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azurelunatic: "beautiful addiction", electron microscope photo of caffeine (beautiful addiction)
I went to go watch M*A*S*H tonight and encountered a resistance. I'm bad about watching movies and things. I'll go out and see movies in the theatres. I'll buy DVDs. I'll watch movies with friends. I just don't sit down and watch a movie by myself.

Tonight I realized what this was.

Back in 1998, during my first (failed) attempt at college, I had a nasty little depressive episode. It was the sort where I was up all night because I couldn't sleep, and then asleep all day because I was up all night, sleeping for nearly twelve hours a day, feeling generally disoriented, and completely unable to recover myself from the nasty little emotional shock that had set it off.

I don't like to dwell on it. The past is always the past, but some of my past is an open book, and some is a closed book. That part of the past is not only closed, but locked as tightly as I can bear to keep it. There are some parts that were good, but the rest -- I describe it as "a black cloud" when I look back on the depressions. It's like walking through ice-fog in the dark, with no streetlamps to make it glow and provide illumination, just a darkness with occasional flashes of illumination. (I could probably have used this book then; I was certainly flailing about ever more wildly in my knowledge that I hurt enough to want to die but I didn't actually want to die die, just wanted the hurting to stop.)

I did have some emergency measures. When I knew I was on the edge of seriously falling apart, I had a temporary measure that would fix me up good as new and get me through the night unless something worse happened. I would take .75 liters of Jolt (I got it in the liter bottles from the little dorm store, and one time I wanted to know exactly how much it did take to get me out of the dangerous frame of mind) to artificially elevate my mood to the point where I could be made to laugh, and apply a comedy. Any comedy. It didn't matter which one, so long as it would make me laugh. Laughing would get me the rest of the way out of danger for the night, and I'd be decently all right. So I'd sit by myself in my room and watch a movie. Company would have been better, but bad company was more dangerous than no company at all.

150 mg of caffeine + 1 comedy = the ability to live until morning.

Needless to say, I don't ever want to go there again. And something small inside me still doesn't feel quite safe watching a movie by myself unless absolutely necessary to save what's left of sanity in order to save our life.
azurelunatic: Seated baby in incubator shell with electrodes.  (Cyteen)
There was just a locked post about something that hit me two months ago, but is now hitting me again as the real-world implications of it catch up to me. And that's stressing me the fuck out, but it's an old stress, now. I can deal with it.

Darkside was there for me five minutes after it hit me, and dealt with me gibbering and trying to cry but failing, dealt with me starting to slip into shock, dealt with me laughing in very disturbing ways as my universe flipped upside down and started raining bits of mental foundation down upon me. Figment was there for the aftermaths, and was the first person I allowed to touch me after the first shock started to slip away.

Incidentally, I should never be given bad news when there isn't someone trusted around who can physically hold me, because I can and will start slipping into shock. I've learned to recognize the symptoms, and will dutifully get something to drink and wrap myself up in a warm blanket, but if my mental processes have been derailed, my safety features may have been affected too.

I'm a social creature, but no company is preferable to bad company in a time of stress. I need someone I can safely fall apart around. I trust myself to do that around very few people. There are far more people who would offer hugs and shoulders and their company -- and say the wrong thing when I was vulnerable, and run the risk of planting something in my psychsets that would grow there and trigger off things that would have been better left untouched, or touched only by someone who could successfully read from the Black Book and banish the fishy tentacled thing into rich black fertile soil instead of a slimy, writhing mass of venomous self-doubt. When I'm vulnerable, I shrink back from physical contact except with people who are known to be safe.

I become Disturbing when the foundations of my sanity shake. I keep telling myself that I've been to the rock-bottom, and there isn't any less sane I can ever get, and then someone tosses me a shovel, and I just keep on digging... Paradoxically, the further down I dig things, the more stable I get, because I know where so many of the faults lie now, and I know how to brace them and compensate for them. And people who haven't explored their own sanity in such depth get very scared when someone talks conversationally about where all the holes in their head are...

Freud didn't get it all right. Childhood builds the base structure for the personality, so if there are any down-deep flaws, the mistaken ideas kids get about the funkiest things, it's going to be in the childhood. But some of the deepest damage can happen when an adult earthquake shakes the foundation, or worse, pulls chunks out of the foundation and sets them on fire. If you're lucky, at least, the foundation gets removed before it's set on fire. And the teenage years are just as crucial to the adult personality as the childhood years are to the base personality. Some forms of adulthood are the mask we wear when we pretend we don't want to have fun anymore; those are the bad ones. Some forms of adulthood are figuring out that we don't have to do stupid and dangerous stuff to have fun. I like that kind.

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Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺

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