Highly Sensitive Person

I'm just now reading the book The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine Aron. I identify very closely with her description of highly sensitive persons, or HSPs. The book is copyright 1996. I've only read the first two chapters of the book, and I already think that I should've read this book nine years ago.

There appear to be exercises and the end of every chapter, at least some of which involve reflection. Since I have this blog, and since it effectively functions as my journal (I stopped writing my private journal in book form ever since I started this blog), I considered posting my responses here. I decided, "Why not?" (Now, I'm generally ignorant of the copyright laws or anything of that nature, so I'm not sure if posting my responses on-line is considered breaking the law. Actually, this happened to me once before, and I gladly removed the illegal material. If necessary, I'm willing to do the same thing here (although the authorities probably wouldn't care whether I'm "willing" to remove them or not).)

Chapter 1

Think of three major changes or surprises in my life: one that seemed bad, one neutral, and one good, in that order. Answer three sets of questions for each event:

The Bad

1. The bad one clearly has to be the event that I still, even to this day, believe was the worst thing that happened to me in my entire life. It was my "emotional separation" from the closest friend I ever had, S.C. This happened at the end of my freshman year in college. It was sort of like breaking up, but not really because she was never my girlfriend to begin with. It was the event that precipitated my depression. Prior to this, I never thought or felt like I had depression. I had some problems, and I felt sad at times, but no more than any other person, I thought. I also felt optimistic that I would be able to solve these problems in the future.
   
   Think about your response to the change and how you have always viewed it. I believe I had the worst possible response to this change. She was the closest friend I ever had. Emotionally, we were very intimate (at least, that's how I felt). I shared my deepest thoughts and feelings with her. I never did that with any human being before in my life. Moreover, in some ways she felt like a mother to me -- more so than my biological mother. Often I would tell her how my day went, and she was willing to listen. My own mom and dad never asked me that when I was growing up, so I took that to mean they didn't care. Sometimes I think that I should've just told them how my day went without waiting for them to ask. But, come on! I was just a kid! I didn't know that I was supposed to do that. Parents are supposed to show an interest in their kids anyway, aren't they?
   
   Getting back to S.C.... She was empathic, I guess. By this I mean that after I told her about anything "bad" that happened to me during the day, she would react as if the bad thing actually happened to her. That tremendously validated my feelings, which was something I never experienced before. Thus, she became a critical source, and unfortunately, the only source of support for me.
   
   So, when she was gone I took it extremely hard. She was everything to me. My only source of support was gone, and that's how I've always viewed it. I came to feel like my parents did nothing for me in comparison. I withdrew from the outside world into myself. My social life dwindled to nothing. Previously, I used to work out on a regular basis. I completely stopped that. As a result, I gained what must have been a hundred pounds. That made me feel even worse about myself. Emotionally, I was in turmoil. I started seeing a counselor and a psychiatrist at this time, but the pain and emptiness I felt never subsided, even to this day. Countless psychiatrists and psycho-pharmacologists have tried virtually every medication in the book, all to no avail. I remember that by my junior year, I started to think seriously about committing suicide.
   
   Did you feel you responded "wrong" or not as others would have? Most definitely. I felt like I shouldn't have taken it so hard, and I believed that 100% of other people would not have taken it so hard, either. "Time heals all wounds," doesn't it? I came to believe that there was something wrong with me by taking it as hard as I did.
   
   Or for too long? Yep, I would say that twelve years is too long.
   
   Did you decide you were no good in some way? Yes (as I answered earlier).
   
   Did you try to hide your upset from others? Absolutely. In fact, because of this event and my subsequent response, today I'm a master at hiding all of my emotions from others. At the time of the event, I did this for the simple reason that no one else seemed to pick up on the pain I was feeling. S.C. was the only person in my life who had actively asked me how I was doing, and she did so very frequently. So, I thought that others would think I was weird for feeling the way I did. I couldn't tolerate others "thinking I was weird" because I didn't want to become completely isolated from society.
   
