Tales Told by the Overreactor

You asked me if I'd make it better ;Asked me if we could grow old together.But you don't mean a thing to me,So I'll walk by quite happily.And now I guess that you've moved on as well.Understand me, take me fullyUnderground where I can not be found.Understand me, take me fullyUnderground where I can not be found.- Pickpocket, Kate Nash

Okay. We all have our moments when we're sure we might die because Anthony didn't ask us to the spring fling and went out partying with that slut Ashley instead. But sometimes, when we have a conflict with our neurotransmitters or a mental disorder (term used lightly 'round these quarters), we go way over board. and we often have fights with people who mean the most to us. It isn't just because they don't understand. It's greatly because you don't.

When we hear big news that throws our balance beam sideways . . . It's not the ideal situation and we rarely use the rational throwback.
I'll give you an example:
Who remembers Savannah and Joe? Well, I've become very nice friends with Savannah; yes, the enemy. And Joe and I . . . we aren't on the same page lately. I'll explain him later. Anyhow, I knew it would be the last chance Joe would ever give me. And when I blew it (I swear I don't even know what I did, but I'm sure I didn't mean it), I could barely stand. Seriously. I felt all tingly, because he is my first love and [was] my best friend. I truly doubt I could survive a fortnight without him. He was everything. I ran to my best friend since cradle years, naturally. We shall call her Allison. Well, I have gone to Allison more times than I can remember when I was upset about Joe (given, she was a mutual friend who could get him to talk to me).

I knew Allison was tired of talking about Joe. I knew it annoyed her, and I understood it all rather well. But I thought she would do me a favor if I'm at my road's end (that is almost crying and eating your weight in Rollos').  But she just had a break down too. Of the anger genre, however. She full on snapped like a snow pea. It wasn't pretty.

She  started  with "All I hear lately is Joe this and Joe that." That was rather obnoxious in my little opinion. Because it's not true. And I talk about Joe because he's the only part of my life she can help (not talk through. But help. She can't cure me or make me extroverted). Allison then told me to try to be happy. Like I don't try to get out and get better and accept life or get over him given all the times he's made me cry. I don't try as hard as I should but don't you ever say I'm not trying. . . . Anyone depressed should understand that. Yeah?

Well, while I was, in my opinion at the least, reasonably mad, I did tell her off more than I probably should have. I was completely taken aback. Here was this girl, my best friend for 14 of my 15 years of my life, telling me that one of my very nauseating insecurities is annoying and that she's done helping. I tell her, at first, that I just can't talk to her at the moment. I knew that if I did, I'd snap back rather sassily. I'd have told her off in some rides remarks I'd never imagine meaning. But she can't believe I'm leaving the conversation.

A mistake I somehow overlooked was telling her that I may not talking to her for a while.

I learned later that she didn't fully know the complex mind of someone without serotonin. She didn't realize how bipolar I am and how I say a lot of stuff spur-of-the-momently.

Typically, my know-me-rather-well friends tell me to calm down before talking to them again, or they won't reply, because I just go modeling-bitch on them. Total ballistics. Well, maybe not ballistic. 

Somewhere between a saucy chihuahua and a mother bear.

From last night, I've learned that I need to stop myself before hand. I need to think everything through thoroughly and use introspect even more (I use it most of the time, unless I'm pushing irate).

So, to all you bipolar bears, depressed groundhogs, anxious turtles, back talking parrots, and neurotic owls: Let's all think it through before losing someone we really need.

I wrote this in a rather uncomfortable position (80 pound dog in my lap..)

PLEASE HAVE A GREAT DAY. MMMMWAH.

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Books are an Introverts Best Friend

Recently, after taking a test, I learned I have introversion. Let me tell you a few things about introversion; a few things denying the common rumors and misleads.


MYTH: Introverts don’t like to talk.

TRUTH: Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days.

MYTH– Introverts are shy.
TRUTH: Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite.

MYTH – Introverts are rude.
TRUTH: Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so introverts can feel a lot of pressure to fit in, which they find exhausting. (When speaking of Introverts: Exhaustion is the feeling of being wiped out after public gatherings. Recharging is the term used for the time spent alone after an outing. This is normal done in one's bedroom, alone, with a hobby they find relaxing.)

MYTH – Introverts don’t like people.
TRUTH:  Introverts intensely value the friends they have. They can count their close friends on one hand. If you are lucky enough for an introvert to consider you a friend, you probably have a loyal ally for life. Once you have earned their respect as being a person of substance, you’re in.

MYTH – Introverts don’t like to go out in public.
TRUTH: Introverts don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts. (Friends and family often worry that they are depressed when they are recharging.)

