Zoom style micro difficult team meeting due to invisible air intruders that can not think but can kill those that do. After over an hour of testing, I was told to prepare for part 2. This for the ethic within to be sure that what was certain is secure according to statistics in a manual of the 5th kind. Spoiler alert at the end of the second test, first day… “do not stop going to ASD group online.” Ahhh! Ok. That is to say that though the testing needs yet another day, that I am already eligible for the label that I already had. To wit, I am Autistic again. Well, not really but due to the DSM 5 spectrum theory which practically eliminated…uh um, integrated the Aspie category into the same spectrum with Autism and PDD which definitely fit me. Both the Aspie and PDD. A long story that is due to my blue genes. Well, maybe not blue but I am genetically modified to think how I look. Different.
Day 2 will be to see what specifiers will be issued and for follow up to redesign the treatment plan for future face to face fun. That is to say counseling on how to be abnormally acceptable to society. Supposedly I am anti-social though not asocial which means not much for society. The “anti” social in my case is that I see society but disagree that it’s norms are for me. So, maybe I am slightly, somewhat, a little bit different. Be that as it may, I still say that laws are like lines that encourage people to color within. I just wonder who designed the lines in the first place. Perhaps the crayons were better designed to color outside the circles and shapes. Perhaps lines were drawn as lazy guides, given by some invisible system, controlled by alien life forms to force everyone to be just like them, whoever they may be. Who says that run on sentences are wrong? Just because of commas, or perhaps just tooo long to keep a thought collected. Why should there be three words for two, too, and to? Why do two of the three have three letters. I like 4 in three as written above. Yes, I am off my meds! Yes, just slightly different. Thanks for asking. The task is to manage without management. This is not advice. I am convinced that I must reconvene the medication management experience expeditiously. I am convinced that each pill has a string. Each string is a line. The lines are what I am supposed to stay in. I am wondering, who drew the lines in the first place? Definitely not the first to ask. However, I won’t know. I must go. I wanted to be clear minded for the test. Then I received a kiss from a manic mindset. Second test part 2 by the professionals is less than a week. I must retreat until then. Until then I have ASD without any lines or specific specifiers. Until then I won’t go outside, not until the inside lines up with the lines on the street. The lines that someone unknown drew who passed the test of day 2 with out any specifiers.
Category: medication
Bipolar Dive
Four seasons of medications that tease the sand like the rain on a sunny day. Oceanic under tow flows perpetually often stealing an unsuspecting visitor to the shoreline. Ignore the education. A brief moment to explore the beautiful depths with scuba gear and a breath. Then the wind of the waves rip the side of the vessel. Gravity exists in such a way. Now the enemy of the surface. The surfers can no longer see my face. Still wondering just how deep this decent into depressions may be. There is definitely not enough air from here to there. Calculate the fear or just enjoy the final view of the underwater tomb stones. I knew it would end this way. So dark and cold. Life swims above. Far above. For the first time I see light vanish. A race for eyes to adjust to the new blindness of old darkness. Others are near but who cares when they are not seen. So it’s a million miles to the next breath. It’s a millisecond before I heard my own muffled sound. Counting down to when there is one left. Shhh! Thoughts seem to make an echo. Echo
seems to make another thought. The pressure is almost unbearable. The end is just above the waves. The bottom has never been seen. The life in the jacket has become straight. The boat rocks. It’s almost my turn to fall in.
Left of Center Manic Ride
I have four legs. They are round and made of the finest rubber. I am very grounded and I sound like a parking lot full of horses and chariots. My charioteer very clearly needs all of my latest tech to circumspect the terrain. Once, on a night full of painful rain drops from the sky, most of which were forged with ice and wind, my charioteer would pretend to be loosely associated with reality. I have this habit of being on the right side of the road. This night in question, my lights were dimmed against my better judgement, and we went left of center, up a hill, on a dark country lane, in the painful rain drops of ice. Very nice of him to swerve back into comfort zones as I kept a firm grip on the loose ice which was attempting to convert the black top into its own form. I was born to ride in obedience. However, my engine is clever, and I sent multiple warnings to the Mania in charge of this trip. They must have immediately slipped by as we approached another incline in the road. This time my dims were substituted for the same shade as the night combined with the black ice which was secretly planning our demise. No surprise that we accelerated to keep pace with the manic thoughts that were raining out of control like the inclement weather. Left of center, up the hill, in the darkest night. If anyone else is out here, this will be our last drive. The fear that rings in my speakers is a word called “totaled”.
This totally describes the mind state of the manic rain and the pain associated. Yet, the end of the road is near. Just a few minor bruises as we cruise for safer shores. Fortunately the winter night high ways were as empty as the bottles on the dashboard.
I follow the rules of the road. I am well grounded with four legs that are round and made of the finest rubber. I ride right on the roadways day and night. My charioteer on occasion will manically make me ride against my smart computer like brain. It’s just a matter of time before the sum total is more than the total sum. I only wish there was a way to lock the door way when in such a state. No breathalyzers for manic minds. No tests for manic drives.
Let me reverse, as not to veer off topic. Things seem ok inside for a spell. The horses are running tonight. The weather is changing again. These winds are ultra rapid cycling. I am roaring. I am running. It’s getting cold again. The weather looks like rain. The doors are locked as not to let anyone else in. This is a private run. The voice commands are coming faster than normal. I recognize the voice. It’s my job to keep things right.
