Kolvenblog

How Alpha Gamma Delta gave me Schizophrenia: A Memoir

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 22:41:01 -0700

“We live by the sun, we love by the moon.” -revised quote from the creators of...

Fri, 05 Apr 2013 10:40:47 -0700

“We live by the sun, we love by the moon.”

-revised quote from the creators of Tomorrowworld

An April Fools' Wedding

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 23:52:21 -0700

I prayed.

And ate some really good potato salad.

Wondered whether the beans were vegetarian. Then decided not to care.

I danced to the Harlem Shake, Gangnum Style, the wobble, and the Cha-Cha with my drunken mother. I realized how forgiving I have become of her. I am not sure whether it is my maturity, my impending degree in Psychology, the fact that I have not been living with her for almost a year, or that she could somehow be tolerated in small, measured doses, but I’m finding my changing attitude to be quite healthy for the both of us.

I met one of my baby cousins for the first time. His name is Sean Preston. Like the famous one.

I had the most magnificent talk with one of the most miraculous women I have ever met - my grandmother. We talked about life and family and love. She told me about how our family traveled here from Germany and Ireland and Spain hundreds of years ago. She told me stories about how our family used to be rich and powerful, even royal. “Where did that all go?!” I laughed. “Your grandfather’s family blew it all,” she laughed back. I opened up to her about how I felt as though I was at a crossroads in my life. She smiled and reassured me that I would find the right way. “Balance.” She trusted me more than I trusted myself. But I knew that she was right. I hoped that she was right.

I saw an entire side of my family that I had not seen in years. It made me sad to realize the minuscule significance that they had in my life. Family should never be that way. But the unexpected comfort that I felt with them reminded me that they will always be family, no matter the distance or time between us.

All in all, I had a blast. Even better, I had a blast with the people that should and do mean the most in the world to me. It is interesting to consider how nothing stands in the way of family, not time or distance or busyness, not wine or Prozac or over-protectiveness, not even a broken down Nissan Sentra on the side of the freeway in rush hour running late to a wedding on April Fools’ (of all days!).

“Family is basic, it’s what you can always come back to,” my silver-haired grandma explained to me. And I know that she is right.

Prozac: Day 19

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 21:29:08 -0700

I feel as though I could rip off every smothering layer of my body and dance my naked soul to the ocean just to escape these jaw clenching jitters. The physical limits of my body can no longer contain the buzzing of my mind. Could be the caffeine. But it was only green tea. I don’t understand. One moment my mind is suspected in a carefree abyss with no future and no past. A never-ending tub of warm water pulsing to the slow and steady beat of my heart. Calm. Manageable. And the next I have the mind to jump out of a window, wide-eyed, shaking. I wonder if I could ever move enough to break free of the tension, the jail of my body and mind.

Just take it one day at a time.

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 21:05:46 -0700

But even that’s too much.

I’ll just take it one hour at a time.

One pill at a time.

Yes. One hour at a time.

Prozac: Day 7

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 22:29:19 -0700

Increased dreaming; increased nightmares

Sweaty palms (expected)

Dilated pupils, constantly

Running yesterday induced severe spike in heart rate and blood pressure…

…then again that could have been due to me not having run in weeks…

Memory loss: easily distracted and nearly impossible to get back on track

Vivid dreams. Oh God, sometimes getting dream state confused with reality. So real. Every night it is a trip. Sometimes a scary one.

Slightly numb emotionally. But pretty much like that before.

Giddy first two days, now it has subsided to rational optimism.

Any physical exertion induces strong heart beat.

Very calm. Relaxed. Indifferent, even. Shit that used to matter…somehow doesn’t matter as much anymore. Forehead relaxed.

Slight trouble concentrating. Slight obsessive thoughts. Not to worrisome yet.

Increased dosage this morning.

Let the therapy begin…

“I…I don’t think I want to do this anymore… There! I said...

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 13:24:02 -0800

“I…I don’t think I want to do this anymore…

There! I said it!”

“Goooooood…” my immortality breathed, grinning at me with eyes that were just too large.

I raised an eyebrow at her, “You’re not making me feel any better.”

But I didn’t know if it was her creepy enthusiasm that made me so uneasy, or the fact that I had been secretly feeling this way for awhile.

My conscience didn’t give us much time to revel in our joint epiphany.

“You lazy bitches. We have so much potential and you’re willing to throw it all away just because you’ve burnt yourself out. Think of the prestige. Think of the money. Think of the success! All gone because you’re impatient, distracted 20 year olds.”

