I Can't Believe My Life Isn't Fiction- A Journal.

[sorrowscall]

Welcome to the journal regarding happenstance that happen in my rather unusual life. It's more than likely I will only be writing in this whenever I have small episodes or something in my life that relates to my struggles or upset with anxiety. I tend to surround myself around colorful people and I'm hoping writing about these experiences will be as entertaining for you all to read as they are for me to write; the moment of experience isn't usually entertaining. Usually, that's pretty painful actually. At any rate, a friend recently told me these occasions would be a best seller. I don't think enough of them occur to make a novel but I do believe enough happens that I can share with you all. Without further adieu, let's get started.

 

[sorrowscall]

Dear Journal:


Today I was very sick and I couldn't walk a straight line. I spent much of my morning trying to find a duster mask; those things surgeons put on their face. I found it but I had to run to the bathroom to puke up the coffee I drank earlier in the morning. I should've realized something was wrong with my body when I felt as sore as I did this morning. Naturally, I didn't make it all the way to the toilet to lurch out that horrible acidic brown gob. I was lucky and I had an extra duster and some wonderful pills somewhere in the cabinet. I honestly don't remember which pills they were. They said for upset stomach and I went for them with no questions asked. In hindsight, it was a bad idea but I'm alright.


Classes were inconsequential as usual. I spent all of my time in the contemporary morals class making up a card game since the professor just reads right from the notes he passes out. I didn't plan for it to get too far but friends seem highly interested in play testing it. So much for it just being something I did instead of paying attention in class. This is around the time lunch happened for me. I lucked out and some party had forgotten to clear the buffet table out of the area I like to eat in. I had cheese cubes and pretzels. Unfortunately, this is also around the time the mystery medicine lost it's affect on me. I started hacking up cheese cubes and pretzels in front of my friends. One, we'll call him Jack, has an interesting utensil that can turn into a fork, a brush, and a magnet. He used it to brush my hair into a braid while I hacked into a bag. My friends know I tend to get sick easily, which is why I have the dusters.


Around the time I finished my lunch in reverse is when a freshman girl under the impression we're friends ran up to me and announced how I would be her mistress of the evening. My lovely reply to this insanity was a time out with my lovely bag of hack. She seemed to be social, and then suddenly she frowned and announced that she was now another person. This falsification was amusing enough until she threatened me for touching her hair. In her defense, I had touched her hair, but only because she was leaning forwards towards my face while I was reaching for the notes on the card game I was developing in class. I wanted to show my other friends at the table the work I'd done on it since they quite enjoy trading card games.


I felt my face get hot but I didn't think I had anything else to pour out from my stomach. I thought the crazy girl had gone too, but I was wrong. There was a white flash and I couldn't breathe. Everybody was chattering. One friend about my card game, Jack about the hair, the crazy girl about being another person, and another about a class debate coming up. I was trying to pay attention since several friends were speaking but it all just started sounding like radio static. I couldn't breathe!


Now, having a panic attack around my friends is not a usual occurrence. I've gotten more used to larger crowds and can handle it much better now. There was only one person among that group who even knew about this problem and he couldn't get me to move because of how sick I was. Not that I could've moved anyway. This is where both the most annoying and most interesting part of my day happened. The crazy girl claiming to be a separate entity informed everyone that my panic attack was her doing. She somehow sent it to me with psychic powers. She of course did all of this while I was incapable of breathing or speaking. It get's worse. She leans over to my ear while this is happening, takes some of my hair, and whispers numerous details I don't want nor need to know about her current undergarments.


It's at this time that her boyfriend walks up, and all he sees is me trying to breathe and his girlfriend harassing me. She immediately "turns" back into the other girl and asks if I did anything to upset the "other" her. That her other self had powers she couldn't control and not to mess with her. I'd had enough of her and started listing tell-tale signs of Multiple Personality Disorder to everyone who would listen. I'm a psychology major and that's something we cover early on in our freshman year. She, unfortunately for her, didn't know this. It's too bad she's still trying to convince me this psychic other self was causing me grief and not my panic attack. I didn't like my problem being used in such a way to entertain someone too old to be playing pretend.