   Or did others find out and tell you that you were being "too much"? No, this never happened, and I know exactly why. I was too afraid of even being considered "too much" by any human being, even if they just thought it and never said it out loud. I hid all my true emotions.


2. Consider your response in light of what you know now about how your body automatically operates. Well, I guess now I shouldn't be so hard on myself, since biologically, I pretty much responded the way I should have, i.e. the way an HSP would. I never experienced a relationship like I did with S.C. before in my life. I never experienced an "emotional separation" like that before, either. In that way, it's natural not to know how to respond. It was difficult to understand why another person wouldn't want to be around me anymore, given how "nice" I tried to be with everybody. It was also difficult to think of how to go on with my life. My classmates were my age, too, and at the ripe age of nineteen, most of them probably never experienced as deep a relationship as I did. Consequently, they wouldn't be able to pick it up from me. They wouldn't have understood me when I talked about it. Finally, they wouldn't know how to help. It was natural to lose confidence in myself, to feel flawed, and to feel unlikable. It shouldn't be anything to be ashamed of.


3. Think if there's anything that needs to be done now. Well, I guess I should share what I've learned here with someone else. But the only person I can think of is my therapist, and I've already explained in past entries how I hate his guts. At least, I guess, there's some importance in writing this down (or typing it, in this case), like I'm doing now.

The Neutral

1. I had a hard time thinking of this one. All I could come up with was my transition from college to the real world. It "should" have been neutral, or just a major change, but I didn't adapt very well for the following reasons:
   
   
   1. I wasn't able to find a real job until four months after I graduated. This was depressing because most of my classmates started work not more than one month after graduation. So it became one reason to feel flawed.
   
   
   2. The job I got didn't require a college degree, just a high school degree. My work-study job in college was more mentally stimulating. This hurt me much more. It made me feel like my intelligence and education, which were things about which I felt the most pride, were totally irrelevant and insignificant.
   
   
   3. Perhaps most importantly, I felt completely socially isolated. It actually took me four and a half years to graduate because I had to make up for a class I failed. The vast majority of my classmates graduated in only four years. This was the first time I ever failed a class. The fact that I didn't graduate with my classmates may not be that important, but there were two incredibly painful side effects:
      1. I had what I call a "mint condition" yearbook. You know, basically anybody who has friends gets messages from them written in their yearbook. My completely blank yearbook was hard evidence that I was friendless.
      2. It felt impossible to make contact with any of my classmates. I felt that they wouldn't have understood why I graduated late. I was way too afraid to admit that I failed a class. Also, we weren't really "peers" anymore. Each of us had gone our separate ways. One actually has to make a concerted effort to stay in touch. It's definitely not as easy as it was before because there are no longer any shared experiences.
   
   Think about your response to the change and how you have always viewed it. Outwardly, I didn't respond that badly. I showed up at my job every day like a good soldier, earning paltry pay and being treated as mentally inferior. Inwardly, I wanted to kill myself. I specifically remember one day where I got up in the morning, and the first thought I had was to put a bullet in my head. How have I always viewed it? Actually, given the circumstances, I believe I responded quite naturally.
   
   Did you feel you responded "wrong" or not as others would have? No. Like I said, I pretty much believe that others would have responded the same way I did, given those circumstances.
   
   Or for too long? Again, no. I think that my responses are natural for anyone who's had my past.
   
   Did you decide you were no good in some way? Yes, all of the reasons made me feel flawed, as I outlined above.
   
   Did you try to hide your upset from others? Yes. I felt certain that others wouldn't understand why I was feeling the way I felt. Therefore, I basically tried to appear as normal as possible. I even remember one of my co-workers in particular thinking that I was basically a "happy" person. This was a testament to how much of an expert I became at masking my true feelings with a fake smile.
   
   Or did others find out and tell you that you were being "too much"? No (for the same reason I gave for the "bad" event).


