed curriculum (but based on a famous model), so we're really on our own as far as trying to teach the material effectively. I was panicking at the beginning because it was obvious the participants weren't getting it, but it seemed that by the end they understood a little. Mindfulness is difficult for anyone to grasp. Heck, it took me years, and I'm still ironing out the details. Try to teach it to individuals with cognitive limitations in two sessions, and it's basically set up for failure. I do really enjoy the material and teaching though. If anything, we've got some backing now for a request to go to some additional training.

A really hard thing about the group is that the staff are present too. It's good because they know the individuals well and can help them understand what we're trying to convey. It's bad because I feel like they're judging us. My co-facilitator said today that they were bored. I didn't get that at all from their faces. They were nodding and smiling. Either I stink at facial reading (quite possible) or she's assuming the worst (possible). If anything, perhaps we'll teach the staff a skill or two. And then I'll totally revamp the way we're doing this because I get obsessed like that a lot. I already made moderate modificaitons to the handouts. And, as always, I think my way's better. I just hope the county that developed this doesn't find out about my adjustments to their document...

So, my parents are all done from move #1. They're renting in the other town I work in, so it's quite convienent to spend the night and save a drive back and forth (and not have to get up early for the days I'm there). Well, at least not always get up early. Elly was apparently waiting by my door the first morning, which she did when I spent the night at my parents' old house. My mom interprets that as she wants me awake, so I was a little cranky the first morning having been woken up 20 minutes early (when you're as tired as I am, every minute counts). But I very much enjoy being able to pet and hug Elly in the mornings and play with and lay with her at night. It will be all too soon before she moves with my mom to Arizona, my dad to follow at the end of the summer.

I knew if I made myself keep this page open while I ate, I'd settle down and write a post.

I had the opportunity to watch/listen to a hallucination machine a few weeks ago. I'm pretty sure that it was intensified to the point of a major psychotic episode for the complete effect, but all I had to say was, "wow." An entire thunderstorm was imagined. I was a little surprised by the auditory hallucinations. They were mostly just words. While I'm still sorting out if I do hallucinate, I get sentences for the most part and explanations why not to do something. And my voices definitely don't talk to each other. I was asked that during the neuropsych exam, and I wasn't sure. Through this experience, however, I now totally understand (to the best one can) what it is like when the voices talk to each other. And it is scary! I would recommend anyone who has a chance to try a hallucination machine to do it.

I am getting frustrated with our local emergency room staff. I was in there with someone I work with who was quite clearly having some abnormal brain activity (most likely a seizue) because she would space out and not respond. The diagnosis: constipation. Mind you, she went number 2 already that day and the day before. I think that they x-ray anyone who has stomach pain and give them that diagnosis so they can just send them home. Or, more sadly, they do that to anyone with a developmental disability.

I was also in the ER to assist with mental health clients, and I was angered by what I heard. "Room 3? Crazy." "Room 11? Crazy." I haven't heard that word with a generally unfriendly tone and with the meaning that the person is mentally unstable in a long time. I'm as guilty as the next person to go, "that's crazy" at something that is absurd, but I wasn't liking this "crazy" that I heard in the ER. There is a particular nurse who is, in my opinion, inappropriate while talking about people who are there for psychiatric concerns. I really wanted to file a complaint, but I doubt that will do anything. I'm thinking more now that I'll give her an "education" some day, when I get the courage. This is the woman who wants to press charges on a completely psychotic patient who hit her. And who wanted another patient "to go somewhere just for lying."  Really? Has she never lied? I bet she's never been locked up for lying nor would she want to be.

I really want to put this journal out there more, but I'm scared. I took off my birthdate (I think it worked anyway). I'm not sure I have the drive to proofread though. Maybe I'll make a grammar and spelling disclaimer.

It's sad that this is all I can come up with to write about. I must be sleeping/laying down more than I thought.