Lights On, But Nobody's Home

Time:	4:46 pm.
Mood:	resilient.
Music:	www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/fionaapple/betterversionofme.html.

I have not written in here for a long time, and so much has happened. To start with, the good news: my exam results last term were better than expected (65.8%), my literature review scored a very respectable indeed 77%, and I am well on target for a 2:1 this year. A First is out of the question, but I am satisfied. Without my illness, I would probably have achieved one, but it is a pointless waste of time to wonder too much what might have been.

My diet is improving, and bubble episodes come more rarely now, though it will take a few years to perfect the regime. I am more concerned about my state of mind. My self-actualisation project, sidelined while I was mentally lacerated and barely surviving, is back on track, and the first task now is to heal the wound this illness has made. So, first I must describe and explore its effects on me. How am I a different person now than I was three years ago? My love doesn't believe me when I say I've learned nothing of use from my illness, but it's true. I have experienced new things, yes: I know what it is to hurt for no reason, and to cry for no reason, and to hate some aspects of the person I have become. But what is the lesson to be taken from this? That pain is a bad thing, that we should love and accept ourselves, and improve the world in which we live? Thanks a lot, Life: I really didn't know that. Before becoming ill, my life was full of lessons, colourful and interesting and virtually painless ones. They slipped down as easily as good food. But trying to learn through this illness has been like trying to eat dry ashes and dead leaves because there is no food available. It doesn't work: all you get is a bitter taste in the back of your throat, a sense that your tongue is being sandpapered, and a body still as starving as ever. From the point of view of life lessons, character development and self-satisfaction - three wasted years. In fact, I think I am less wise than my 18-year-old self, except maybe in sexual matters.

Anyway, to complete the metaphor: what I need is "soul food", in the sense of "spiritual healing", to regain the ground I have lost. I know don't believe in a soul or spirit, but I definitely have something which feels like a soul or spirit and sure as hell needs healing. I have lost confidence, I cry for no reason much more often. I lie on the sofa staring at the wall, even when I don't have a bubble to justify it. Instead I look around, satisfied by nothing and thinking of nothing, and relieve my boredom by harassing my love about washing up and the state of the living room. This is partly my fault, as there aren't enough books in the house to entertain me. (I used to read almost a book a day: now it's down to every couple of weeks.) It's partly a problem of this year, with its combination of bubble and third-year work, which gives me no time to do anything creative, social, political or musical which would sustain me.

I shall pursue my improvement in a few ways. First, I've been reading my old writings and conversations with my love, which remind me who I was before my illness, and point out the areas where I must return. They give me confidence. Secondly, I will start writing that sex blog I've been intending to keep. All my lessons this year have been in sexual matters, so it makes sense to focus on an area in which I've been developing quite well. Thirdly (but this must wait) I will bring books from home, and read them again, and find intellectual stimulation on the internet which we should get soon.

Lastly, I might ask my love to help me. An hour or two lying in his arms, being softly spoken to, along the lines of "You're a beautiful and fascinating woman, and I know you've been hurt for no reason, and I know you've spent too much of your life struggling to make sense of what should be obvious, feeling nothing but distaste for what you've been reduced to, and listening to that voice - you know the one I mean - which called you stupid and pathetic for letting this pain get the better of you. But by judging yourself with such high standards, you don't see your real achievements in staying as balanced and stable as you have. Many lesser minds would have been broken by what you have been through, or at least been much less able to maintain (all at the same time) two friendships, a relationship, a lifestyle without money problems, a third-year science course, a sane and healthy attitude to drink and drugs, the determination to resolve this through your own resources and intellect... So I want you to know, my love, how much I admire your bravery and resilience, and how passionately I will support your plans to become again the wonderful person you used to be." Of course, I wouldn't just get him to repeat my words, but my love is smart enough to have his own. It would be a kind of therapy, initially very cathartic (I'd have him play up the loss and pain a little more, so I could cry myself better), and ending on a warm and reassuring note. I know he could do it well.

So, that's where I am. Not brilliant, but better than I could have been, and with some new avenues to try. It'll take a few years before I'm completely happy, but when I am, I'll know it was all down to me.

Maybe I have learned a few things. My love said last night that after dealing with this, anything else should be easy. And I understand, in a way, that the little things of life don't matter. That is, I feel it with my emotions, though I knew it before. I don't need any more beauty, or staggering talent at singing, or even to write better songs. All I need is myself, and my perspective, and my projects. But did I have to be split wide open like a melon hurled at a brick wall to realise that? Shattered like a Ming vase in an earthquake? Surely there are less painful ways of learning it. I'm glad I don't believe in a God, or I'd be going through a pretty nasty faith crisis right now, as well as everything else.

Check out the music link, it seems *very* appropriate. Nice bouncy tune too. I've always liked Fiona Apple.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	a substantial update in sarcastic style, with a lyrical ending
Time:	10:09 pm.
Mood:	proud.
Music:	Nightwish - She Is My Sin. (How APPROPRIATE).

After a few unfortunate occurrences, everything finally seems to be looking up for me. In chronological order...

A month ago, after finishing my exams, I left my flat at university in deep disgrace. There was a series of confrontations, culminating in my love's official ban from the premises by none other than the almighty Campus Warden himself. Not to mention the university bus being held up for the sole purpose of our leaving: the red carpet treatment, indeed. I'd like to thank the gods of Prejudice and Wilful Stupidity for the gifts they have bestowed on me. We are, indeed, not worthy of the honour...

