My brand of crazy.

In my first entry of this piece of crap, I went into detail about how my disorder came to surface. However, I never explicitly said what disorder I have.

When I was around 15, I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. When I tell people this, they often jump to the conclusion that I am schizophrenic...and in a way they are correct in that assumption. Most people have never even heard of this disorder, I know I didn't until I had been diagnosed.

I tend to believe in things like fate and burning sage to heal ailments. One of my most commonly used phrases is "I lost my train of thought." I'm nowhere near introverted, so I kind of dodged a bullet there, but I do have the tendency to become extremely paranoid about others' intentions (something that is very much associated with my disorder). I think that everyone whose ever met me can agree I fit into the last one.

Most of my symptoms aren't bad at all. I've found a nice balance between batshit crazy and having a social life. The general public still thinks I'm weird but these days more and more people seem to think I'm "quirky" or "eccentric"...and that's pretty cool. Having schizotypal disorder sometimes means the concept of matching clothes is lost on me, but dressing vaguely punk or hipsterish means people don't really notice or alternatively comment on how "fun" I always look.

I've embraced a lot of the facets of my disorder in the past couple years. Doing so reminds me that people don't necessarily think the way I do and I need to look at things from different angles if I want to truly understand and connect with them. I actually, for the most part, love having this disorder. It's kind of become my excuse to "not give a fuck" and I'm over 9000 times happier.

The only part I really, absolutely cannot stand is having an "episode". Maybe someone says something a little off-kilter, maybe someone does something strange, maybe I simply have a random thought...whatever the case, there are a few things that can trigger said episodes. What typically happens is I withdraw from the normal world because I am convinced it's not real and neither am I. I'll run on auto-pilot if I'm in a situation where I really can't escape but most of the time I'll just spend a lot of time alone trying to snap myself back to reality.

 It is the worst thing I have ever felt. You're not angry, sad, hungry, happy, anything like that. You're just scared. Scared and numb. On some occasions I'll become convinced I'm really a ghost haunting my own memories. The last big episode I had lasted about a week, I was literally afraid it was going to last forever. It was one of the only times I've seriously contemplated killing myself.

It should be noted that I rarely have significant episodes like that. I've never needed medication and if I force myself to talk about it when I feel a trigger it gives me perspective and I can easily calm down. It's really only bad during times of stress/depression and as I left my home, loved ones, and general "safety net" behind only 2 months ago, one could imagine how that may have held a large impact on my emotional stability. But hey, I pushed through it with the mindset that things would get better. And they did. I may have embraced some of these "quirks" but my disorder does not define me. I don't let anyone or anything hinder my potential as a human being, this is no different.

Missed Connections: Booty Like a Rainbow (rough draft)

The February night air was frigid and my thin, hooded sweatshirt was hardly providing the warmth I sought. As a lonely young man of 28, I was merely a face in the crowd in the bustling streets of Philadelphia. Walking by myself, I turned onto a street that seemed oddly desolate for this part of the city. The empty chill my surroundings supplied only served to lessen my resolve to continue on my journey and when it began to rain I became desperate. When my glasses began to fog and slip down the bridge of my nose from the moisture,  I ducked in to the nearest store, seeking shelter from the storm for a moment.

The bright lighting of my new environment made me suddenly aware I had entered a Dairy Queen. It seemed like an odd place for anyone to be while the gray slush-like remains of snow still littered the roads but I suppose I was really in no position to make such a judgement, as I was currently standing in said establishment. I noticed my Che Guevara messenger bag was completely soaked and swiftly went into action in finding a table and checking for damages to my belongings. My Moleskine journal was only slightly damp but I set it on the surface of the chipped, ugly table to air out the pages just in case.  Rustling around in my bag, I came upon a bus token for my ride home, a pamphlet an exuberant religious nut had shoved my way at the Frankford Terminal, and a few crumpled dollar bills soaked from the horrid weather.