MYTH – Introverts always want to be alone.
TRUTHL Introverts are perfectly comfortable with their own thoughts. They think a lot. They daydream. They like to have problems to work on, puzzles to solve. But they can also get incredibly lonely if they don’t have anyone to share their discoveries with. They crave an authentic and sincere connection with ONE PERSON at a time.

MYTH – Introverts are weird.
TRUTH: Introverts are often individualists. They don’t follow the crowd. They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy.

MYTH – Introverts are aloof nerds.
TRUTH: Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions. It’s not that they are incapable of paying attention to what is going on around them, it’s just that their inner world is much more stimulating and rewarding to them.

MYTH – Introverts don’t know how to relax and have fun.
TRUTH: Introverts typically relax at home or in nature, not in busy public places. Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. If there is too much talking and noise going on, they shut down. Their brains are sensitive to the neurotransmitter called Dopamine. Introverts and Extroverts have different dominant neuro-pathways. Just look it up.

MYTH – Introverts can fix themselves and become Extroverts.
TRUTH: A world without Introverts would be a world with few scientists, musicians, artists, poets, filmmakers, doctors, mathematicians, writers, and philosophers. That being said, there are still plenty of techniques an Extrovert can learn in order to interact with Introverts. Introverts cannot “fix themselves” and deserve respect for their natural temperament and contributions to the human race. In fact, one study (Silverman, 1986) showed that the percentage of Introverts increases with IQ. (There are more introverts in a group of people with high IQs than a group of people with lower IQs.)

Slightly altered version from this tumblr blog.

Introverts are Actually Sardonic and Rather Brilliant

A few great examples of the way introverts do, in fact, think:

 

An Introvert's Lexicon The following is meant to be a humorous look at the world from an Introvert's point of view. WORD Extrovert's Definition Introvert's Definition Alone, adj. Lonely. Enjoying some peace and quiet. Book, n. 1) Doorstop. 2) Paperweight. 1) Source of comfort. 2) Safe and inexpensive method of traveling, having adventures, and meeting interesting people. Bored, adj. Not frantically busy. Stuck making small talk, and unable to escape politely. Extrovert, n. A nice, normal, sociable person. Never surprises you with anything weird. A boisterous person who may be very nice, but who is somewhat exhausting to spend time with. Usually not too deep, but fun. Free time, n. A time when you do group activities. (See Introvert's Definition of work.) A time when you read without interruption until you're in danger of going blind. Friend, n. Someone who makes sure that you're never alone. Someone who understands that you're not rejecting them when you need to be alone. Good manners, n. Making sure people aren't left all by themselves. Filling in any silences in a conversation. Not bothering people, unless it's necessary, or they approach you. (Sometimes you can bother people you know well, but make sure they aren't busy first.) Home, n. A place to invite everybody you know. A place to hide from everybody you know. Internet, n. 1) Another medium for advertising. 2) A place where geeks with no life hang out. A way to meet other introverts. You don't have to go out, and writing allows you to think before just blurting something out. Introvert, n. One of those who like to read. Moody loners. Be careful not to tick them off; some of them are serial killers. One who shows a perfectly natural restraint and caution when meeting new people. One who appreciates solitude. Often, one who enjoys reading and has a philosophical turn of mind. Love, n. Never having to do anything alone. Being understood and appreciated. Music, n. Background noise. Something with a tune and lyrics which may be moving and intelligent, or may be drivel. Phone, n. Lifeline to other people - your reason for living. Necessary (?) evil, and yet another interruption. Occasionally useful, but mostly a nuisance. Reading, v. A chore that a teacher makes you do when you're a kid. You have to do it in secret and pretend you don't really do it, or people think you're strange. Shell, n. Something you find on the beach. What people relentlessly nag you to come out of. Why do you have to leave it, if you're happy there? To go out, v. Requires at least two people, and the more the better. Constant chatter, loud music, sports, crowds, and food consumption are all fun components of going out. Can be done alone or with others. Enjoyable if there's some point to it; i.e., in order to see a band, a movie, a play, or perhaps to have a stimulating discussion with one or two close friends. Work, n. Having to read, write, listen, or concentrate on anything. Being pestered every five minutes about something trivial, and not allowed to concentrate. Next let's take a more serious look at some differences Extraversion (70-75% of population) Introversion (25-30% of population) Energized by what goes on in the outer world Energized by what goes on in the inner world Need to talk to clarify what they think Need to reflect before they talk Can be seen as accessible and understandable Can be seen as subtle and difficult to know well initially Difficult for them to just sit & listen Work quietly without interruption Often work to change he world Often work to understand the world Interests often have breadth Interests often have depth Interaction Concentration Sociability Territoriality Multiplicity of relationships Limited relationships Expenditure of energies Conservation of energies

- New Reflections Counseling

     

My next post is going to be about neurotransmitters. Stoked? Yeah. Neither am I.