Hmm. I sense an overuse of ellipsis. Straight to the point it is, then. The basic story of Flat 5, Lockington House is as follows: I invited a guest, who in a moment of unwisdom committed a disrespectful - but not in the least bit threatening - act. (Duration of act: 5 seconds.) My housemates, displaying a supreme talent for seeing things in proportion, decided in their infinite wisdom to ban not only him, but any further guests of mine. Of course, this was not intended as punishment for me - how could I ever, for a moment, be so paranoid as to suspect that? It was merely a precaution (eventual duration of ban: 8 months). Their scientific inquiry, based around the infallible method of talking around a kitchen table in the presence of everyone but the person supposedly being investigated, had concluded that if I invited anyone else round, they would be of "that type" (no, I haven't a clue either) and therefore a threat to the flat. It's quite impressive to deduce the nature of ALL my acquaintances from the brief exposure (*private smirk*) of a single one, and I am suitably awed.

After an interlude of some months, my love appeared on the scene, to an acrimonious chorus and the immediate summoning of the House and Campus Wardens. His crimes? First, to dare to enter this flat, when as a friend of mine he is automatically Persona Non Grata. Secondly, the unforgivable sin of reasoned confrontation. Shock, horror! - he asked them to present a rational argument for banning his presence. This was immediately interpreted as "threatening behaviour". You may draw your own conclusions about the nature of people who see sweet unvarnished Reason as a threat. Unfortunately, the Campus Warden placed himself in their category by agreeing with them. Unexpectedly.

With my wonderfully clever (and trained in Law) love beside me, there followed a series of attempts to unlock those resolutely sealed minds. Subtle persuasion failed. Forceful confrontation was swiftly halted by the Authorities - being seen as, yes, a "threat". The simple insistence that people take the trouble to examine their own beliefs, before using them to inflict restrictions on others. I was unaware that this insistence was a crime, and that making people feel slightly uncomfortable was a worse sin than banning a blameless man from visiting his equally innocent Love.

All manner of issues came into play. My mental illness (more of which in a minute), my sexual morality, my recent abortion... Notice that word "my", a repeating theme. None of their lifestyles were ever examined. Evidently, I was the problem, and this had been decided before even consulting me. What a novel application of the habeas corpus rule.

It comforts me that these singular specimens of humanity will not exactly lead perfect lives. First up for inspection we have "N", an extremely religious Christian, and simultaneously sex-obsessed. If this sounds like an impossible combination, likely to leave its bearer consumed with intolerable guilt in her attempt to satisfy conflicting needs - you are right. It would be pretty insufferable even without the addition of a demanding boyfriend, paranoid (with good reason!) about infidelity on her part, and who insists that she give up her beloved religion before marrying into his Muslim family. So enamoured of her is he, and so brave, that he won't even stand up for her against his mother and sister. But on the bright side, he is no longer a drug addict. As far as I know.

Next up we have the inseparable couple, B and C. Like a white knight on his charger, he will protect her from all harm. He would even go so far as to cover their bathroom window with black plastic, purely to ensure no rogue male glimpse his precious one in the shower. How I wish my love was man enough to do the same thing: to save me from the queue of would-be ravishers who obviously must line up each day at 8am with binoculars, for the sole purpose of peering into our tiny frosted bathroom window, three floors above. And to save me, also, from the attentions of those pesky men who dare to call themselves "friends". Why would any man wish to be my friend, unless he was planning to steal me away? Evidently my beloved does not love me enough, or he too would go into a jealous sulk if any man (unrelated to me) wished to speak to me alone. He, also, would refuse to believe my assurance that it was a perfectly innocuous occasion, and would be a complete bitch for hours after the "event" took place. Mistrust, paranoia, over-protectiveness, taking out your issues on the wrong person: these are the signs of true love, B and C-style.

Ah well, suffering may signify sainthood, but I am not destined for martyrdom, and I must regretfully decline her self-chosen path of perfect misery. I shall take the easy way out, and like a weakling, be satisfied with the bed of roses that is now laid out for me.

Such as? Well, I have my wonderful love, and together we form a force to be reckoned with. I am vanquishing those bubbles of mine with a new dietary regime, loosely based on the GI diet, which stabilises my blood sugar levels. My exam results were better than I expected - an average of 58%, with the promise of a 2:1 next year. I possess some talent, curiosity, Love, a portion of intelligence (finally returned to me) and a future that leads insistently towards the horizon, shining bright as a silver thread.

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Subject:	First exam post-mortem!
Time:	12:24 pm.
Mood:	busy.
Music:	Vanessa, Mara, Sia, Jewel, Annie Lennox and Tori, of course..

Despite having only a few days to revise, narrowed down by brain gremlins to the equivalent of one, despite my lack of sleep lately, bags under my eyes and surviving on ProPlus and Red Bull, despite trying to get to sleep at 10pm and failing miserably until 1:30am... it wasn't too bad. Yes, there were bits I was panicked by (Reverse Transcriptase PCR - seems I lost the lecture notes. Oops.) but common sense might have won the day. My estimate is 50%, with a possible low point of 45 and an even less likely upper end of 60.

