Hey, look at this!

The internet is working!  I don’t know exactly what I did, but I got it to work (I’m at school and wasn’t able to get it to work before).  What does working internet mean?  Guess I’ll bloggify now.

When I went to the library last week, I checked out a book I know I like (I read it a few years ago), A Mind Apart: Travels in a Neurodiverse World, by Susanne Antonetta.  It’s a book about minds and neurodiversity–the differences of minds.  It’s certainly not a psychology textbook or anything of the sort; more-so, it’s the “bipolar book” of a woman with bipolar disorder (to use person-first language) making it through life.  Rereading the prologue and first chapter, I was reminded of why I liked this book the first time around:  I could relate to it and, for one of the first times in my struggle with anxiety and depression, I felt like…like someone was relating to me in some way.  In this book, many neurodiversities are discussed, and I was drawn to them because they, in some way, were me.  Antonetta writes of word aversions and infatuations, onomatopoeic words causing sensory responses, fears and wonders of natural and maybe-less-than-natural selection, hummingbird minds, connections, and whales.  It seems to me, sometimes, that everything she writes, each sentence, each word, holds so much meaning that it cannot be fully contained or explained in that one expression.  At least, that’s what I remember feeling the first time I read it, and can feel now if I really try (or am I only pretending?).  Now, years and drugs later, the hypomanic (the best term I know for it) connections and streams of thought that hindered (or did they help?) my reading, my writing, my thinking, my being in the past have…passed?  Sometimes, I feel like I’m a dulled version of my former self, not living up to my full potential.  At other times, I can hardly bear thinking about the possibility of once again being like I was.  I still, certainly, struggle with the same problems, but the urge to write is gone, the compulsion to record every thought and connection while reading on the slight chance that that thought could be important, that I might read it and remember later, has all but disappeared.  (That phrase is far too over-used.)

Speaking of disappearing drive to write…I’ve decided to stop writing this post for a while.  It’s actually been two hours since I typed in it.  My computer battery was dying and I was hungry, so I took care of those needs, along with reading another chapter and briefly working on school work…and now…I’m done with this for a while.  I seem to have lost my train of thought, so to speak.  Also, my battery is still low, but should last until class, so that’s really not an issue.  The café has closed, so it’s good I didn’t wait to get food.  I don’t really know what I’m going to do now, maybe listen to some music or play a game or peruse the blogosphere or other internet shenanigans or read or “study” for the PPST/Praxis…there are so many things I could do, but choosing and getting started is a problem, especially when I’m tired and have a bit of a headache.

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