I always wondered what blogs were - they seemed so theoretical and intangible. I knew they existed. I heard other people speak of them, whispering among themselves, with their arrogant grins as if to say, "I know of something you will never understand. Leave us to our secret chatter." My father started a blog on foreclosures. I've never visited it. I just know of it - like all blogs in my life. My home just completed its foreclosure process which is another way of saying my credit rating is 451. I think that's my dad's way of supporting me. Instead of just saying how he feels, I've got to engage him in intellectual combat. He wrote a book on foreclosure which, painfully, I helped edit. It was painful because it was on what to do if you're going through foreclosure - and I edited it only after my foreclosure was complete. Bastard. My brother spoke of blogs. Recently he told me I should start a blog about what people who are mentally ill do to cope. "You can speak from experience, Roger. Tell people how you cope being crazy." That's a compliment. In fact, I hate blogs. They always seem to come up in the wrong context. Either I should write blogs about the most difficult struggles in my own life or I should read blogs that would help me through those struggles only after the struggle.
This blog is intentionally funny. In other words, if you aren't amused you just don't get it. I'm not saying you're stupid, I'm just saying you might be happier with other blogs that are 'at your level.' I should introduce myself. I'm 26 years old. I've lived a very colorful life. I have a wealth of experience to draw upon and it occasionally comes across as wisdom when I share it. I'm single. Well, I'm divorced. I graduated from the University of California at Santa Barbara in 2003 at the top of my class. I did very well as an undergraduate and planned on going to Georgetown for my graduate degree. I started a business instead and then purchased a home in Carmel Valley. Life was good. Until one day. I've had serious health problems - chronic migraines and, quite suddenly, bipolar disorder. About that time, I managed to squander $100,000, loose my wife, leave my business, resign from my job, alienate my family, and visit Amsterdam, Paris, and London. One night, I figured out how gravity worked and thought less of Einstein. I rented a ferrari for two days, hired a model, rented a yahat, and thought I was clever because it was tax deductible. When I visisted Amsterdam, I thought it would be fun to go without any planning. I wandered the streets of the Red Light district for a few hours strung out on mushrooms hoping I'd find my youth hostel again. I took my video camera and interviewed a random person for thirty minutes on their view about the war in Iraq and thought, the entire time, that I was doing great research for some paper I will someday write. Needless to say, I was hospitalized a few times. Eventually I lost my home, the marriage was dissolved, I couldn't work, my efforts to pursue graduate school ended in disarray, and, as my dad put it, I hit rock bottom with "a resounding thud." Mean, I thought.
Today life might seem bleak and grim compared to those days of success. I live in a halfway house. But I don't call it that - I call it a sober living home. Ironically, I don't have a problem with alcohol. I hate the stuff. I spend my days in group therapy, my evenings playing chess, reading, and watching movies. I have to go to Alcoholic's Anonymous meetings four times per week. I have a curfew. Good times. Normally I'd have to do a chore, but I pay people off. I also don't do laundry, I pay to get it done. Thanks California for the disability!
I'm saying all this because I probably have some interesting stories to share. Case in point, the other day a person in one of my group therapy sessions was talking about his experience at Costco. After his purchase, he thought he was being followed. Anxious, he hurried and became annoyed at how slow the line seemed to be moving to get out of the place. When he finally got out, he saw a van slowly passing on the street ahead. Another man glanced at him. He told himself, "If they wanted me dead, I'd be dead already." Poor guy. He went on to say that he still has a lot of difficulties with paranoia. He thinks people are out to get him. I told him that's unfortunate. "James, that's silly," I said. "I'm the person out to get you. In fact, I don't even have bipolar disorder. I was sent here by headquarters to keep track of you. But enough is enough, it's only fair you should know. If I can give one word of advice, stay away from plants." His eyes bulged out of his head and I tried to reassure him that I was joking. I probably fucked him up for life. Maybe someday he'll laugh at plants and just blurt out, "Oh, that Roger!"
Initially, I'm going to probably post the experiences I've already written. I hope you enjoy them. Then again, if you don't, eh, whatever.
A quick note about my migraines. I've suffered from migraines my entire life. I've tried everything. They've affected every aspect of my life. For instance, one of the main reasons my marriage crumbled into divorce was because my ex-wife told me one evening, "Roger, I don't want to have children with you because you get migraines." Talk about Darwin slapping me in the face, "Selection, bitch!" I am taking Lamitical. I had to give it a plug. I haven't had a migraine since July 2nd. That's a big deal.
I'm going to end this post with a poem I wrote in March. I call it "Change."
I live in a halfway house
Filled with grown men
They�??re running from vice, hiding from sin
I sleep on a bunk bed
Covered by sheets so thin
My dreams shiver at night; my tears freeze from plight
My life has curfews, meal times, and chores
This is not me. This is not me.