Next one's Monday. I've figured out a system when bubbles occur, which is: I customise a T-shirt! It's an activity with some worth (transforming a top I don't wear much to one I will), and not too much intellectual demand if I've planned it out beforehand. The last one was "Stop Climate Chaos", a worthy sentiment but a boring top, which I patched from a laundry-faded patchwork top I also never wear, and included a heart-shaped button (mainly to disguise the obviousness of nipples in that rather tight top...) and a lower neckline. The collar was a pretty cool idea - it was actually the straps of the patchwork top! There was one problem: in my dumbass state I cut off a bit of the T-shirt around the neckline, and later wanted it back. I've disguised it with a fluffy pom-pom but it doesn't really satisfy (pictures as soon as the memory stick I've ordered finally arrives). Ah well, I have a couple of backup ideas. If bubble does nothing else good, it'll put a lot of nice T-shirts in my wardrobe :)

I listened to The Beekeeper again and again online, unable to believe Tori had made a crap album, still in the denial stage. And those repeated listens paid off somewhat: there are now 5 songs I actively like (it was 2 this time last week) and 3 others I'll happily put on as background music.

Like:

Sweet the Sting (which is bouncy and gospel, has obviously sexual connotations without being crude, and has been in my head all freaking week)
Marys of the Sea (last week's obsession, still not worn off)
Toast (simple piano ballad about missing her dead brother, a real grower - I brushed it off as boring on first listen. It's toast as in champagne, not "toast" toast, if you were wondering :) )
Original Sinsuality (another sensitive piano song with a spine-tingling ending, this time referencing the Gnostic Gospels. A sort of companion piece with that Mary Magdalene one)
Witness (away from the Gospels and back to the gospel choir)

Nice background music:

Parasol
Mother Revolution
Barons of Suburbia (not brilliant, but the ending is cool. "She is risen"...)

But "Cars and Guitars", "Ireland" and "Ribbons Undone" are still the worst songs ever. I'm not obsessive enough to love everything she ever does regardless, but I value her enough to prefer songs that actually sound like her, rather than forgettable pseudo-mainstream radio fodder ("Sleeps with Butterflies", I'm talking to you). Ah well, lunch calls. *sigh*

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Subject:	It's been a while...
Time:	12:07 pm.
Mood:	listless.
Music:	Tori Amos - "Marys of the Sea".

I have a dissertation to complete by Monday (well, Friday was the deadline, strictly speaking. Hmph). My first draft was complimented by the lecturer, but due to various bubbles and a certain health-related annoyance of last term, I haven't actually done anything to it. So I'm attempting to work like hell all weekend, but it's hampered by the fact the network is down and I can't actually access anything I've written. Time for a break, then, and a little update.

1. I have found my first love, and the love of my life. It took 3 weeks after meeting him in the flesh to realise that. (About 2 months from our first online meeting.) Yes, he is the one I eulogised in the entry before last. I have found in him everything I ever wanted, and he satisfies every longing in me. It seems our lives have run in parallel for some time without realising it; the same avenues explored, the same lessons learned, the same threads of thought running through two separate but similar reasoning minds, leading inexorably to the same conclusions. And if that weren't sufficient, the electricity between us (intellectual energy and other kinds) would power a small city :) . I do not believe in souls, of course, but the "soulmates" concept is so appropriate in every other way that we are using the word anyway. It stems from the feeling that with this person beside you, you can conquer the world.

Marry him? Yes, yes and yes :) . It was my love's idea, not mine, though I already knew we'd be together for life. I would do it tomorrow if it was possible, but there are certain inconveniences - university to get through, parents to be pacified. To all outside eyes, our relationship appears to have progressed much too swiftly. Even my best (only) two friends here are a little sceptical. Can you imagine how my parents would react? So we're keeping quiet about it to our elders and betters, until a time they consider suitable - 3 or 4 years from now, maybe. It sucks, but it's a problem I've always had. My mother brought me up to be a competent woman, capable of managing and judging my own affairs: but she constantly fails to realise quite how successful she's been! If I mentioned my decision to marry a man I've known for 5 months, she would not think, "Well, I have raised an intelligent daughter and she obviously knows what she's doing". She would think of my age, my lack of previous boyfriends (since I've been discreet about the one-night-stands!) and the short time we have known each other, and she would do what she does best. Worry, that is.

1a. I will also have to publicly eat my previous words about marriage, to wit, that it is only a pointless piece of paper and true love has nothing to do with legality or non-existent gods. All this is still true, and I stand by it. I never had a problem with lifetime commitments, or ceremonies either. My problem was in the way society expects couples to get married, and makes assumptions on the strength of their love if they choose not to. And the way people fall into marriage even though they lack the life lessons to make it work, because it's just what couples "do" after a few relatively happy years together, and the girls all compete over their fairytale weddings and the size of the ring. (Of which, screw that: we can exchange something meaningful instead, something symbolic to us alone. I don't want marriage to place me in the company of other brides-to-be, who think they have something in common with me because we're all undergoing the same ring-dress-ceremony-honeymoon assembly line. I want it to mark out how different we are.) But I never properly explained that to my mother, and she thinks I'm against marriage full stop, and probably anti-love as well. It will seem to her that I'm renouncing a radical notion from my teenage years, and I don't mind postponing that little humiliation a few more years. Not to mention James crowing over it, sanctimonious hyper-Christian twat.

