Dependent & 30 years old

Now that I am 30 years old I have my Bachelor's degree and by the end of 2014 I will have a Master's degree. Despite my newly found sanity, ambition, and successes, I lack independence.

Many schizophrenics live with their parents or in boarding houses. It is because schizophrenics tend to need a care-taker. No, we are not the sociopathic killers you see in the news. The majority of us are more similar to those socially awkward autistic adults who need someone hovering over them telling them what to do and what not to do.

Common orders include "wash your dishes," "brush your hair," "eat," and so on. If you want an idea about how schizophrenics tend to behave, watch "Asylum" by Laing, a documentary about severe mentally ill people living in a boarding house.

My diagnosis of having schizo-affective disorder has recently been challenged by my psychiatrist, and 2 therapists. Fine, whatever. I have agreed to be termed bipolar with psychosis instead. I really don't care about labels too much. Still, I have grown rather fond of the aloof, giggly, reclusive skitzes I  have come to befriend through various outpatient services and I consider myself closer to them than the other people with bipolar or unipolar depression I have met. Despite the loss of my severe label, "schizophrenic," I still have more in common with schizophrenics than with the Normal population.

I live with my parents. I obey their rules, their curfew, their anti-medicinal marijuana attitudes, everything I do, down to when I take a walk around the neighborhood, is monitored/controlled by them. I was attacked by a sexual predator last year as I walked along a street (in broad daylight as I tried to walk away quickly because I sensed danger), so now I am even more controlled at home because they are afraid something worse will happen to me.

I can't walk unless I inform someone, am not wearing a pair of shorts or a low-cut top, am not without my cell phone, and it is an "appropriate time of day." My limit is 50 minutes for a walk to the store and back or else I get a call on my cell phone to come home ASAP.

I cannot come home after 9 pm, ever. I drive, but I have a curfew about when I leave the house (8 pm is the latest) and when I come come back (9 pm). Sometimes I  have to sneak out to meet a lover.

I have never lived on my own. It is an experience I wish I had. I have always lived with family, even though at some points, I was a paying tenant in their homes.

One day next year I will secure steady, full-time employment and I will go look for an apartment of my own--no family, no roommate. The place will be mine. I will wash dishes at my whim, and come home at midnight if I am studying late into the night at a friend's house. :) I am looking forward to next year!

"Almost Normal-->But Only When Drugged Up"

I have not written any posts lately.

I have nothing to say.

Or rather, I have no desire at the moment to show the general public just how psychologically damaged I really am. My true friend, my ex-boyfriend, the only male I returned to, died. I am shattered. Mourning takes its toll on my listless body and mind. I gained 3 pounds since my last psychiatrist visit. She noted that point on her paperwork when I showed up at her office a few days ago.

"I  need anti-anxiety medicine," I said. I do. Apparently, she is not willing to prescribe medicinal marijuana so instead I got a non-addictive pill to take twice a day. Good enough. If only it could erase the knowledge of my precarious mortality and replace it with the drive and passion I once had.

I might have taken a dose of strong anti-anxiety drugs while listening to Nine Inch Nails album, "With_Teeth" and now I am feeling irrational, strung out, relatively relaxed, but jittery all at the same time.

I slept with this guy from my past. I spontaneously texted him and he asked me to come over. I slid past my parent's room and did a silent exit from home. I drove to his apartment. I slept with him. Then I left. He complained that I was leaving so soon. I patted him on the back and said I didn't want to get caught. I might get into trouble if my mom found out I took off in the middle of the night. He seemed irritated. I left.

I have issues with men. That is not my musing, apparently that is what the professionals say. I submit to their decision. I have an electra's complex from never having a father in my life, from all the damage I acquired from various damaged men, from needing, always needing, love or a reasonable facsimile.

I need my friend, my ex-boyfriend. My true love that I never told how much he meant to me, how I needed him. I miss him.

The cup of diet coke is empty. I slurp air instead. It feels like my life, an empty cup, a hollow space that I cannot stop trying to get substance from. Emptiness. Man, this turned out to be a heady entry.

I will post a pleasant entry later. Thanks for reading!