2. Consider your response in light of what you know now about how your body automatically operates. It looks like my neutral event has more to do with depression than it does with sensitivity. Oh well, I couldn't really think of anything else. The typical stuff is still true -- it was only normal for me, as an HSP, to think of what to say in my new working environment. Most people want to make good impressions at a new job, which explains why I hid my upset feelings from them. Given all the things that happened to me, it is understandable that I lost confidence and felt flawed (like I said for the "bad" event).


3. Think if there's anything that needs to be done now. Writing this down.

The Good

1. This was actually a lot of fun, depending on how I think about it. One of the companies I worked for threw rather elaborate parties for anyone who had a birthday. Planning for the party was held completely in secret. On the day of the party, the birthday celebrant would be called aside by an excuse, such as there being a meeting one of his co-workers thought he should attend. But instead of a meeting, it would be his surprise birthday party.
   
   As an HSP, I seriously wished I would be ignored on my birthday. I cursed the fact that on that year, my birthday fell on a work day (although they never let employees whose birthday fell on a weekend go; their birthday parties would take place on a Friday or a Monday). I also debated in my mind whether they actually knew when my birthday was. I wrote it down when I filled out their employment application, but I was hoping that that information was buried in paperwork and would never see the light of day.
   
   When the day arrived, about two-thirds of the day passed, and there was no indication of any party. "Thank God," I thought to myself. I was starting to feel relived that I was going to slip through the cracks. At one point, of my co-workers said, "Hey Gilbert, there's a meeting right now in room xyz. They need your input. I'll go with you." This actually happened with some regularity in the past. Because of my expertise (which, I think, is another HSP trait), I was called in to meetings that would ordinarily have nothing to do with me, but I would be invited to make comments from a technical perspective.
   
   Surprise, surprise. It was my birthday party. The room was packed. Everybody in the company was there (it was a relatively small company). I didn't get away with it, after all. What was my initial reaction? My face must have been beet red. I remember feeling very anxious, but also very happy at being the center of attention. At the time, I'd say the anxiety was slightly stronger. In HSPs, I believe this is what's called a state of overarousal. That makes sense to me. Everyone in the company was looking at me. Since an HSP is normally highly sensitive, I had no choice but to try my best to numb myself to the sensory overload.
   
   In the end, I had very mixed feelings. Sure, I'd say that the anxiety was there the whole time. But I also felt very happy about what happened. It was a lot of fun. The cake was great. Everybody was socializing, especially me (I didn't really have a choice!). None of the terrible things that I usually predict will happen to me in such situations happened. I got a card, and there was a comment from everyone in the company. (Hmmm... I wonder if that makes up for my "mint condition" yearbook....) I kept that card. Thinking of that card always gives me warm feelings, even today. Nobody rejected me, or anything remotely like that. I hope that that's something I'll be able to treasure forever.
   
   Think about your response to the change and how you have always viewed it. My response was slightly positive. I felt a little more comfortable around everyone else. I didn't feel more comfortable because in my mind, I told myself that this was a one time thing. These people don't really care about me. They're only acting as they would at any birthday party. I've always viewed it this way.
   
   Did you feel you responded "wrong" or not as others would have? Yes. I described some of the HSP aspects of this above. To be specific, I think others would have been delighted at being the center of attention, and they wouldn't have felt any anxiety at all.
   
   Or for too long? Yes. The thoughts and feelings I had about the party lasted for several weeks.
   
   Did you decide you were no good in some way? Yes. Even though overall, I was happy about the party, I still felt no good because of the high degree of discomfort (the anxiety) I felt.
   
   Did you try to hide your upset from others? Yes. As usual, I tried very hard to hide my anxiety and appear like I was enjoying the party. I did enjoy the party; I just didn't want to show that I had any negative feelings about it. I believed they wouldn't understand that and would think something was wrong with me. Why would anyone feel bad on their birthday?
   