I was the scholar, the husband, the businessman, the homeowner,
Now I don�??t know who or why I am
Or what I must do
I keep falling and dropping
Right into these words and into this day
Broke and lonely
Defeated and ashamed
And with little left
But the thoughts in my brain
I just want it to end
End it in vain
Just stop the insanity
Bring closure to pain
But I won�??t let thoughts kill me
That�??s why I�??m here
To see all of you healthy
And learn of your cure.
This blog is intentionally funny. In other words, if you aren't amused you just don't get it. I'm not saying you're stupid, I'm just saying you might be happier with other blogs that are 'at your level.' I should introduce myself. I'm 26 years old. I've lived a very colorful life. I have a wealth of experience to draw upon and it occasionally comes across as wisdom when I share it. I'm single. Well, I'm divorced. I graduated from the University of California at Santa Barbara in 2003 at the top of my class. I did very well as an undergraduate and planned on going to Georgetown for my graduate degree. I started a business instead and then purchased a home in Carmel Valley. Life was good. Until one day. I've had serious health problems - chronic migraines and, quite suddenly, bipolar disorder. About that time, I managed to squander $100,000, loose my wife, leave my business, resign from my job, alienate my family, and visit Amsterdam, Paris, and London. One night, I figured out how gravity worked and thought less of Einstein. I rented a ferrari for two days, hired a model, rented a yahat, and thought I was clever because it was tax deductible. When I visisted Amsterdam, I thought it would be fun to go without any planning. I wandered the streets of the Red Light district for a few hours strung out on mushrooms hoping I'd find my youth hostel again. I took my video camera and interviewed a random person for thirty minutes on their view about the war in Iraq and thought, the entire time, that I was doing great research for some paper I will someday write. Needless to say, I was hospitalized a few times. Eventually I lost my home, the marriage was dissolved, I couldn't work, my efforts to pursue graduate school ended in disarray, and, as my dad put it, I hit rock bottom with "a resounding thud." Mean, I thought.
Today life might seem bleak and grim compared to those days of success. I live in a halfway house. But I don't call it that - I call it a sober living home. Ironically, I don't have a problem with alcohol. I hate the stuff. I spend my days in group therapy, my evenings playing chess, reading, and watching movies. I have to go to Alcoholic's Anonymous meetings four times per week. I have a curfew. Good times. Normally I'd have to do a chore, but I pay people off. I also don't do laundry, I pay to get it done. Thanks California for the disability!
I'm saying all this because I probably have some interesting stories to share. Case in point, the other day a person in one of my group therapy sessions was talking about his experience at Costco. After his purchase, he thought he was being followed. Anxious, he hurried and became annoyed at how slow the line seemed to be moving to get out of the place. When he finally got out, he saw a van slowly passing on the street ahead. Another man glanced at him. He told himself, "If they wanted me dead, I'd be dead already." Poor guy. He went on to say that he still has a lot of difficulties with paranoia. He thinks people are out to get him. I told him that's unfortunate. "James, that's silly," I said. "I'm the person out to get you. In fact, I don't even have bipolar disorder. I was sent here by headquarters to keep track of you. But enough is enough, it's only fair you should know. If I can give one word of advice, stay away from plants." His eyes bulged out of his head and I tried to reassure him that I was joking. I probably fucked him up for life. Maybe someday he'll laugh at plants and just blurt out, "Oh, that Roger!"
Initially, I'm going to probably post the experiences I've already written. I hope you enjoy them. Then again, if you don't, eh, whatever.
A quick note about my migraines. I've suffered from migraines my entire life. I've tried everything. They've affected every aspect of my life. For instance, one of the main reasons my marriage crumbled into divorce was because my ex-wife told me one evening, "Roger, I don't want to have children with you because you get migraines." Talk about Darwin slapping me in the face, "Selection, bitch!" I am taking Lamitical. I had to give it a plug. I haven't had a migraine since July 2nd. That's a big deal.
I'm going to end this post with a poem I wrote in March. I call it "Change."
I live in a halfway house
Filled with grown men
They�??re running from vice, hiding from sin
I sleep on a bunk bed
Covered by sheets so thin
My dreams shiver at night; my tears freeze from plight
My life has curfews, meal times, and chores
This is not me. This is not me.
I was the scholar, the husband, the businessman, the homeowner,
Now I don�??t know who or why I am
Or what I must do
I keep falling and dropping
Right into these words and into this day
Broke and lonely
Defeated and ashamed
And with little left
But the thoughts in my brain
I just want it to end
End it in vain
Just stop the insanity
Bring closure to pain
But I won�??t let thoughts kill me
That�??s why I�??m here
To see all of you healthy
And learn of your cure.