Have a good night everyone!!(:

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Writing a Blog . . . Now That's Okay.

Just something about nothing.
Summoning the courage to get out of be in the morning, now that's hard.
Finding the strength to pour coffee, that's hard.
Eating burnt toast and realizing you actually have to live today, that's hard.
Reading a book, that's easy.
Watching TV, that's a little boring.
Sitting outside and drinking tea, that's fancy.
Wanting to talk and having no one's ear to borrow, that's tricky.
Noticing it is only  half-past noon, that's horrible.
Breathing, that isn't so bad.
Eating ice cream, now that's wonderful with the right people.
Doing homework, that's terrible.
Petting cats, that's nice.
Smiling, that's worth it.
Crying, that hurts.
Being sad, that's all I kow how to do.
Playing the piano, that's pleasant.
Tuning in and out of your own thoughts, that's intense but rather interesting.
Perusing the dictionary, that's brilliant.
Travling to France, that's lovely.
Brushing your teeth, that's sort of long.
Brushing your hair, that's really annoying.
Planning out your near future in your head before you drift asleep at night, spectactular.

Teenage Hearts

We are teenage hearts. Forever young. We think we know it all, but we don't. No, we don't. And I heard you moved on, moved away, somewhere down the coast is what they say. I think that's great. . . . I . . . I am in love. So much in love. I am in love with you. - Teenage Hearts by Allstar Weekend

I didn't really listen to grown ups when I was little. They were just old children whose imagination had been eaten by society, creativity discouraged by teachers, and people that just plain out reeked of moth balls. (I was a very sassy 10 year old.)

I listened to my friends. While the old hags had been complaining about teenagers rampaging around in oversized jeans and always high and wasting money at the mall and inhaling any food they walked by, my friends and I couldn't wait.
Love. Privilages. Freedom, really.

No. Oh, hell no. That is not what it is.
I'm only fifteen and I've realized something: Those ancient baby boomers knew a thing or two. And that is coming from someone who didn't see the point of them. (This occured about the time I first read The Giver.)

This isn't going to be very interesting, but this blog is mostly about getting everything off my chest. So, I shall tell you about my recent 24 hours. But, mind you, a little background information is rather necessary.

In December, I fell in love with my best friend. Yes, I know, how stereotypical. And perhaps I haven't fallen in love, perhaps I don't know how amazing that feeling is, but I'm about as close to it as perceivable. Now, this kid, whom we shall call Joe, loved me. But, there's a little big twist: We live in different cities. It isn't but a 2.5 hour drive, but it's not like I can see him very often. I didn't want that. I thought distance would ruin us, you know, like it often does.

Come January, I realized how stupid I had been! As I worked up the courage to tell him that I love him and want to be with him, he texts me that, oh yeah, he has a girlfriend.
I was flipping the flip out.
I texted him and called him and skyped him for evermore to find out all about this girl. She was pretty. Not as pretty as me, he said himself. Not as funny as me. Basically like me, minus looks, humor, and the fact that Joe and I share moderate depression.
Okay. That's okay. I'd get over Joe. I'd be fine.
I tried making it work with a guy that left after I quit FWB.
I tried making it work with a guy that was so sweet. He, actually, was a lot like Joe. But, unfortunately, this kid liked someone. And I never had the same butterflies Joe gave me. This guy gave me more of moths. Something. But not everything.

I told Joe how it was. How much I loved him. No. He still had feelings for me, but he was going to stay with his girlfriend, Savannah (we will call her Savannah).
Anyhow, this was devasting. Basically, I was depressed. Basically, Joe was hurt as well. Basically, we didn't talk much for a good month.
This past week, Savannah left Joe. She didn't actually love him. While Joe is a wreck, I'm constantly telling him knock-knock jokes and calling him cute nicknames and making him chuckle. He likes me. He just needs time.

This really brings a whole new meaning to T Swift's Back to December.

How do I feel all these emotions in these photos?

Yesterday, a classmate asked what I have (why I'm sick and all that annoying jazz). I told her it's the way I perceive pain, I don't process it properly. She said, I quote, "Awh, that's so cool!" I nearly bitch slapped her in the middle of the silent library. How is this cool? How is being introverted in an extroverted world even remotely fascinating? How is being a patient at a hospital rather fancy? How is being sick during homecoming and a military ball (I was asked to for JROTC) joyful in the least? Teenagers. Teenagers don't think before they speak. That's why I'm so . . . alone, I guess. I can't relate to any teenager. No one writes; no one likes psychology; no one likes being doofy; no one gets excited when they see even a silly Smart car. No one is like me. Just that simplistic; I'm not average.