   Or did others find out and tell you that you were being "too much"? No.


2. Consider your response in light of what you know now about how your body automatically operates. Like I said above, apparently this is standard stuff for HSPs. A surprise birthday party is pretty much a textbook example of an event that causes high arousal. Being the center of attention, especially when the entire company is there, is probably an overstimulating event for anyone. I shouldn't be ashamed of anything.


3. Think if there's anything that needs to be done now. I might be able to share this with my therapist. He seems to like to hear about positive events from me, if not only to interrupt the continual drabness of the usual misery I spill before him during our sessions. In addition, it felt really good to write this down. Most of my posts to this blog have described abject misery. This party really qualifies as one of the few good things that happened in my life. It actually makes me emotional, right now, that such things are possible for me.

Other Notes from Chapter 1

As a footnote, I must mention that The Case of Charles is immensely infuriating to me. I'm sorry to change the tone, but here's this guy who has the same sensitivity that I have. What's different is that he's had the benefit of great parents, which in turn have enabled him not to react badly to negative events in his childhood. As a result, he graduated from an Ivy League university, and now he's a fucking professor. He lives in a quiet neighborhood, with a fountain in his backyard and good music.

In case I haven't mentioned it before in this blog, being a professor always has been and still is one of my ultimate goals. The fact that this guy has achieved it -- well, I suppose I should be encouraged that such things are possible for an sensitive person, but I'm incredibly jealous because he's got the life that I believe I'm entitled to. Yeah, yeah, I'm sure professors have problems, too, but I'd rather be a professor with problems than an unemployed bum with problems.

The quiet neighborhood, fountain, and music are low blows to me. I've always wanted to move out of the city I live in because it's overstimulating. I always had an inkling that the environment I was in was not the best for people like me, and thanks to this book, now I'm sure of it. The fountain upsets me because I once visited the house of a professor, and he had a fountain. The music upsets me because of an internship I had when I was sixteen. My supervisor once invited me to a ride in his car. It was an Infinity or a Lexus -- some kind of luxury car. What struck me the most was that when I was in his car, I felt like I was on another planet. I don't know that much about cars, but I think that his car had very good shock absorbers, so good that I felt like I was floating, or levitating. We went over potholes, and it felt like nothing. The car radio was on, and it was playing classical music. I love classical music. Basically, I felt like I was in heaven. Fourteen years, I think, is a long time to be away from heaven.

I feel so much rage about this that I want to fire a powerful energy blast at Charles, a la Dragonball Z, and annihilate him to such a degree that not even a single cell of him remains. Then, I want to erase all trace of him from history, as if he never existed.

Thoughts From Therapy

I feel a little motivated to write again, which is cool. Things are heating up again in therapy, about which I'm very angry. But maybe this is a good thing, since it seems that if I'm to make any progress in my life, I have to challenge the ideas and beliefs I have about the world.

What pisses me off is that for the umpteenth time, my therapist asked me what it is that's preventing me from moving forward. Note that I've been seeing the guy for over two years. To me, that seems like more than enough time to get to know me. (Of course, I could be wrong about that, since 1) there are many paths to explore in psychotherapy, and it's possible that there are some areas that I haven't fully fleshed out for him, and 2) some people spend something like twenty years in psychotherapy without making any progress. As for the latter, I don't personally know anyone like that, and I think I've been around a lot of people who have depression. Then again, I don't usually go around asking them how many years they've spent in therapy.) He doesn't seem to understand that all I really want to do is die. I want to die because right now, it looks like the only way I can end my suffering. What are three of the most common words that people say before committing suicide? "Goodbye, cruel world." My sentiments exactly. Nothing captures the emotions I've had for the past twelve years (the total amount of time that I've had depression) more than those words.

Anyway, I felt that by now he himself should know the exact reasons why I haven't done things to make my life better. It makes me angry that he doesn't. It doesn't help that I don't really like the guy very much. I told him so, but he stated pretty bluntly that the only alternative would be to start over with someone else. That seemed to be the greater of two evils, so I decided to stick with him.