Manic Dream Panic Scene
There is a place where the dream seems so real, it’s surreal to think that this dream means mania. Not now, but before. Before there was a door to a lake. On the surface, the water faced my direction. In the water, the waves wrote an invisible invitation to walk over and jump in. They promised support. I am sport enough, though, it is tough to think back to the fact that water can not carry the stones that were tossed. But the bobber of the fisherman remains afloat, as does my boat. With a stroke of the pen I signed my name in the air without ink. I guess that means that I didn’t think about the sinking when walking on water was the dream linking the mania, while drinking depression away on the waves. The run on sentence simply foreshadows the reality. Water that holds me in a boat can’t hold me. The drinking was not strong drink, but the loss of thoughts that were already falling to the very place I would be instantly, as the step of security left me looking up to support. The boat floats. The water lied. Weighted down I guess by the manic jacket, the panic attacked me at the bottom of the lake. This quick decent was unique as the boat seemed to lift away from me. The water seemed to speak again stealing my attention from that which was my previous support. This time asking me to breathe like the fish that I see in the sea. For the life of me, I signed my name again, this time with wet ink and no pen. Common knowledge kicks in. The very water needed for life and support let me down in an instant, and offered a watery grave, of which I could write my own name in the sand. How grand to pen my own end.
I can’t control the boat as it floats away. I can’t control what the water will say. I can’t control how I feel today. I can control the pen. I can write my name again. This is manic making me pray for relief. This is panic after support gives way for me.
In the boat again. Not sure how. Willing to float again. Not sure why. The door has closed on the lake. I wonder by who. Mania for the fisherman. Mania is a dream come true.
Please wake me up.
I sign my name.
Super Therapy as a Way to Change Everything
Heard a novel thought about how we think. The wave of the future is now waving goodbye to traditions. A sigh of relief for breath therapy. I was also enlightened on infrared light treatment. Of course there are so many courses online to choose from. I almost hired a lawyer to decipher all of these laws of physics and quantum mechanics.
Then it finally clicked. Superb thanks to all who study superposition. It seems like it will take super powers initially but the science lines up and technology testifies to its veracity. I will soon know either way. Hope to keep up with the updates along this journey. Until then, I will be riding the waves of possibility, collapsing the past into dead seas of forgotten waters. Forgetting everything that is behind, while wading into choices which create new history. A mystery only until observed. Let’s see.
Flight of the Bumblebee
The bees gather together mentally for a taste of honey dew. The money is due, that is bills need paid. The last idea has flown away to make space for the novel idea that buzzes about. An entire novel in a paragraph. An entire life in flowers and grass. Who will last? I see the honey but can not taste it for fear of being stung by the newest thought. I was brought another flower as a giddy gift but I ran. I made a bee line into the hive to hide from the abundance of sounds that flowers attract. Sorry, and yes, I am very thankful for the gift but this kind of gift will sift through the minds like hot honey in cold turkey. That’s how I stop everything. Now the turnkey businesses seem like such a sure thing. As sure as flowers attract birds that chase bees. What’s next for me? Not sure anymore, not until I finish this honey dew. Not sure until these bills are no longer over due. I do understand that I have an idea but I don’t understand the flight of the bumblebee.
No More Sunsets and I am Fine…
Light fades every evening. Scholars say the sun sets in the west and yet, everyone knows that it doesn’t. Why do we accept this curious lie as if…as if it’s ok to say what we always say even though it’s untrue.
Yes, I am fine today thanks for asking! I am light fading over mountains and disappearing over streams. I reel in my rays at days end. I feel in ways that plays against logical sequence. I stand still but turn on axis I. Or maybe II. From manic day breaks to personality nightmares.
Yes, I am fine today. Thanks for asking. Just as I sit and wait for the flaming gas fire to set against all understanding. As if…as if I knew the soul of the sun. It runs upon itself until itself is no more. I guess the sun will set after all. Then I will answer differently. No! nothing is ok. Thanks for asking. I just was unaware as I was entranced by the sun that rose as red rays against common sense and I was completely unaware of myself.
So we wait, I and the sun, as we face the final setting. The day that breaks never again. The night that will never end. I am fully aware that I will never see the sun face to face. But I know that I don’t know how I feel today. I know that the sun never rises or sets but I just don’t have any feelings about it. That’s the truth that the lie can’t accept. That’s the logic that is illogical. We must just accept delusion as if… as if I was the sun running on myself until…until I set. Yes, I am fine, thanks for asking.
Symmetry Used to be a Friend of Mine
From organizing everything from closet space to little cars that race, I made haste to even things out. Symmetry is the key phrase that unlocked the door to why if I got hit on one side I would turn the other cheek. Not as a humble man, but to be hit again or feel pain of breaking the evenness. Not a fun thing when the older brother realizes the secret of symmetry and constantly uses it against me. A hit and run. A hit just for fun to see if I would hit myself to even out the pain. I did. I was a kid.
Two score years later I still sense the symmetrical tug. In order to keep things together but equally apart. It started with a look in the reflection which showed dissatisfaction at the lack of symmetry so obvious to me, and pointed out constantly. Even thinking occupies so much space, often it’s hard to focus on the things at hand. Like my hands have different lines to the point I was going to cut one to even the sight. When will “Even” retire for the evening? I read a solution is to tap one side and suffer through the uneasiness of unevenness. I am starting a petition to have their license revoked.
Out of Sound Mind 