This might seem too subjective to talk about, but in the interests of changing peoples' attitudes about the mentally ill, I feel that this might work out...

Would someone please date my friend Ken?

Ken is my friend. He's a paranoid schizophrenic. That doesn't make him a bad person, however. He likes flying saucers, and paints pictures of them. No, he isn't violent or anything like that...the only person he's ever tried to hurt was himself, and that was many years ago. He's on meds, and is quite stable. So won't you date him?

What you get: Ken. A middle-aged, slightly paunchy (but well-preserved) soft-spoken, unfailingly polite adult white American male. He's got a car, and enough money to take you to a casual-to-nice restaurant, a movie, and dancing.(SSI + commissions from paintings - zero living expenses add up.) He's got a great reputation with most dance clubs around, so you'll always get in...maybe for free! (He dances pretty well, too.) He likes science fiction, too, and is well-known as a painter...if you ever wanted to visit a gallery opening, rubbing shoulders with High Society, he's your man. He doesn't mind if you drink, though he doesn't, much...if you get drunk, he'll drive you home...He's quite the youngest 45-year-old I know.

What you won't get: He won't form some strange neurotic attraction to you, and call you at work. He's not pushy...you want "safe", that he is. (He's easy to outrun, in any case.) Unfortunately, he's not much on conversation...which is why he's having a hard time finding company. Mostly, it's not that he doesn't talk, it's just that he doesn't talk about much beyond his own little planet, plus some art stuff. Coincidences, conspiracies, aliens... It does get boring as a steady diet. His apartment is usually a little messy, and it is kind of small. But he's a nice guy, dated sparingly. So won't you please date my friend?

Added plus: in bed, he's a tiger, and "excellent" besides. You'll have the night of a lifetime, and be able to boast about how you made love with a madman for years to come. (Apparently, neither the disease nor the meds affect "the other head"...he once apologized for "only" making it three times. )

So won't you please date my friend Ken?
We'll all be so grateful.

I've completely given up today. Completely. I just stopped on Wed because I knew it was a worthless case and I walked/ran around without a jacket on in the freezing cold because I felt retarded and hyper?

It's better for my health though. God only knows my strange health problems of pain coming out of nowhere to make me incapacitated. Yes, it was very good today, I didn't think at all. Well I tried not to think or talk about it. It was good. Instead I busied myself with other people's problems because that's what I seem to be good at. I should really get to work and do all my homework and projects that usually takes your mind off things. Not when they're all essays that have to be on a certain theme though and they all seem to curve towards what your thinking, or trying to repress.

I wrote a poem on the bus on my way home from school. I couldn't stop writing. Usually I get sick if I'm on the bus and I'm not focusing on the road. I didn't feel sick at all by the time I got home. But I finished my poem. I think it's the best that I've ever written so far. It's my only poem I think that I actually put genuine feelings into. I haven't felt this inspired to write anything in a long while.

Yes, all is good today.

It's sad that it takes so much to get me to write, now. Without restraint, without an outlet of any kind, I find that I'm not suffering from a buildup of pressure, as I had expected... Instead, I find myself with no motivation, no inspiration whatsoever. Writing has ceased to be anything to me, at all.

Instead, I find myself surfing aimlessly, reading the words of those more passionate than myself.

...

Last night I dreamed about family, and the only thing I knew of it when I awoke was that they hated me. They all hated me, every last one, for being who I am, and not being what they felt I was capable of.

It is only on later reflection that I ask myself if I might not share the same feelings.

Everyone has a reason to quit.
A privileged few have a reason to stay.

Here's Mine.

No matter how hard you try, you're only as good as the face people put on you, and if a tree falls in the forest and crushes the person listening to it, it making a sound becomes immaterial. Dylan Thomas once wrote "Do not go gentle into that good night", and he was right for saying it; you are not given leave to leave until you're done everything you possibly can. Step out of the tiger cage early and a worse fate awaits you.

I almost realized it too late.

Not long ago I was suffering from the same dilemma as someone I deeply admire. It seems our assumed battle standards had been broken and justification of each soldier became increasingly difficult. If there a point where your efforts no longer accumulate to a quantifiable and recognizable goal? What happens when the sun sets on your throne? Do you light a candle and fend off the assasins hiding in the twilight or wait for your blood to reach room temperature and your body be whisked to the roughly hewn coffin of history's heinous calculation?

It's easy when you decide you don't have a choice. Taking a bullet in the back is easier when you realize that's the way you've got to have it.

I've complained loudly to chosen few in recent months about the state of the Apocolypse in E2 and if you dig into me deep enough I have opinions about everything. Put aside you shouts of sour grapes and understand that as an ancient I have a right to the feeling and opinions I have, especially since most of my peers feel the same way but are in the same spiral as I: the man must push with all his might and still not move the boulder. while the boulder takes no toll of itself to stay unmoved and only a little push will crush the man.