To be fair, the guy is probably doing the best he can. I guess that's really the best I can expect from anybody. Really none of the therapists I've had have successfully motivated me to do anything constructive about my life. Once there was one guy, however, who I connected with very well. He was more of an intellectual psychiatrist, which I consider myself to be sometimes (an intellectual, not a psychiatrist). He was actually the director of the psychiatric division of a hospital where I once stayed. I thought he was a very bright guy, so it made sense to me that he would be the director. Unfortunately, I only had one brief fifteen-minute session with him, which was a perfunctory activity for any director.

The Chicken or the Egg?

One problem among many that I have with my current therapist has to do with a particular psychological theory he believes. He simply believes that the more things that a person does, the less depressed he or she will feel. In other words, in life you have to "just do it" whether or not you feel like doing it. I believe in the converse, which is that motivation must come before activity. He thinks that this is putting the cart before the horse. But why does a person do anything in life, for example? Because at a very basic level, he or she has a motivation to do it. Why does a slave follow the orders of his taskmaster? Because he is motivated to avoid the pain of getting whipped (unless you have a sadistic taskmaster, who whips his slaves no matter what they do. I don't see how that would be effective in getting them to do any work, however.). If a person has a gun pointed at his head, why does he do things he ordinarily wouldn't do? Because he is motivated to minimize the probability of getting killed. Why do teams in sports, or boxers in boxing have coaches? Well, there are many reasons, but one of the coaches' duties is to motivate his or her players to win. You might say that with the paycheck he receives, that should be reason enough for him to win, or that it's his job to play to win, but still, both of those reasons count as motivations for him to win.

Fear vs. Truth

Another idea that he's tried to impress on me is that I have this elaborate set of negative beliefs about the world, therefore I'm making myself miserable by holding on to these beliefs. It's as if there's a serious drama or opera going on in my mind. It's only in my mind because in reality, no one else, at least recently, has imposed any negative judgments on me. Basically, I'm living in my own world. Well, can you blame me? Based on the experiences I've had in my life, reality sucks. On the other hand, he may be right. Part of therapy is about confronting one's fears. In order for me to change and to grow, in the process I'm going to have to do some things that I won't like. I used to want to justify my beliefs by saying that every person forms beliefs about the world. Mine are not negative, they just seem to me to be the most correct beliefs, i.e. they're closest to the truth. But I also know that it's true that I'm avoiding people because of an irrational fear.

Fear Itself

Given that this is the case, what is the method for overcoming this? Most people believe that it's gradual exposure over time of what I fear. What should happen to me, I guess, is that I should experience being around people and gradually realize that they're not going to bite my head off. I don't know... I don't know. That scares the shit out of me. I feel like I just can't, including even the smallest step of saying hello to somebody. What if they don't smile back, or what if they ignore me? What if they're one of those people to whom you've been introduced, but you're not supposed to say hello to on a regular basis? To someone without social anxiety, I guess that's not a big deal. But to me, it's a huge deal. So basically, I'm not supposed to think it's a big deal? The only times that this has ever happened to me was when I was intoxicated. I lose most of my inhibitions, and my judgment becomes impaired. To put it simply, I don't have the ability to react fast enough to someone who is rejecting me. Believe me, I've told psychiatrists about this, in particular that I wish there were a pill I could take that would make me lose my inhibitions, as if I were drunk, but without the nasty side effects. But most psychiatrists I've seen have medicated me for depression, not social anxiety, thinking that the latter is not as important, I suppose. One psychiatrist did try Neurontin on me, but that did jack shit, as have most SSRI's I've taken.