2. My exam average for last term was 56%, which is just below acceptable, as I am still aiming for a 2:1 despite my disability. I got about 60% in all my exams, except one which was 40% (the exact pass mark). Yup, it was Principles of Gene Function! Now I've been to the disability counsellor, asking for the opportunity to postpone my exams if I feel a bubble coming on. She didn't think that was possible (hmmm...) but is meant to be asking my module convenors if they can set holiday coursework instead. As of now, she hasn't bloody done it yet, and it's only a week until the first exam. I shall have to hassle her. *sigh*

3. As you can probably see, there are issues I'm remaining silent about. This is due to political expediency, or in the vernacular, protecting my backside. But I will reveal all at the start of next month, through the medium of a certain letter. Or series of letters...

and finally 4. "The Beekeeper" - Tori Amos' latest album - is the biggest disappointment I have had all year. (Well, maybe after that which I shall explain in the letters.) There are two good songs on it, "Original Sinsuality" about the Adam and Eve story, and "Marys of the Sea" about her belief that Mary Magdalene was deleted from the Gospels, and was married to Jesus, and would have otherwise led a more woman-loving Christianity. Wishful thinking, I fear, but a lovely idea and a beautiful song.

Back to dissertation *deep, world-weary sigh* . I am sick of plasmids, sick sick sick of them...

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Subject:	Must read books! Clean books!
Time:	3:01 pm.
Mood:	satisfied.
Music:	Blur - Bad Head.

Maybe it's because of the sun, which seems to be trying to persuade us that it's May not February, but I feel amazing today. It's the same sense of contentment I had at the beginning of last year, when the fabulous freedom of university life was pleasantly surprising me, before all the bubble episodes started. My thoughts are coming more easily than ever (although just to balance it out, my mobile phone's not working). I shall put down a few recent events, then go and read the notes from the lectures I missed because of staying up all night with deliciously depraved people.

1. My vocabulary is diminishing, so I need to read more books, and also have to start reading non-filthy books again before I forget how to enjoy them. Just to illustrate that point, the last three books I read were The Sexual Life of Catherine M, One Hundred Strokes of the Brush Before Bed and Taming the Beast, all ridiculously spaced apart considering how I used to read a book a day, and three or four in the summer holidays. Roll on summer, I say.

I was just inspired to create a "Sensual Books" wish list on Amazon, thereby wasting another hour :). (My music list is humungous now, with 126 albums - although in fairness, some of them are albums my friends have and I just need to copy.) So I shan't bother to write anything more, but just work while my head is up to it.

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Subject:	more exam crap, and wonderful new man :)
Time:	3:21 pm.
Mood:	unbridled enthusiasm for life.
Music:	Sheila Nicholls - "Breath".

Life likes me!

First I should update my beloved reader/s on that seemingly disastrous exam two Mondays ago. Skip these two paragraphs if you're bored with ramblings about my exams, which in the final analysis affect no-one but me. But "Principles of Gene Function" went better than I thought! I've tried to write this entry three times and the computer fucked up every time, so the subject is now beginning to bore me, but I feel a duty to finish the story. In summary (I am trying to avoid "Basically"): there was a word I didn't totally understand. It looked like a case of "They've asked me something completely new, I'll just answer the question I've prepared and hope it overlaps in places with what they want". But it was really the exact question I'd prepared, just worded in a stupid way so I couldn't see it for what it was. So my answer to that question was spot on (though the other question, due to brain gremlins and under-revision, was still crap).

The rest of the exams were mediocre, not up to the standard I'd have achieved without brain gremlins, but still passes. I'm predicting about 50% for each one, and the coursework all varied between 55 and 70%, not counting the bits that still haven't been marked by lazy lecturers, so in conclusion I haven't a clue and can't be bothered to calculate my predicted grades the way I normally do. Oh well, 2 weeks and then we'll know: I am forgetting the whole subject till then. Finito. End of.

Anyway, that's not the reason why life likes me, and I have digressed long enough! I stayed over the weekend with an amazing, sexy, delicious man, who I shan't link to out of laziness, but he is heaven. I was constantly startled by the depth of our connection, inside and out of the bedroom, and how much random stuff we share a knowledge of. Every second thing I tried to recommend, he had already been there. He's a great conversationalist, and extremely polite when he disagrees with you: he'll say "that's a theory of psychology which has been conclusively disproved" where I'd settle for the succinct, "that's bollocks". He also has that mind-reading talent which I appreciate, and share to a degree (I don't mean anything magical, just intuition and people-knowledge) but his is more developed. I would give his D/s exploits the credit for that. If you're going to be controlling people and touching on some very sensitive psychological areas, you have to read people like books, or serious fuckups will ensue. And be your fault.

Hmm, I notice a bias in my thoughts about him, a willingness to slip towards certain areas of our liaison, and dwell pleasantly there... Don't misunderstand me, he's far from being just great in bed, but at the moment that's the part about which I'm most excited. I shall try to keep this non-explicit for the sake of some people who I know are reading this, and put a temporary lid on my seething filthy mind. Still, my sensuality is complex and intellectual and needs partners with a higher level of - life-awareness? - than your average "jack off and forget about it" porn user. It's always exhilarating to meet someone who'll rise to the challenge, and who knows certain things without needing explanation (i.e. my not having to take people through a "BDSM for Dummies" course every EVERY frigging time). My horizons are expanding and so is my big head, with that triumphant "this is my birthright" feeling I get from exploring new lovers, new psychic territories: believe me, I'll come down to earth sometime, but for now let me enjoy the moment. It's rather like the euphoria of that "brightening" episode earlier, but deeper and more lasting, because more rooted in reality. I look forward to learning a lot from him. In summary: Life likes me.

