Late Night Ramblings
Why on earth do people post questions to communities seeming to ask for information, when in fact it's clear they've already made up their mind about an issue, no matter how much information they see that suggests their decision may not be the wisest course? If they want validation, there are a million and one places to find that without wasting people's time and taking up space on their friends pages.
Somewhat along those lines, I wish sometimes that I, too, was one of the sheeple. Baa. It must be really nice to be a sheep. Or, at least, what I think it must be like to be a sheep. To not think about things - about everything - to just do what the majority does and not feel any real qualms about it. Instead I do just about everything different from the majority, and then I tweak that enough that I don't even fit in with the minority. Sometimes I get so tired of being this way, but I can't stop thinking. Literally. My mind is always churning. This is probably evidence of some type of mental disturbance, which wouldn't surprise me greatly. To quote a quote in my profile, "And I just wish that I could be dumb. And then I wouldn't know better... ." Seriously, I wish my brain had some kind of off switch. I think it's basically obsessive thinking, but I'm not sure exactly, and it doesn't seem exactly that, based on what I've read, but it's close enough. I used to merely ascribe it to a 'high need for cognition,' thanks to all those psych classes, but I don't think that's it.
Now let's pull in more quotes. "There is nothing wrong with me, this is how I'm supposed to be" - that is what I try to tell myself. The next part of the song, of course, goes "in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me," and that isn't a very cheery thought after all.
At this time, one year ago, I was at Kennestone getting processed through admitting, and getting sent to a room. I think it was probably right around now that I nursed Jacob and then let them give me the Demerol. It was a good thing I was doped up on the Demerol, because it meant I really wasn't nervous about going under or any of that. Demerol is one of the only things I have encountered that can, essentially, tell my brain to shut up. It wasn't until they gave me that stuff that I even understood how people could become addicted to prescription pain killers, but now I get it. It's not about the high; it's about the utter oblivion.
So, Demerol or no Demerol, it's been a year, give or take four hours, since I had a gallbladder. It's also been a year since I had an attack. The trade was well worth it, even if my scars still itch something horrid from time to time.
Somewhat along those lines, I wish sometimes that I, too, was one of the sheeple. Baa. It must be really nice to be a sheep. Or, at least, what I think it must be like to be a sheep. To not think about things - about everything - to just do what the majority does and not feel any real qualms about it. Instead I do just about everything different from the majority, and then I tweak that enough that I don't even fit in with the minority. Sometimes I get so tired of being this way, but I can't stop thinking. Literally. My mind is always churning. This is probably evidence of some type of mental disturbance, which wouldn't surprise me greatly. To quote a quote in my profile, "And I just wish that I could be dumb. And then I wouldn't know better... ." Seriously, I wish my brain had some kind of off switch. I think it's basically obsessive thinking, but I'm not sure exactly, and it doesn't seem exactly that, based on what I've read, but it's close enough. I used to merely ascribe it to a 'high need for cognition,' thanks to all those psych classes, but I don't think that's it.
Now let's pull in more quotes. "There is nothing wrong with me, this is how I'm supposed to be" - that is what I try to tell myself. The next part of the song, of course, goes "in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me," and that isn't a very cheery thought after all.
At this time, one year ago, I was at Kennestone getting processed through admitting, and getting sent to a room. I think it was probably right around now that I nursed Jacob and then let them give me the Demerol. It was a good thing I was doped up on the Demerol, because it meant I really wasn't nervous about going under or any of that. Demerol is one of the only things I have encountered that can, essentially, tell my brain to shut up. It wasn't until they gave me that stuff that I even understood how people could become addicted to prescription pain killers, but now I get it. It's not about the high; it's about the utter oblivion.
So, Demerol or no Demerol, it's been a year, give or take four hours, since I had a gallbladder. It's also been a year since I had an attack. The trade was well worth it, even if my scars still itch something horrid from time to time.