Paradox

It boils down to a matter of taking risks. At this point, if I can manage to make more strides socially, it will be a big step towards reducing my depression. After all, I have no friends. That's not an opinion -- that's a plain, hard fact. For someone who has no friends, then, it is not unreasonable to predict that they would harbor a dislike of humanity. Therefore, how can I, an a priori hater of humanity, want to make friends of them? More importantly, why? As a counterexample, I love my pets. They're the only living entities that have been with me through thick and thin and haven't judged me (that is, except for bacteria, assorted fungi, and the like. Unfortunately, they lack the capacity to make such judgments. If they didn't, they might reject me as well.). This is my paradox. Even though I hate humanity, as a human being, I have to make friends with other human beings. I'm supposed to get along with them. If I were an alien from Pluto, then I wouldn't give a damn about making friends with humans. Hell, even Adolf Hitler and Osama Bin Laden have friends.

Being Vulnerable

Of course, you can say that I haven't allowed other people to like me. I'm like a turtle who refuses to go outside his shell, which leads to my next point. A prerequisite to taking risks is allowing myself to be vulnerable. Being vulnerable means sticking my neck out at the risk of being rejected. Being vulnerable means initiating contact with someone even though they may not be in the mood for talking, or they may eventually end up not liking me. Being vulnerable means making eye contact with someone while I'm speaking to them even though they may frown or have a strange expression on their face while I speak. Being vulnerable means asking a girl out on a date even though I'm broke, unemployed, and way out of her league. Being vulnerable means getting to know someone even though they may think I'm weird, or boring, or socially awkward, or stupid, or fat, or just a plain old loser. Being vulnerable means saying something to a person even though they may find it offensive. Being vulnerable means writing this blog and being open to criticism.

Damn, I Played Hookie

All I want is to know, specifically and explicitly, what the hell to do in case these negative things happen. How do social workers, psychologists, counselors, and therapists know what to say to the people they're trying to help? They know because they've been trained. How do police officers, firefighters, EMT's, etc. know what to do in cases of emergency? They've been trained. Well, I'm sorry but I must have been absent the day they taught social skills in school. Why don't they train people in this stuff? Because most people don't need explicit instruction on these skills; they pick it up automatically. Well, guess what. I haven't picked it automatically. That sucks for me, doesn't it? I've been playing a game of musical chairs, and I'm the only fucking one left without a seat.

Others have told me that I shouldn't care about what other people think, and I shouldn't let any negative opinions they may have about me get to me. On the contrary, it seems to me that I have to care very much about what other people think, if I ever want to have any friends. If a person doesn't like me, then I don't have much of a chance of being their friend, do I?

Keeping My Hands on the Plow (How Dull!)

How do I want other people to help me? Maybe I simply don't want to be helped. Do you, reader of this blog entry, want to help me? I don't think so. If you do, good luck! I'm not writing this blog in order to be helped. I'm writing it as a free expression of thought and feeling. The only thing I'm willing to do in therapy, at least right now, is to keep exploring and talking about more ideas and ways that I can change my life for the better. They also have to be things I'm willing to do, or can become motivated to do, either by myself or someone else. I'm not down with "just doing" anything. So for now, the process continues.

Is it twenty years yet?

Sex Is Always On My Mind (well, pretty much)

There's something else I wanted to write.... I've been dying to tell this to somebody, but I guess writing it is the next best thing. It's kinda silly, but I don't care. My top five happiest moments of the past twelve months have all taken place in the subway! In chronological order:

One
One day I was on my way into the train station when I saw a man and a woman talking to each other. They both looked to be in their forties. What I noticed was strange about this situation was that the woman was speaking Spanish, but the man spoke English and only had a very rudimentary knowledge of Spanish. The woman kept saying, "Cuarenta y dos? Cuarenta y dos?" but the man couldn't understand. They were standing by the entrance, so when I approached, the woman started speaking to me in Spanish. Luckily, and much to my surprise, I understood her question. She wanted to know which entrance to take to get the train that goes to 42nd Street. I answered, "Aqui," which means "here". Haha! Woo-hoo! I'll be damned, but my high school Spanish class actually paid off in real life! She was satisfied and grateful. The man said to me, "Oh, 42nd St.! I kept on thinking that she was saying four, four something, and I was trying to remember how to tell her how to get to the #4 train from here in Spanish." I was beaming for the rest of the day (and quite some time after that!).

