October 24, 2011
I’m not going to lie, I got quite excited when my Psychiatrist increased my Lithium.
Picked up the new prescription and began the new regiment, hopes high for less anxiety.
Ahhh… then, I remembered: Side Effects.
With the Seroquel comes excessive tiredness. With the Lithium comes shakiness and blurred vision.
I’d gotten used to the shakiness of the hands, but I’ve never experiences anything o this magnitude.
I guess it’s time to head to the eye doctor… again.
October 23, 2011
How about we stop posting pictures to try and feel superior to others.
Let’s try and post statuses because they mean something to us, not because they will make someone else feel lower than us.
Let’s measure our friends not by the number on our wall but by how many people know us without checking our FaceBook info.
Let’s value our lives through human connection, not the amount of “likes” our statuses get.
How about we show our love by shouting it from rooftops, not just changing “single” to “in a relationship.”
Let’s live our lives and punctuate it occasionally with Facebook instead of the other way around.
October 12, 2011
October 2, 2011
October 2, 2011
Currently enrolled in a Creative Photo class, I am always trying to figure out unique ways to portray my emotions, experiences, and opinions.
Our most recent film assignment focuses on the aspects of ourselves that we like and dislike. Using 36 photos, we must cover physical, emotional: positive and negative of each. Upon thinking of Negative Physical ideas, I decided to open up a little bit and take one of my scars, particularly of my hand ( a quite nasty one ).
I took the photo, then took note of it on my good and bad list. “Wait a second” I thought… Is this scar, a self-inflicted wound from my past, a bad thing? It was painful, it represents something I regret more than anything in my life. But would I want it to fade?
I found the answer to be “No.” These scars on my hands, wrists, ankles, are all constant reminders that I made it through. I beat the sadness, the loneliness, the anxiety. When I see my scars, or when someone asks about them, I don’t lie or shrug it off, I tell my story: one with a happy ending.
My skin may be inconsistent and riddled with uneven scar tissue, but I wouldn’t give them up for the world. They represent my past. Without my past? I wouldn’t be the human being I am today.