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Subject:	Bring it on...
Time:	4:40 pm.
Mood:	articulate, for once.
Music:	Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Bring It On.

I had my first exam today, and I failed. This isn't just melodrama - my predictions are generally pretty accurate. I've never failed an exam before, a proper one that is, and I've never thought I failed either. But this is definite - well, 90% definite. Brain gremlins ate into my revision time straight before it, and half of the exam too. The pass mark is 40% and I'd be surprised if I got 30.

So how do I feel? Like someone is punching little holes out of me. Each episode of bubblehead, each wasted opportunity to think, learn, interact, live, is another perforation and there'll be a time when there's nothing left but human lace. It's not about failing one little bitty exam, it's about being sick - sick in the head - sick enough to fail an exam I would normally have no problem with. (And by the way, this entry is shaping up to have more dashes than the complete works of Emily Dickinson.) It's about the repercussions of that on the rest of my life.

I am seriously considering leaving here, or at least taking years out until "it" goes away. The rest of this exam period will be decisive for me. There is no point in continuing with a course I can't do. But where would I go, and what would I do in the meantime? I'd need to get a job. Are there any jobs for someone who's bright some of the time and completely imbecilic for the rest of it? I don't think so. Employers look for reliability. Maybe self-employment would be an option, which translates to stuff like freelance journalism (extremely competitive). Hmmm. The best I can hope for is some kind of disability benefit, so I can stay at home. It would be a good life, to some extent. I could continue exploring intellectual questions, read books again (they've fallen by the wayside with the lack of spare time), devote my hours to pleasure, start writing better erotica, meet interesting people online, and various combinations of those things. But I'd live at home, get under Mum's feet, worry her to bits, and generally have a teenager-shaped life. Eat what I'm given and not what I want, "say where you're going and when you'll be back", her prerogative to comment on the people I spend time with, and all those little annoyances you leave behind on leaving home. Not to mention the presence of my stepfather, who irritates me in diverse ways...

Take the other day. I was watching Richard Dawkins arguing against religion, and thoroughly agreeing with him, and James was constantly interrupting with his objections. I mean, I can hear his views any day (should I so desire), but that programme was only on once, and I wanted to watch it. (The second episode is on tonight, but there's no TV here. Bugger.) He also barks at me when I bite my nails, which is something I want to stop doing. I have SAID that his doing that only makes me bristle and acts against my will to stop, but he won't believe me, or thinks I'm just being contrary, or something stupid like that. In general, he just doesn't understand how adult and mature I am, presumably because he was a complete idiot at my age and can't comprehend that anyone could be different. Anyway, I have diverged massively from my point :) which was: it would be a real step back to return to all that. Books and philosophising, and not having to work, would only partly compensate for my lack of autonomy.

On a lesser note, the first years would have to take over the choir! I think they're up to it, though. I'd have a little meeting with them before leaving, give them tips and advice, and stay in touch via email for the first few months. Photocopy them some sheet music. Damn, I should have already done that, preferably in the holidays. Oh well *shrug*

Update: I've been asked why I call this thing a mental illness, when I don't know precisely what it is. Well, it's an illness by any definition, and its most obvious manifestations are mental. So I'm sticking with the term until I know better. :)

Lyric time!

So bring it on
(Bring it on)
Every little tear
(Bring it on)
Every useless fear
(Bring it on)
All your shattered dreams
And I'll scatter them into the sea
Into the sea...

Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	Happy Birthday to me! - reminder to self: needs serious editing
Time:	12:23 pm.
Mood:	finally got all that down....
Music:	The Cardigans - Godspell.

I'm 20 today, and have millions of new CDs and a camera phone. Hallelujah :)

I was zombified this morning, but am brightening now, so I feel inspired to list (in my typical depressing fashion) the reasons why I hate this illness. Nobody seems to understand it well enough, which isn't their fault - I struggle to articulate it myself, even when my mind is fully present. I also called it "memory loss" to start off with, which is misleading. There's so much more to this condition, and it can be broadly divided into lack of words/logic/reason and lack of feelings/emotion, although I strongly believe there's a connection between the two.

So:

1. Lack of words/logic/reason. This manifests itself as an inability to DO things - study, talk to friends, enjoy books, plan ahead - which is the concrete stuff I use to explain my illness. But it's an effect that bothers me less than my inability to BE myself. During my episodes I lose sight of the essence of who I am. I normally have a strong sense of self, which means in my case I have an internal monologue, an inner voice, which I identify as myself. I live by explaining my life - the experience is made by the explanation. Unless I can say to myself "I am enjoying this" (or something more articulate along the same lines), I'm not properly enjoying it. I enjoy exploring my mind and the external world, being insightful and perspicacious, applying the right word in the right place (after trying out alternatives) and feeling it slip into place. Picking out subtle nuances, making connections between obscure things, and the feeling of satisfaction when I finally nail an argument. The knowledge that as an educated, moral, freethinking person, I have the resources to work things out (but also the sense to not get obsessed) and all the time in the world to explore life. Mind as intellectual plaything. That's usually me. But when I have one of these episodes, it isn't. I spent 14 years building up a personality I was satisfied with, and another 3 retuning it. I expected a lifetime to enjoy it, but 2 years later, THIS descended and now I'll only rarely enjoy anything.