I placed my things, save for my money, back down on the table and lifted my head to really take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked in. It dawned on me that if I wanted to continue the enjoyment of my temporary haven, I'd probably have to make a purchase. My idea was to scan the menu for something mildly appetizing I could nurse as I waited for the rain to slow, but what I saw distracted me from any previous intentions.

She was a vision. Clad in skin-tight booty shorts with the word "Juicy" written across her bottom, a boast I wouldn't dare to disagree with, and legs that seemed to go on for days. Her long, yellow hair flowed behind her, playing across the back of her shimmering gold tube top. I could only assume from her outfit that her blood was so thick and warm that the freezing temperatures outside did not effect her. Her skin, a hue of orange I had never seen before, shone against the fluorescent lighting of the ice cream freezer beside her and made her hot pink lips look even more tantalizing amongst the contrast. Another asked for her name and when she said "Sarah" it sounded more like a musical note than anything that could be formed with the English language. Her acrylic nails tapped against the counter as she loudly berated the young cashier for skimping on the chocolate fudge upon her sundae and I was instantly taken. Here was a woman so obviously well versed in the irony of American culture that she lived it in every moment! Dreams of our future and what our children might look like danced in my head. My usually pessimistic mind was overloaded with a hope that I thought only the sight of a rainbow could induce. She truly had a behind that could only be described as such. A booty like a rainbow.

As I regained my composure, I was made conscious of the fact that she was heading out the door. I painfully stammered to myself, not knowing what to say. She seemed to look behind her shoulder for an instant, the smile in her eyes connecting with mine. That brief glance said more than words ever could. We were soul mates. She loved me. She wanted me. She needed me. She'd rather die than be without me. Alas, the charge of emotions must have confused and frightened her because as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. I felt myself falling into a hopeless void of despair with the thought of her shrill, grating voice the only thing keeping me from being pulled under.

Sarah, my angel with a bottom of refracted light, where could you be?  I ache for contact with you again, my colleague lives in the area and I frequently visit. I am already discussing renting a bedroom in his house to be closer to you. My heart is yours, as is my time. We could make this something beautiful.

Original post:

booty like a rainbow – m4w – 28 (philadelphia)
Date: 2011-02-10, 12:03AM EST
Reply To This Post

i saw you at the diary queen you girl got it goin on. i heard you say your name is sarah you were wareing that silky smoothe booty shorts with the name “juicy” . you got me thinkin about wanting to make babies sometimes soon. hit me up i know a dude there i hang out a lot

* Location: philadelphia
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2206584259

Keep in mind that this is only the rough draft. Sabrina will be editing it for me (and has already provided a ton of super useful suggestions) and I'll be tweaking a few parts.

5 beers, 3 shots, 1 Long Island Iced Tea.

Too many cigarettes, 2 games of pool, 1 drive home, 20 minutes of drunken vomiting, countless "This is why I don't mix liquor and beer" excuses, 2 hours of sleep.

Okay, so I screwed up on the whole "update every day" thing already but...okay, no I don't really have a way to justify it. Oh well.

It's raining now. Hard, too. There isn't quite enough thunder or lightening to make me fearful so it's actually really comforting. It seems appropriate for my current mood. Being lucky enough to have someone you want around all the time but not being able to is bittersweet, much like how the rain makes me feel.

It's been a fantastic weekend emotionally and mentally but not so much physically. Ate too much, smoked too much, drank too much, and didn't work out nearly enough. Like an idiot, I tried to go for a run midday yesterday. It had to have been at least 80 degrees outside. Experiencing the horror of jogging in the heat makes me wonder if perhaps Florida has a lower crime rate than colder states. Who the hell wants to run from the cops in this kind of humidity?

Katrina and James may be visiting in a couple weeks and I am beyond excited. Katrina and I were nothing short of attached to the hip by the last few months I spent in Philly so I miss her probably more than anyone else.

Oh, so the price of a 4 year college here is still cheaper than a 2 year one in Philly. Jus' sayin'.