Some people in positions of power have said that if I don't agree with what's happening I should just cut my loses and leave. But where is the logic in that? Leaving enhances nothing. Leaving leaves the prairie a bleaker place. If I left it would be an acceptance of the way things are, an admittance that they were right and I was wrong.

I am not wrong.

Some may have power, but manifest destiny is not something I ascribe to. The color of the axe doesn't make the beheading any more holy and the ends do not justify the means. And if I fled without trying to put things right I would be more at fault than anyone else because in the end acceptance is surrender and if you're not part of the solution then the problem is that much stronger.

My contribution is as great at anyone's and I will not rest until I am given the chance to bestow greatness on every fellow noder who gives pause to do so. The only way to save a thing is to love a thing. And I love E2. I love every God, Editor and noder. While I may not agree with every descision made, I will continue to be Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition and fully support the managment in every just function, but I will also make my voice know as well as everyone should. I would be doing E2 a dis-service if I did not.

I stay because Everything is a community and I am a part of it.

So are you.

It's a David Bowie night.

The craziest thing happened today, I slowly assembled a computer in my room. For the first time in my life, a running pc rests in my room. I don't know how I feel about this situation. How about, "good?" Agreed. Moving on......
This means the more time spent here, which I think is a good thing. I've been writng a lot more lately. This doesn't mean good writing by any means. But hey, I like dropping my mental waste upon the laps of my fellow noders. Mmmmm, mmmmm smells like chicken. Newest situation in life, rats cold chill under the roof I sleep. In the last two weeks, we've caught ten in traps. One of them didn't die right away. I took a shot of whiskey and introduced the rodent to my baseball bat. I learned I am not a killer, but I took care of that fucker. Seemed more humane, right?

At this moment e2, a nasty storm is rolling into Austin. Please excuse me now, I am going to smoke on my front porch and enjoy nature with some of my smaller roomates.

Today is my 22nd birthday. I have always looked foward to my birthday, and while this year has been no diffrent, I've been looking at how much has changed in my life in the past year. I don't really have much to show for the last year of my life but regret. I still don't have a car or a job and I still live with my parents. While I have gained a lot of experience, I feel like I've lost more overall than I have gained. I have a much smaller circle of friends, I've lost much of my optimism towards life, and I've lost sight of my goals in life. I have achieved many firsts in the past year, but they aren't ones to be proud of. I've failed a college class for the first time. I've lost my virginty.

I do have many good memories of the past year, but that's all they are: memories. Too much has changed for them to happen again. I have changed too much. I like who I am, but I'm not who I expected I would be. I'm colder to people, I'm not as outgoing as I was, and I'm more self-focused. I don't rely on other people for my happiness as much, any more.

I'm not bitter, but I'm not better either. All I can really do for now is look foward to the next year and what I can do to change things for the better. I have my first real date in a long time tonight. I'm still waiting for the radio station to call me back about a job. I still have this wonderful place. I just need to keep my head up and keep trying, and I'll make it to where I want to be, eventually.

I am datagirl's new stalker. Well, not really. I just read some recent daylogs. It's not like I sent her a bunch of creepy messages or something. Oh no; because that would be creepy. My girlfriend will have fun teasing me about this.

I annoyed karmaflux at some point in the last week. I don't remember exactly when. But I got some nice messages like "PREPARE TO DIE." To which I said something like "Mwhahahah! Bring it on!" The reply: "Keep talking like that and I'll play this Haircut 100 CD." Hmmm. I don't even know what Haircut 100 is, but I am reminded that I need a haircut.

I am not an engineer. I am not a climber. Today, I am just in motion. Yes, I've been over the problems lately. So I just got on some crimpers the other day, and did this move. Then I said to my friend, who is a much stronger climber than I, "here, do this route." So he flashed it, all the way up (it's a bouldering wall, so all the way up is about three moves). Then I got to try it again, and I over think the first move and I can't do it again. Damn. So tonight I am not a climber, I'm just in motion. (I will do the yellow traverse again, I will do the yellow traverse, I will do the yellow traverse...)

Every single printer on the ENEL network ran out of paper today. Of course, this was the day that our last ethics report was due. The paper fairy must have gone to the Den to get drunk with her friends, toner boy and removable media man. Next time I see the paper fairy, I gonna kick her ass!

To make matters worse, we all ran out of paper credit on our accounts. The system administrators, in addition to barely being able to setup and maintain a network, only see students between 12:00 and 12:30 on Monday, or some such hours. So nobody is getting paper put on their accounts today. Of course, that doesn't matter much if the paper fairy can't be bothered to put paper in the printers in the FIRST PLACE!

Incest is best, put your sister to the test...