Two
I was sitting on the train. There were enough people on the train so that all the seats were taken, but no one was standing. A young couple sitting directly across from me asked me if I could take their picture for them. I did, and they thanked me. Now, this may not sound like such a big deal, but in my head I told myself that they asked me because I looked the most approachable of anyone else in the vicinity, even though they actually may have just picked me randomly. I still felt good. :)

Three
I was sitting in a mostly empty train. When the train was stopped at one station, I noticed a woman (who happened to be very attractive -- tall and blonde, my favorite) walk in and ask a guy sitting by the train door if this train stops at such-and-such station. The guy shifted around in his seat for a while, but didn't answer. He acted as if he didn't even acknowledge her presence (which is not uncommon in the city where I live, since it can be dangerous). There were about half a dozen people in her vicinity who didn't answer her either, so eventually I said to her, "No, it doesn't." I was over ten feet away. She said, "It doesn't? Thank you!" and quickly walked off the train. Don't forget, normally I'm scared to death of talking to a person who's right in front of me, let alone someone over ten feet away in a room with people. So I ended up feeling good about myself (but I'm sure her being pretty hot had something to do with it ;) ).

Four
I was standing on the platform at a train station waiting for the train. A woman who was absolutely gorgeous asked me for the time, and I gave it. She was asian, and she had beautiful long hair. I don't remember, but I think my jaw was open when I was telling her the time. :)

Five
I was sitting on a bench at another train station when another beautiful lady walked by and asked me for the time. When I told her, in the cutest voice she said, "Really?" as if she were surprised, and then thanked me and walked away. She was tall and pretty, and her voice was just the icing on the cake.

Ahhh subways...

...peeking out from under my shell...

Hello, world... For better or worse, I'm still around. I haven't forgotten about this blog. In fact, often I feel embarrassed by some of the things I wrote here in the past. But as I stated in the beginning, this is still a journal of my thoughts and feelings, and as such everything I've written so far is valid. They may not depict me as a completely sane person :), but they still reflect the thoughts and feelings I had at the time.

One reason I haven't written so much is that -- and this is probably a good thing -- the path my life has taken no longer matches the dark and depressing tone I initially intended here. I think one way of saying it... is that I've kind of mellowed out a little. I still think about suicide -- I could still blow my brains out later today, for example. I guess that may really never go away. It reminds me of the movie A Beautiful Mind, one of my favorites, where Professor Nash's imaginary people are still there even when he's old and gray, but he has still managed to live a fulfilling life.

I really haven't found anything in my life recently that's been gloomy or depressing enough to write about. I finished that DBT class I was taking by October of last year. Afterwards, I started to participate in generic group therapy. November was catastrophic. I made the mistake of switching off Medicaid insurance to an HMO, and the therapy I was getting wasn't covered. So I had to disenroll, but it took about a month, and for that entire time I was without any kind of psychiatric help. Now that I mention it, that period was gloomy enough to write about, but I still didn't write because I (and nobody else, ostensibly) cared about this blog. Eventually, I got my Medicaid back, and that brings me to today. Most recently, thanks to some pushing by my therapist, I got myself to sign up for a bookkeeping class last month at a local continuing education school. Last night was week three of twelve. I've felt a little better because of the class -- more engaged, something to look forward to.

And that's it. I still don't have a job, and I still don't have any friends (except of course, loyal Prof. Greenber, my parakeet. I don't remember if I mentioned that Suchashakti died some time ago. Oh well, they're just parakeets.). To me, that's more than enough for me still to want to cash in on a one-way ticket out of existence. But for now, I'm still hanging around.