2. During episodes, my life is bleached of emotional colour, and is not worth living. As a response, when I'm normal again I seek out intensity where I can. I don't do drugs or drink a lot - I'm not that stupid, and altered states of mind sort of lose their appeal when you're in one involuntarily every day. Especially the kind of state where you lose your intellect. Mine goes missing enough as it is. So I deliberately search for strong emotion, certainty, life in Technicolour. If my life were a TV screen, I want the brightness turned up till it hurts my eyes. I want to be bombarded with sensation, assailed from every side, constantly kept off balance, as a counterpoint to the boring predictable flatness of life in a brain fog. I am immersing myself deeply in BDSM, the one place I can get the exhilaration I demand. I've been a little more dominant than usual, which might be a balance-of-life thing. When I was well, I felt powerful - the instigator of my own life - but it also had its drawbacks, such as the balancing act of everyone else's needs that I had to deal with. So I was drawn to submissive fantasies, in which I could lay down the burden of responsibility and indulge in complete spontaneity for a while. But now that's changed, I am no longer in control of my path, and I find myself interspersing the submissiveness with strange, new, wild dominant leanings. Not of a kind complementary to mine - mine are romantic, whereas these are perfectly vicious. It's more a senseless sort of violence, arisen from a desperate animal need to prove I can still control *somebody*. Albeit by destroying them. When I'm better, I know I won't get these any more - the need for them will have gone. (Talking of submissiveness, though, I've found some delicious dominant men online. Mmmm. I'm sure I'll enjoy them.)

The human race is defined by its superior ability to plan, reason and calculate, and also to empathise, explore and express joy in living. If you take all that away from someone, what is left?

Okay, study time. *sigh*. I don't want to study, I want to jump up and down and shout "I'm brightening, BRIGHTENING, and everything is deliriously perfect..." But that won't get me anything in these exams. (Only - crap! - 5 days till the first one. Jesus fuck.)

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Subject:	Happy Christmas my arse.
Time:	5:00 pm.
Mood:	in surprisingly high spirits.
Music:	Bach on Radio 4.

My well-being has deteriorated significantly in the last couple of months. When I started this blog in November, I would be perfectly normal most of the time, and zombified for a few hours out of each day: now the situation is almost reversed. Most of the time (!) I'm now operating at 70-80%, with the odd few hours in which I'm normal (e.g. now). Being in near-permanent - um, "demisemibubble" perhaps? - is enough to seriously cut into my work, social life and pleasure capacity (oh, and just don't get me started on the effect on my highly verbal-oriented libido, the one thing I thought would never fail me). I can see the change in these blog entries too. As I type an entry in my stricken state, I know my language is more stilted and less spontaneous than it used to be, my metaphors are cliched, I can't segue between different subjects with any sort of flair, and the whole text takes a dull pedestrian tone. But though I know it, I can neither express what's wrong with any kind of fluidity, nor make an attempt to improve the writing quality. I can still recognise bad writing (mine or someone else's) for what it is, but am totally out of ideas on how to make it better.

So, anyway, I suppose I should talk about the trip to the neurologist. As predicted, I wasn't entirely compos mentis when I saw her, so although I could hand her the notes I'd prepared beforehand, I wasn't able to ask the questions I should have. Things like "have you any idea what it could be?". She didn't seem entirely on the ball, anyway. I gave her three pages of notes, an in-depth description of the bubble state copied from one of the first entries on here, and a simplified timeline of my symptoms. She read through them all and just wrote ONE LINE on her report: "Memory difficulties and concentration problems." I ask you. No mention of its intermittency, no mention of the spaced-out feeling, my inability to keep track of time, or even the blackouts and headaches which I really feel could be important. I am seriously considering going private. My student loan probably won't stretch that far, but I wonder if my brother would pay for it? He's loaded. I watched with awe last night as he bought me millions of presents, stuffed me with ice cream and generally spoiled me.

Me: Well, I like this... but maybe I'd rather have this...
Him: Have both!
(Repeat x10)

Him: My presents are weighing my arms down. I think I'll buy a bag for them!
(goes to Selfridges and spends £55 on a bag)
Me: (goggles)

I ended up with four CDs, a book, a little pink penknife (proceeds towards breast cancer) and more stuff I can't remember right now... Anyway, back to the neurologist. She did send me to have a blood test, in which a cheerful black doctor drained alarming amounts of blood from me. I remember the strap thing round his neck, covered in pictures of vampires. (Yay, medic humour.) I was also referred for a CT scan, where I had to sign a thing saying I was definitely not pregnant. Stupidly, I admitted there was a possibility, and then had to spend years backtracking...

Her: So why did you say you might be, if you're definitely not?
Me: I couldn't quite remember.
Her: How could you not remember that?
Me: I suffer from a memory disorder. (points to bed). That's why I'm here.