Apologies for the sick heading, it is necessary and important part of this story. This is going into daylog as it is blatantly GTYK but it needs to be told.

Here goes.....

Last night I went out with my sister Aileen, and a load of her friends. Present also was my sister's tasty friend who we will call "Sarah" for argument's sake. Understand that Sarah and I have been conducting a somewhat clandestine relationship for the last two weeks, not for any real reason, it's just fun being secretive sometimes I think.

Anyway, we were keeping things a little hush-hush for a while and not making it blatantly obvious that we both have the severe hots for each other. So, back to last night. We're all out on the complete piss, a good gang of about 8, we're drunk, rowdy and Oirish. Start off in Huba(classy), down to Buskers(dodgy) for some Sambuca, then we are finally drunk enough to bear the Turk's Head(a real shit-pit). The night finishes up nicely. We're all drunk as bastards doing crazy shit like asking American tourists do they know where we can buy some good crack and where is the best place to pick up horny little boys, the primary school or the church?

Drunken bullshit. We get to the apartment, I fall down the stairs then somehow fall back up. I feel tired and I want to go to bed. There weren't any spare beds in my sisters place, and rather than give up the game about Sarah, I opt to bunk in my sisters big double bed for the night. No problem with that is there?

I fall asleep just as my sister gets into the bed, and I'm out for the count.

I am rudely awoken at about 4 in the morning. Someone has their arms around, exploring various parts of my clothing.

Oh shit........ what the FUCK is going on here????

I pinch myself to ensure I am not dreaming and think to myself..."This is bad....really fucking bad."

I don't know what to do so I do the first thing that comes into and jump out of the bed screaming:

"OH MY GOD, YOU FUCKING SICK BITCH....WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING??? I'M YOUR BROTHER, JEEESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE FUCK??? AAGGGHHHH!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING!!!! YOU'RE SICK, YOU SICK TWISTED BITCH, I HATE YOU AGGGGHHHHHHH!!! WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME LIKE THAT??? I'M YOU FUCKING BROTHER!!!! BROTHERS AND SISTERS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT SHIT YOU SICK FUCK!! AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!"

Then the light flicks on.....

Sarah is there, naked, looking shocked..

She told my sister everything about us and my sister was really happy and said that Sarah could sleep in her bed with me if I wanted.... I wonder how our relationship will pan out after this little "episode".

I thought I knew what fear was until now.

Yesterday my therapist told me she'd like to start seeing me three times a week.

Now, I understand that I am doing poorly and could use intensive therapy, and I understand that I should take advantage of the time that I will be forced to have by taking a medical leave from school, but how does she think three sessions will work? I can't even afford one session a week, and manage to see her twice a week because of some help with my mom and some help from my school insurance. Even as it is, seeing her twice a week, she is giving me, for free, about one session every other week. And was giving me one whole session a week, before we got the insurance. So even just financially, I'm supposed to suddenly be able to start paying for sessions and at the same time, pay for more of them?

Sigh. It's much more than just the financial aspect, though. It's a good excuse, but I think I'm afraid of therapy. I'm afraid of believing in it. I'm afraid of committing to therapy. I mean, I've committed to a certain degree. Because I am multiple, and because I was abused, I do think that I need some form of processing, and being suicidal and non-functional certainly seems to call for therapy. But I go to therapy because I don't know what else to do. And I act like I don't have trust issues because I have absolutely no sense of privacy. (Really, I don't. It's scary. My privacy that I exhibit is all for the benefit of the people in my life who need privacy, or for the benefit of my poor wounded self-esteem. Other than that, I could tell you everything. In fact, I do.) But I do have trust issues. How am I supposed to trust therapy enough to commit to *three fucking sessions a week* without seeing how it has helped me?

Because it has only helped me in ways that aren't really help, yet. For instance, it has raised my self-esteem, my ability to take myself seriously, my ability to be gentle with myself. But I don't have a replacement way of making myself functional. I am more gentle with myself because of therapy, and as a result I'm a wreck who can't even muster up the functionality to be a full-time student, let alone work. So the gentleness is not encouraging. If anything, it's a sign of how therapy can be bad in my life.

And yet, there's this other side, this other hand, and I wonder if three sessions a week isn't good for me, what is? It's helped other people like me. It's come to an ending before. I know that. Therapy for MPD is long term, and it's famous that it gets worse before it gets better. And working through the stupid pain, the stupid memories, the stupid ways of thinking that I still have (like that gentleness is not something I deserve, like that forcing myself and being negative towards myself is the only way to get things done), it's got to help somewhat, doesn't it?

I don't know. I only know enough for this to be a hard decision. Should I go thrice a week, or should I try to stay twice a week, or should I even go back to what I might be able to actually afford, which is once a week?

Maybe the problem is that trusting in therapy is like trusting in myself. And I just can't fucking do that.