 

[sorrowscall]

Dear journal:


I've started to get over my sickness, but I was pushed down on the bus yesterday while on my way to work. I'm for the most part okay except for a deep cut and a gnarly bruise. I slapped some antibiotic gel on it and a bandage and went to work like a champion! I've got to make the money after all. Unfortunately for me, the pain started getting to me halfway through the night and we were swamped with people at the restaurant where I work. I'm not entirely sure what my job title is. I suppose I'm the restaurant version of a Hollywood gopher. That being said, a bunch of pain and a crowd was a bad mix last night. I managed to get to the bathroom at some point and hid in there while I rode my panic attack out. It felt like a long time, but when I came out, ready to apologize, only five minutes had passed.


I had a minor one when I went home last night and took the bandage off of the bruise. It was actually much worse than I first though it was. I had to reason through with myself that it was just a bruise and not an infection before I could calm down enough to breathe and redress it. The thing still looks pretty bad today and I'm told that the bruise is deep enough (as is the cut) that I will be experiencing a pain on that part of my leg for the better part of the week.


Yet, I still have plans to use the bus.

 

[listener1987]

Dear Journal:
Today I was very sick and I couldn't walk a straight line. I spent much of my morning trying to find a duster mask; those things surgeons put on their face. I found it but I had to run to the bathroom to puke up the coffee I drank earlier in the morning. I should've realized something was wrong with my body when I felt as sore as I did this morning. Naturally, I didn't make it all the way to the toilet to lurch out that horrible acidic brown gob. I was lucky and I had an extra duster and some wonderful pills somewhere in the cabinet. I honestly don't remember which pills they were. They said for upset stomach and I went for them with no questions asked. In hindsight, it was a bad idea but I'm alright.


Classes were inconsequential as usual. I spent all of my time in the contemporary morals class making up a card game since the professor just reads right from the notes he passes out. I didn't plan for it to get too far but friends seem highly interested in play testing it. So much for it just being something I did instead of paying attention in class. This is around the time lunch happened for me. I lucked out and some party had forgotten to clear the buffet table out of the area I like to eat in. I had cheese cubes and pretzels. Unfortunately, this is also around the time the mystery medicine lost it's affect on me. I started hacking up cheese cubes and pretzels in front of my friends. One, we'll call him Jack, has an interesting utensil that can turn into a fork, a brush, and a magnet. He used it to brush my hair into a braid while I hacked into a bag. My friends know I tend to get sick easily, which is why I have the dusters.


Around the time I finished my lunch in reverse is when a freshman girl under the impression we're friends ran up to me and announced how I would be her mistress of the evening. My lovely reply to this insanity was a time out with my lovely bag of hack. She seemed to be social, and then suddenly she frowned and announced that she was now another person. This falsification was amusing enough until she threatened me for touching her hair. In her defense, I had touched her hair, but only because she was leaning forwards towards my face while I was reaching for the notes on the card game I was developing in class. I wanted to show my other friends at the table the work I'd done on it since they quite enjoy trading card games.


I felt my face get hot but I didn't think I had anything else to pour out from my stomach. I thought the crazy girl had gone too, but I was wrong. There was a white flash and I couldn't breathe. Everybody was chattering. One friend about my card game, Jack about the hair, the crazy girl about being another person, and another about a class debate coming up. I was trying to pay attention since several friends were speaking but it all just started sounding like radio static. I couldn't breathe!


Now, having a panic attack around my friends is not a usual occurrence. I've gotten more used to larger crowds and can handle it much better now. There was only one person among that group who even knew about this problem and he couldn't get me to move because of how sick I was. Not that I could've moved anyway. This is where both the most annoying and most interesting part of my day happened. The crazy girl claiming to be a separate entity informed everyone that my panic attack was her doing. She somehow sent it to me with psychic powers. She of course did all of this while I was incapable of breathing or speaking. It get's worse. She leans over to my ear while this is happening, takes some of my hair, and whispers numerous details I don't want nor need to know about her current undergarments.


It's at this time that her boyfriend walks up, and all he sees is me trying to breathe and his girlfriend harassing me. She immediately "turns" back into the other girl and asks if I did anything to upset the "other" her. That her other self had powers she couldn't control and not to mess with her. I'd had enough of her and started listing tell-tale signs of Multiple Personality Disorder to everyone who would listen. I'm a psychology major and that's something we cover early on in our freshman year. She, unfortunately for her, didn't know this. It's too bad she's still trying to convince me this psychic other self was causing me grief and not my panic attack. I didn't like my problem being used in such a way to entertain someone too old to be playing pretend.

Wow, your story is amazing. I'm so sorry that your difficulties are being used as entertainment to her.