Apparently they're not allowed to give the scan if you might be pregnant, because the radiation might damage the foetus. It makes no difference if you'd abort the thing anyway (which I would, and I said as much). The fact that about 60% of pregnancies miscarry, radiation or not, also carried no weight with them. Talk about blind obeisance to the letter of the law.

But enough of this! My mind's been let out of its cage, for however long, and I shan't waste my time of freedom sulking :) . Or blogging, come to think of it. I shall answer my OKCupid fan mail (well, mail from extremely cool people who seem to like me: I just like to indulge myself by calling it fan mail). Some of it has been waiting months for a reply. Argh.

:)

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Subject:	Three days left!
Time:	2:48 pm.
Mood:	"Poguemahone" (Kiss my arse).
Music:	The Pogues - Fairytale of New York!.

So, I am seeing the neurologist at 2pm on Friday (the 23rd). Because I can't trust myself to give him an accurate description of my symptoms (what if I'm in semibubble at the time of my appointment?), I am writing one up right now based on this blog. It's one of the original purposes of the blog, after all.

The last two weeks have shown episodes of semibubble - never bubble - and a few that were even more low-level than that. I am in one right now: estimated consciousness level 90%. So perhaps it's going away, at least temporarily.

(Bubble = 40% of normal mental competence = almost total uselessness, able to remember virtually nothing, noticeable by people around me as a state of vague aimlessness, speech hesitant due to difficulty finding words.

Semibubble = 70% = able to read / study / hold a conversation / remember a list of 1-3 items, though not for long. Impairment not noticeable by people I speak to unless we get onto serious topics, but noticeable by me ALWAYS.)

I saw my luscious new lover on the 10th, when there were no episodes at all, thank God. The brain gremlins were also conveniently absent for the carol service on the 11th, when my choir's performance went fabulously (the sweet girls gave me a box of chocolates, aww!). Luckily I was "all there" to direct it. I can't say what would have happened if I wasn't.

I keep getting fan mail from perfect strangers on OKCupid, who say I'm wonderful. It's lovely to receive, but sad to think that the mind they're applauding may never again reach the heights they admire. (How self-important does THAT sound?)

Right, off to do some frigging work: I keep putting the bloody stuff off. *sigh*

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Subject:	Better, thank goodness
Time:	7:57 pm.
Mood:	enjoying my eclecticism.
Music:	I Have A Love (West Side Story).

I've been better - fully recovered, 100% functional - for a few hours now, hallelujah :) . In a repeat of last Friday, my episode of spaced-outness made it impossible to keep track of time, so I missed the 4:10 bus again. I went down to the lake at University Park (though not with pizza and wine this time), sat on a bench overlooking the lake and put my glasses on to see in the dark. I find that when I'm in bubble mode, improving my vision seems to sharpen my mind (it doesn't really, it's just psychosomatic, but just feeling better is not to be sniffed at). At around 5:45 my normal self came back: it was quicker than usual this time, less of it had been removed so there was less to return. I spent the next half hour luxuriating in the view of the city lights over the lake and the joy of having my natural exuberant mind returned to me.

I am seeing my lover tomorrow, and it's exciting as hell to think about - but I hope I'm all there when I meet him. Otherwise I'll be stunted and stilted in my conversation, and he'll think it's just me being boring: he's not read this blog yet, though I want him to, and doesn't fully understand the extent of my problem. I'd like to make him read it, but I don't want to depress or annoy him. Ah, the dilemma.

But what do I do if the episodes get worse, or last longer, or come back and never go away? With the best will in the world I try to avoid melodrama, but it can't be helped - I am living on a knife edge. I am hovering somewhere between the state of passing second year with a vaguely decent score and my friendship/s here intact, and the point where I should just give up uni altogether.

Suppose the worst case scenario comes true: my symptoms get worse and worse until I'm in bubble phase all, or most of, the time. I don't necessarily think it will happen, but it's a possibility, so let's suppose. Leaving university would be the first thing - that wouldn't be in doubt. So where would I go?

1. Live at home. Well, they'd want me, yes, and they can afford to keep me... But it won't be pleasant. I should mention that if my condition deteriorates so far that I have to go home, I'll be a hell of a burden to live with. A dead lump. Unable to work, socialise, enjoy anything, or carry out any task that demands the slightest intellectual effort. And my parents will be sad at the loss of me. They would anyway, but to see it in close-up detail is worse.

2. Live with my new lover. I think not. It's only early days and I'm not sure how involved we're getting, but I already care about him too much to inflict upon him the burden that living with me in that state would be. And it'd be cruel of me to involve myself in a relationship when I'm not all there. The slow dissolution of my personality would be bad enough for me to observe, without putting him through it too. In fact, include my friends in that. I should gently withdraw myself from all my friendships, so they won't have to handle it any more. That's if it happens.

3. Live alone, I suppose. I can't picture that. What would be the point of living anyway, without the things that make me a) human and b) me? I'm not the depressive or suicidal type, but I am calmly and rationally wondering if the best response to the worst case scenario would be voluntary euthanasia. That's if it happens, I repeat! Which it might not.

These are the thoughts I've been slowly formulating over the past few weeks. December 23rd can't come too quickly for me. Surprisingly, I haven't been in a very sad mood about it. I don't dwell on it more than necessary, but focus on other things - things I like, things that interest me - to replenish myself. Wikipedia has been brilliant in that regard, as have Amazon (wonderful music reviews!) and various sites about BDSM and strange cults and beliefs.

