I can’t think of a suitably momentous title but heeeere’s Suzy…

Because I’m a sucker for flattery I’m back! Briefly! Well, not so briefly, actually; I intended to be brief but it turns out I had more to say than I thought I did, so this isn’t really that brief at all… as you can see, instead of collapsing hard drives across the globe I split it into chunks and put the chunks on pages, and this way it’s like an entire year’s worth of blogging in one post! You’ve got all the ingredients:

1. The post where there are several dramatic descriptions of the current state of me
2. The charmingly irrelevant anecdote post
3. The ‘because no mini-blog is complete without a crappy little bit of self-indulgence…’ post
4. The climactic and eagerly anticipated finale post

It’s all there! Contain your excitement!

Anyway, I get the feeling that some people may have given up on the idea that poor old DBAH would ever have another post on it (pessimists! Whatever would have given them that impression?), so tell your friends, tell your mother, tell your ex, rickroll it, spread the word like a Jehovah’s missionary, make the relentless spamming of this post around the internet your New Year’s resolution! It is also an excellent way to improve your karma. Seriously.

More possessive than the genitive case

I haven’t eaten very much lately. Where possible I’ve avoided breakfast and lunch. I’ve eaten suppers because I have to eat with my family. At school, I save up my lunch money and now, as a side effect, I’m richer than I’ve ever been. I feel hideously, cripplingly guilty to be hiding my parents’ money from them, so I think I may slip all or some of it back into my father’s wallet when he’s not looking, and let him figure out where it came from.

I’m not sure why I’m doing this. I sit with Danny while she has her school dinner, and tell her I ate my sandwiches in the common room before I came to see her. I sit with Rhiannon while she eats her carrot shaving and I tell Tana I had school dinner with Danny in the lunchroom before I came to the common room. When someone asks me, which they will sooner or later because I suppose someone will catch me in a lie, I can deny it vehemently. I have always been so vociferously opposed to Rhiannon’s stick-like figure and attention-seeking food-denying exploits that surely no one will disbelieve me.

But I don’t know why I’m doing it. Maybe if I did it’d be worth it. I’m not hungry – I was the first day or so, but now I get by fine. I’m not fat, and I never have been. And I don’t think I’m fat, either. Well, not usually I don’t. Someone left a book on eating disorders on my table in the library the other day and so I read it, because it was either that or stop procrastinating and actually do some Latin homework, and apparently starving is a way of expressing my hidden emotions. What are these hidden emotions of mine?

Let’s play with the DSM-IV again…

• Flavor of meals no longer gives a feeling of pleasure or distaste

Yep.

• Smell of things no longer gives feeling of pleasure or dislike

Not really applicable…

• Being able to stare into space much more easily

Yep.

• No emotions felt when weeping or laughing

Ain’t that the honest truth…

• Unable to feel affection towards family and friends

Mm-hm.

The psychopathic traits of my formative years

There’s the question comes up, every so often: what are you most scared of? Or, what’s your biggest fear? And lately, that’s been me. I’m starting to scare myself very much.

I’ve been a complete insomniac for years. I waste all the time before I get to sleep with ‘dreaming’ – I always assumed that was what dreaming was. The world inside my head was where I spent most of those formative years I ought to have spent in the sandpit. All right, that’s not strictly true. When I was in infants’ school I was the life of the party. No, seriously. I was so popular it amazes me. Anyway… So, the girl who led the Good side (Good vs. Bad, just like little kids ought to see it) was called Suzanne, and she looked just like me, and her best friend was a blue unicorn. She lived in a stable, with Rupert (yep, Rupert the Bear), Max, Bambi, and Snip (a Beanie Baby Siamese Cat who I worshipped and adored – uh-huh, these were all toys I had). Then I got a bit older and I got completely obsessed with fantasy – Suzanne’s best friend and sidekick became Hypno (original, non?) who, yeah, could hypnotise people. They spent their days saving the world, flying around and showing off to not-so-amazing people. Pure wish fulfilment. But I spent so much time there it got real – I was Suzanne, she was me. Not in a crazy way. Just in a little kid way.

Retrospectively scary diaries

When I was thirteen and about to turn fourteen I kept a diary. I wrote all kinds of stuff in there; and if you read how I write instead of what I write, you can chart the onset of psychosis – it’s unbelievably creepy.

 

(I’ve just found out how to work this Read More thing and it’s a bit of a buzz – it means I can fiddle with techie stuff and feel like a computer whizz and fit more posts on my home page! I’m sure it’ll wear off soon…)

 

Making my mother cry

Probably better point out that I’m putting this on timed release as a bit of an experiment… so if it acts up funny, tell me, please. Thanks!

 

I was trying to read the latest post at BPD in OKC and my mother came in behind me. Our internet connection is in my parents’ office, which used to be our dining room, and the computer is on the end of a table down one wall, so when you’re at the computer your back is to the door. It’s partly my innate paranoia and partly heightened paranoia because I remember my psychotic paranoia, but I can’t let anyone see what I look at on the computer. OK, so maybe this is because I’m not allowed to have Myspace/Bebo/Facebook and I don’t want to be caught using them, and also because I have not put up a large banner on my school locker saying I went crazy so I read crazy sites and so I don’t want kids at school catching me reading a site that says The Secret Life Of A Manic Depressive across the top in a huge banner however wonderful a blog it is (and it is), and also because I try to keep my parents out of that part of my life – whatever it is, I immediately shut down the internet.

 

My mother did a bit of “Suzanne, I don’t like it when you do that,” because she’s convinced I have a social networking account, scourge of the devil that they are.

 

I got twitchy and said “I just get twitchy.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to.”

 

“But I do.”

 

She carried on being awkward and annoying and finally I started shouting that I hated sitting with my back to the door, I couldn’t do it, and windows, I never sit near a window, not in school not never, and then I burst into tears and carried on shouting and she looked all upset and scared and said she didn’t want to upset me, did I know I could talk to her about anything, anything at al that was worrying me? And then she went upstairs and I heard her do a bit of crying too, and then she came back and asked tentatively if ‘there’s been anything happening… like before?’ I said no in my best ‘I’m a bad liar’ voice and cried a bit more, acting defensive. She went away, looking crushed and feeling helpless. And I was free to use the computer.

 

Is this a sign of a born liar? I can be sobbing and crying and making like I’m collapsing in front of her, acting like I’m trying so hard just to keep myself together, playing all mysterious-like with non-existent psychosis – and inside I’m just irritated because she won’t shut up? All I wanted was to get her out the room and let me keep reading, so I staged an emotional breakdown.

 

I made my mother cry to get her out the room. No, nothing doing…

 

I have hinted to my mother that I am possibly psychotically paranoid to get her out the room. Nope…

 

I feel like I ought to feel something about this, but I don’t. I’m just pissed off she wouldn’t leave me alone, smug that I got her out, and confused that I don’t feel some huge remorse over it.

Liar liar pants on fire – because I used to be pyro…

One of the totally unnecessary and therefore blocked you-are/are not-borderline comments asked me if I wanted to label myself as ‘a person who lyes cheats, and steals to get there own way’, but they’re a bit late. I am a person who lies, cheats, and steals.