Tonight, we received a call about my blood work results (I had some run on Monday). My heart leaped from my chest. I was so faint, I barelt had the strength to reach out and catch the broken little thing before placing back behind my breast plate.

I have to have another pneumonia shot. I have to, subsequently, have more tests run. I could have something like streptococcus pneumoniae or haemophilus influenza. A couple others too. And, you know what? I could die. I could be pushing my experation date at this exact moment. Horrifying, isn't it!?

I haven't even been to Canada yet!!! Honestly, this smarter than the average bear over there says it all. Thanks, Teddy.

Other than that, I guess life isn't the worst. I mean, people being jealous of something you find a pain, love, and some ginormous burden sure fits the average teenage life, I do suppose.

"High school's the place where dreams go to die." - The Downtown Fiction

Anywho, I get to see Joe this weekend. I'm immensely hopeful it will change things. Truthfully, I just don't even know what to think of anything anymore.

I have to go eat and do some silly home work now. Have a tremendous night. If you read all the way down here, I'm super proud (for reals).

Please enjoy this text photo I created.

For Reals

I wake up. I take medication. I wonder why I'm supposed to live another day.

It was recently brought to my 15 year old attention that moments count tremendously. In my head, I'm always blogging. This sounds quite whacky, and I am aware, but it is the irrevocable truth.

I'm a writer. I write everything. Sometimes, fellow Homo sapiens like telling me they also write. It isn't until I really try conversing with them about it, that I notice they don't write. They story-tell. There's a difference. Honestly, when I talk, you can tell I'm just a little baby freshman. I say, "like", "legit", "dude", "whatever", "lame", "basically", all those habits of hormonal girls. When I write though, everything changes. I have this vocabulary of an old man. . . . That does not sound flattering. . . . I have the vocabulary of Ernest Hemingway. That sounds much more fitting.

So now, I'm writing out my thought train. It's not going to be easy to understand in the least, but perhaps you will find it amusing, insightful, and--unlikely--humorous. If you experience any similiar issues, I'm oh so happy to hear about them. There are many ways to contact me, but we shall get there later.


I am going to attempt telling my life. About me. Who I am. How I think. The thing is, it's not exactly easy. It's taken years to build up, so I don't know how easy an explanation will come.

See, I was the average third grader that was rather mature around adults and very childish with friends. I laughed harder than anyone should have at the Sunday Funnies.

 (I'm on the right.)

Then came Dr. Q, who I will now refer to as that due to the fact that his real last name cannot be pronounced by any human, not one I can imagine. He gave me a pill. A magic pill. They called it a steroid, something to destroy allergies.

But it didn't do that. It made me kick and scream and cry until my mouth couldn't function. I spent days on in, crying alone in the back corner of the nurse's office. They hit me. One lady, the assistant principle, smacked my hand.

I don't remember it. I remember the sterile smell of the clinic and the ugly glasses the nurse wore. Everything else is mostly told to me by my parents or a little diary I kept that year--when I was 10.

Until seventh grade, I switched schools every year. Eventually, finding a cool little UMS quite nice. However, once the calendar reached 2011's Feburary 14th, Valentines Day, I found my so incredibly ill, I had to drop out of 8th grade. I had all sorts of doctors and was a patient at Texas Children's Hospital.

I took nerly a year, but now I know what is wrong with me. Serotonin Deficiency Syndrome. (Here's a website for further reading. This is very basic, but it's the easiest understanding page.)

I also have fibromyalgia, a syndrome affecting the tissue around my joints. I'm still undergoing tests to find out more information about my complex immune system, which seems to be nonexistent these days!

I battle moderate depression, outbreaks similiar to mild bipolar disorder, mood swings, odd perception of pain in any form, and trouble understanding just about everything in this world.

This experience has caused me to see a level deeper than most. I see the sick greed hidden behind false smiles. I see the cold shoulder people want to display. I hear the thoughts of people that need help, but refuse to ask for it.

I believe in God. I know there is a reason, I just can't wrap my head around the possibility of real point to suffering. I'm ready to explore though. I'm ready to find out everything. I'm ready to find the reason.

Just because I believe it, does not mean I understand or am even capable of predicting the possibilities.

This has not seemed interesting in the least. But if you follow me for a gaurenteed funnier post, which I will probably fail to compose, I'll follow your blog.

This is me, now. So much better.

                        Please, please, please, have a super fantastic day.