A random list of stuff I've looked up:

Social interaction in Myxobacteria (coincidentally, one of my essay topics)

The psychology of D/s relationships (surprisingly, not one of my essay topics)

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (by the way, I think the phrase "self-actualised person" should be "self-actualising person". It's a dynamic, constantly evolving thing. Self-aware, self-adjusting, self-affirming. Something along those lines)

BDSM - build your own spreader bar!

Snopes Urban Legends - Heard the one about the old lady who put her dog in the microwave? And plenty of more serious ones too.

The Raelian cult

Aleister Crowley and Thelema

The Wounded Knee massacre of Native Americans

"Little Shop of Horrors"

Suggestive lyrics in "Greased Lightning"

American Music Club (a great band!)

Random French little-boy bands (thanks Babette)

"What is BDSM" essay

The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement

Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (a real libertine and talented poet)

Right Behind (a pisstake of the Christian "Left Behind" book series about the Rapture, which should itself be the name of a band, and probably is)

Welsh mythology (I miss my Mum's book of Welsh folk tales, with the drowned cities and evil little fairies).

I have a sudden urge to re-read "The Princess And Curdie" now. But it'll have to wait till I'm home.

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Subject:	Still surviving, but it's getting darker.
Time:	4:51 pm.
Mood:	interested.
Music:	Hans Zimmer - Gladiator soundtrack.

Brief entry, I promise. Should be working. But I have to mention that the bubblefree era heralded on the 3rd didn't last long: six blissful days, full of promise and potential, then it happened again on the 9th and continued to happen. There was another bubblefree day on the 12th, but that's it. Yesterday's episode was particularly awful, lasting five whole hours at full intensity and then taking another hour to fade. I don't remember it ever being that long, except in the early stages last November. I was doing some Christmas shopping/browsing in the Victoria Centre and pretty much lost my way, unable to remember where anything was or which direction was which. Luckily it wasn't my last opportunity to buy presents. Will be hectic next weekend though.

I've also noticed that when the brain gremlins are in residence, I get paranoid about my appearance. Especially my hair, which I tend to think a) is too short and b) should be straight. I don't see it as a symptom, more a natural extension of bubblehead mode: it's natural that I'd focus on the outside when there's nothing on the inside. And I lack the incisive thought processes that normally smash any looks-paranoia I ever get. Distraction, self-affirmation, reminders that the whole issue isn't that important anyway and I'm valuable in many, many other ways. That sort of thing.

Still, it makes me think. Should I spend shitloads on hair extensions/permanent straightening, so when I'm in bubblehead phase I don't think I'm an ugly wreck and get miserable? My head right now says "Hell no", I don't need that in my present state of awakeness, but when I'm brain-dead I long for it. Maybe if the episodes get longer I'll succumb. They're an ordeal of awfulness as it is, if I can make it even slightly better without harming anyone else, why not. It wouldn't be a beauty treatment, more a comfort during my stricken state that at least something about me can be worthy of admiration.

Sometimes I just think of taking an ice pick to my brain and putting an end to the whole sorry mess. Don't worry, I'll never do it, even in bubblehead phase I'm slightly more sensible than that. (And where would I get an ice pick?). But it makes a satisfying, cathartic occasional fantasy. "Letter From Your Brain" by Stephanie St. Claire is relevant here:

"I am a little worried though that if I am not exactly the same... you will reject me and may even want to kill us. Other people have wanted to kill their brains, and some people have succeeded. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die. I want us to live, and breathe and be, even if being is not the same as it was."

The whole thing is at http://www.waiting.com/letter.html if you want to read more. I learned about it from the Encephalitis Society resource page, and it's been some comfort, even though I probably don't have encephalitis. I was reassured on Thursday in a lecture that I don't have the Herpes Simplex version: there IS a stage of intermittent episodes very like mine, but it lasts 12 weeks, not one year and counting.

Onto better things... I had a lucid dream last night! Or at least, 10 or so minutes of one. Lucid dreaming is when you know you're in a dream, and can control its path. I recognised the unreality when my hair in a mirror was blonde, as it was when I was 15, and not black as it is now. So I deliberately chose to fly into the air and soar above sunlit landscapes, which was very satisfying, even though it didn't last long. I hope I get more of these, and can direct them better.

See http://www.ld4all.com for an interesting page on lucid dreaming. It goes into some strange things - dreams contacting the spirit world, or God? Just because they seem that way doesn't mean they are. They could mean precisely zilch. But lucid dreaming itself unquestionably exists, and is a fascinating phenomenon of the subconscious mind, and a lot of fun. That site has a lot of info on how to recognise LDs, direct them, cause them to happen and learn from them. I'll investigate it further.

Maybe it'll balance out the brain gremlins somehow: although my days remain in darkness, my nights could brim with exploration and meaning. I should learn to exploit my sleeping hours to their full potential, as I already try to do with my waking hours. Let me distill every moment of being myself, wring every drop of consciousness and stimulation out of the experience, stretch myself intellectually to capacity while I have the ability to do so. Even in sleep my life goes on.

But right now it's back to work, before I distract myself further. Already this doesn't fit my definition of a "brief entry"! :)

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