 

[listener1987]

Dear journal:
I've started to get over my sickness, but I was pushed down on the bus yesterday while on my way to work. I'm for the most part okay except for a deep cut and a gnarly bruise. I slapped some antibiotic gel on it and a bandage and went to work like a champion! I've got to make the money after all. Unfortunately for me, the pain started getting to me halfway through the night and we were swamped with people at the restaurant where I work. I'm not entirely sure what my job title is. I suppose I'm the restaurant version of a Hollywood gopher. That being said, a bunch of pain and a crowd was a bad mix last night. I managed to get to the bathroom at some point and hid in there while I rode my panic attack out. It felt like a long time, but when I came out, ready to apologize, only five minutes had passed.


I had a minor one when I went home last night and took the bandage off of the bruise. It was actually much worse than I first though it was. I had to reason through with myself that it was just a bruise and not an infection before I could calm down enough to breathe and redress it. The thing still looks pretty bad today and I'm told that the bruise is deep enough (as is the cut) that I will be experiencing a pain on that part of my leg for the better part of the week.


Yet, I still have plans to use the bus.

Are you being bullied??

 

[sorrowscall]

Dear journal:
I've started to get over my sickness, but I was pushed down on the bus yesterday while on my way to work. I'm for the most part okay except for a deep cut and a gnarly bruise. I slapped some antibiotic gel on it and a bandage and went to work like a champion! I've got to make the money after all. Unfortunately for me, the pain started getting to me halfway through the night and we were swamped with people at the restaurant where I work. I'm not entirely sure what my job title is. I suppose I'm the restaurant version of a Hollywood gopher. That being said, a bunch of pain and a crowd was a bad mix last night. I managed to get to the bathroom at some point and hid in there while I rode my panic attack out. It felt like a long time, but when I came out, ready to apologize, only five minutes had passed.


I had a minor one when I went home last night and took the bandage off of the bruise. It was actually much worse than I first though it was. I had to reason through with myself that it was just a bruise and not an infection before I could calm down enough to breathe and redress it. The thing still looks pretty bad today and I'm told that the bruise is deep enough (as is the cut) that I will be experiencing a pain on that part of my leg for the better part of the week.


Yet, I still have plans to use the bus.

No. I'm not being bullies. It was just a happenstance on a bus I really don't enjoy taking because of the ill management involved therein.

 

[sorrowscall]

Dear Journal:


Yesterday was a day that people will expect me to remember for the rest of my life. The possible future president came to the university yesterday. I suppose people will ask me in the future what that was like. However, I doubt I'll remember it. What I will remember are the crowds of people on a hot Thursday congregating toward a dilapidated gym. I will remember how one of them accidentally kicked the bruise on my leg as they ran off in excitement. I'll remember purposefully not going to see our possible future leader speak because I had other important things to do that day. I'll remember the doubled amount of people putting a clipboard in my face and asking me if I've already registered to vote. Most of all, I'll remember that whole circus of a day didn't cause me a single panic attack. I'm actually quite proud of how I handled the extra crowds yesterday.

 

[sorrowscall]

TRIGGER WARNING


Dear Journal:


I'm in fear of a large panic attack currently. I have stressed my heart and lungs in yesterday's excitement of seeing Avenue Q off broadway. Unfortunately, I was also contacted by my estranged mother via a message from her ex-husband (I refuse to give her my phone number) and given the news that she has a brain tumour. She's going for chemotherapy for it. However, chemotherapy is almost always a death sentence for the men and women of my family. I'm by no means a fatalist, but I still feel like the right thing to do is call her and be there for her because she's my mom. The scientific thing to do is remember this woman used me for money and disowned me when I was no longer of use. It is only our biology that brings about the reasoning to speak to her. I don't know what to do. More will be written on the matter soon.

 

[sorrowscall]

TRIGGER WARNING


Dear Journal:


I called my mom. She seems to be doing fine. She won't know more about her success rate with chemotherapy until closer to Christmas. She went ahead and shaved off all of her hair. It seems like she's in the first stage: Denial. She kept asking me when I was going to graduate so she could take that day off from work. I don't graduate for more than a year. She seems pretty happy despite it all. I'm still not sure why she wanted to contact me. It's probably rude to ask. In other news, a friend of mine nearly put me in to a panic attack because he felt the need to go over the nines about a recent breakup that he (badly) claims to be over. He didn't take to well to me shouting for him to just shut up. I suppose even my writing and school work must be suffering right now. It's all a lot to take in, but I'm doing what I can.