I'm going to try to make it a point to write every single day, even if it's short and horrible. I read this little piece of advice Chuck Palahnuik gave for aspiring writers not too long ago...he said that you should dedicate 20 minutes a day to writing. It can be total bullshit and if you're really not into it that day, you can stop at 20 minutes and just be done with it...but often times you find yourself really getting into it at that point and want to continue after your time is up. So that's what I plan on doing.

It's almost 8AM and I haven't slept yet so my thoughts are bound to be a bit erratic. In fact, I'm not even going to attempt to keep them organized right now.

I spent the last year or so learning how to be truly content in any environment. Now I feel like I'm learning how to be truly fulfilled, too. I thought for a long time you would have to choose between the two and I don't believe that very much at all these days. It's fucking incredible.

I lost body fat and gained quite a bit of muscle since I've been in Florida. The waistline to my pants are loose, the pant legs are tight, my shirts are overall bigger on me but the sleeves are tighter. It's sickening... in the good way. I plan on eventually posting some before and after photos but I've been lazy with actually taking any. I feel confident that I could keep up with the roller girls now but I don't want to just keep up, I want to be good. I'm either going to continue to lose body fat so I can take the route of speed or start really bulking to be an all around badass. I'll probably end up bulking just because I eat so freaking much and have no plans to stop doing so.

I'm tired and sore as all hell now so this update is going to be abruptly cut short.

End transmission.

Isn't it always the case that once you become unconcerned with dating you end up finding someone wonderful? My thoughts on being with someone were essentially "whatevs, mang" and suddenly there was an insomniac knocking on my door with a cute face and a trunk full of booze. Just another way my ability to not give a fuck has improved my life exponentially.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I'd like to tell the tale of my 21st birthday.

Our story begins around midnight on the 16th, marking the official start of my birthday. Mike (the object of my affections) and I went to a dive bar to celebrate. I got a Miller Lite and he got a Cape Codder (cough, masculine term for Cosmopolitan, cough) because I'm a bro and he's a delicate flower. A lovely stranger bought me a shot and told me how on her own 21st, a girl she didn't know bought her a shot and told her to "pay it forward". I promised I would do the same in the future. I had the pleasure of receiving a phone call from my beloved Katrina and talked to my brother for the first time outside of the internet. Afterwards, we came back to my place only to drink more in my kitchen/act utterly ridiculous.

The next day (in gamer days) was kicked off with copious amounts of sushi. Mike and Nicole ate their food like normal human beings while I went into Kirby mode and sucked down everything in front of me as quickly as possible. Including some of Nicole's fried rice because I'm a champ. When we finally arrived at the bar, my mom was already trashed. Like, grinding on her male companion trashed. Not that I'm complaining, as he was buying us drinks all evening and my mom bought me the ones he didn't. Once I was sufficiently inebriated, I proceeded to tell Nicole how much I freaking love her and Mike that he looked like a combination of Johnny Depp, Justin Timberlake, and a stereotypical intellectual. If I was truly capable of feeling shame/embarrassment, I might be doing so right now. But I'm not.

Once the crowd thinned and Nicole had to leave for an overnight shift at work, we headed over to another bar called Brandy's. Brandy's is infinitely more white trash and therefore more fun. Tequila, vodka, and whiskey quickly brought me from drunk to mangled. The older "gentleman" next to us kept insisting Mike should take me up to dance no matter how many times I made it clear my only interest was in taking shots and getting shitfaced. To sum up our adventures at Brandy's in one sentence: We played one of the most horrible games of pool in history, fell like dominoes on the floor, and knocked over a stool in excitement.

My mom and her...guy friend left to do things I'd rather not have knowledge of so we stumbled to 7-11 so Mike could get cigarettes. The only part of that walk I remember vividly is being carried across a sidewalk river caused by sprinklers. Once Mike was sober enough to drive and I was drunk enough to want fast food we left for Checkers/home. I drunkenly confessed my adoration, ate way too much, worked out in an awkward/wobbly fashion, took more shots, and passed out.

My hangover the next day consisted of soup, Tina Fey, and general boyfriend awesomeness. Overall, it was the best birthday ever. The end.