. . . fuck (I do try to keep the profanity out of the title, at least).

So I haven’t slept (again), and my plans of going to meet my sis, Em – who’s in town with my brother-in-law and niece – and another good friend were derailed due to the pseudoseizures.  I screwed around reading news articles, played on a certain social site (thank you, Brian – I know Andrea will pass this on* – for posting hilarious albums, and lots of them, so now when I’m low I still have plenty of things to guarantee a good laugh, not sure whom to thank for you having a sense of humor so deeply akin to my own), was all set to conk out, then realized that I hadn’t blogged.  And that if I take a sleeper – yes, another one - no one will hear anything from me for like two days.  Which wouldn’t concern anyone if I hadn’t been posting daily.

So Brian, you now get another nod for focusing this post.  My readers will also be grateful, I’m sure.

Let’s talk shock value.  Many years ago (starting at oh, say, 13) I dyed my hair for the first time.  From dishwater blonde to fire engine red.  I did it just ’cause I wanted to, but of course – being a free-spirited, rebellious type teen – I got a kick from the “shock value.”  My mother and father were horrified (even though red is really good on me), complete strangers crossed the cafeteria at school to make comments.  Mostly they were snarky bitches, but I loved telling them what was what, and how their opinion didn’t even register with me – which of course shocked them even more, because I clearly meant it.  No one is that secure at 13.  No one.  But I can honestly look back and say that I was.

Even my friends were shocked, in a much nicer way.  In retrospect, that was probably when the bipolar really started kicking in, and I was borderline to full-on. . .  You know what, as I think about things, I was full-on hypomanic, borderline manic (and yes, I will get some basic definitions up soon, until then, Dictionary and Thesaurus – Merriam-Webster Online - they have a “Medical” tab, fourth from left, try that).

At any rate, it’s hard to tease out the whys now.  When I did something, “unusual,” was it me, was it mania, was it the high I got from still, years and years later, still being able to shock people?  Probably all three.  Although I can look back and happily declare that I never did anything I regret for shock value.

WARNING: Detour – Just had this moment, where I’m sitting and thinking about how many times I have used the word “shock” in this post without it bringing to mind electroconvulsive therapy (six, if you count the past tense).  That either means I’m recovering a bit more from the PTSD, or I’m really tired and my brain is in slow-mo.  Time and tide, my lovelies.

At any rate, I did many things over the years that shocked people, in fact I still managed to do it to my mom, twice in two months, actually (easy mark, though).  See:  Whoring Myself For Charity, which is the second example but contains a link to the first.

Moreover, if people I know knew the half of what they don’t know. . .  ”Won’t confess all my sins. . .” (I’ve tapped this song so many times without actually linking to it. . .

(This song and video are solely the property of their respective owners and artists. Absolutely no copyright infringement is intended.)

I was going to say just close your eyes and listen, because I feel like this song is a good depiction of me, however I look nothing like Shakira, but then I thought, Hell, if my readers want to associate me with an image, I could do much, much worse. . . and there were the belly dancing lessons. . . so watch or just listen, your choice).

Moving on.

So I thought I was past the deliberate shock value phase in my life – but I did some things last night and today that might make a liar out of me if I made that statement definitively.  Also, now that I think about it, this one was pretty much deliberate (last link, I’m almost positive):  Femme Fatale.

Oh, and I actually even managed to shock myself today (which is really not deliberate) – I walked past a full-length mirror, sans. . . well, everything, and finally caught a glimpse of why others see me as so thin.  I stand by my statements as to my health, but I actually kind of get it now.

Christ, this post is going to be a bitch to edit – which we’ve established I hate – and a mess to tag.

Moral of the story:  ’Never make agreements. . .’

*I am obviously now passing this on myself (but I like to put Andrea in here whenever possible), the last link in question regarding being self-critical versus hypercritical (this is going to be way too much of me all at once, most likely, so take it in little doses):  Do You Believe In Magic? 

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