“Yeah and? You would really rather see us waste six, seven more years of our youth doing this stupid shit?!” And she threw the stack of statistical outputs towards her, numbers and chi-squares and regressions and graphs and more numbers filling the air.

My conscience angrily dodged paper cuts and smoothed down a lock hair that fallen out of her perfectly shaped bun. Her face twisted into something too ugly for her usually prim composure. “You’re making a mistake and you know it, Megan. You’re going to regret it.”

And that cut me like a knife. What if she was right? What if I do regret not pursuing my Ph.D.? What if I am just burnt out right now? I mean, with my 12 hour a day schedule this semester, I should have expected it. I should have naturally expected to start hating everything that I’m doing…or-

“Megan, if you actually enjoyed what you were doing, you wouldn’t hate it regardless of how busy you are. You’re forcing yourself to do all of these things. Just face it. Listen to yourself,” my immortality begged, “Do you really, truly see yourself in school until you’re 30? Doing this?” and she pushed yet another stack of those damn statistical outputs toward me.

“But that’s not theonlything you’ll be doing! Sometimes you have put up with stuff that you don’t enjoy to get where you need to be!” even my eternally composed conscience was losing patience with us.

“But,” my immortality bit back at her and turned softly to me, “that’s not the only way to get where you want to go. What do you actually want to do with your life, Megan?”

The sudden question made me swallow hard. “Uhh…well, I know that I want to help people with eating disorders. I know that.”

Just thinking of fighting Ed for the rest of my life sends an excited shock of chills down my spine. I refused to have my years of suffering go to waste, and, even more, I refused to sit back and let him ruin others’ lives as well. A little supersticious part of me wanted to belief that I was put on this earth and put through that suffering for a greater reason. But as hotly as my passion for eating disorders burned, I had to admit that my immortality was right. I can’t see myself in school until I’m 30. I want to get married and travel and have children in a timely manner. And as much as that might sound like “opting out” to the typical left-wing liberal feminist, for me, it’s not. And as much as I plan to dedicate my life to my work and helping others, I desire a life defined in broader terms, one defined by family and friends and a personal life.

To be realistic, I don’t know what I’ll want 10 years from now. I don’t know what regrets I might have or wrong choices I would have to live with. I don’t even know if I’ll be alive in 10 years. But I do know that I do not enjoy most of the things that I find myself doing day to day. And I do know that this is what I will be faced with for the next six to seven years if I continue down the path that I have been.

“There are other options,” my immortality keeps echoing.

But…”you will regret them,” my conscience echoes back.

Perhaps the only thing that I am sure of is my own indecisive uncertainty.

Today;

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 11:50:20 -0800

I will realize that I cannot change what happened yesterday.

I drove

Mon, 28 Jan 2013 20:59:00 -0800

the entire way home without the radio on. But it wasn’t one of those accidental quiet drives home where you awkwardly realize halfway that you had been sitting in silence with yourself, washed so deeply away in thought. No, I knew that my car was eerily silent. But I needed it. I imagined that my brain would not even be able to handle the bombarding hum of audio. It surely did not possess the capacity. Not after this day. This Monday. I nearly had to count on my fingers to believe how few days had passed in this gruesome semester. Six? Six. Not even ten days had passed. Red light. I squished my eyelids together, trying to see if a drop would come out. Alas. Too tired to sob it away. Too tired to be anything but numb. I tried to smile to myself, to remember what that felt like but it was as cold and stiff as a lost friendship. I gave up and just tried to focus on my hands wrapped around the wheel. They seemed smaller today, weak. It’s okay, I would be home soon. But home to do what? More work? I suddenly realized how tight my jaw had been clenched. As I pried it back open, I counted the number of panic attacks I had had today. I counted the number of times I wanted to quit. I counted the number of times I tried to convince myself I would fail. I almost counted my calories. Whoops. Just one day. One day of many. I still wasn’t entirely sure I was capable of the load that I placed upon myself for the next four months. I still wasn’t sure I even knew what I was doing. Regardless of my questionable sanity, this was the bitter reality in which I would have to live. The thought pressed hard against my chest, pushing out the air from my lungs. Sour. I would have to live with. Have to. Because quitting meant failing and failing meant…I couldn’t even venture there. An angry pain bounced between each rib before settling in my stomach. I can’t fail. I can’t…

“I’d give up music for you.” I let out a gasp. Such a powerful statement....

Mon, 28 Jan 2013 20:30:06 -0800

“I’d give up music for you.”

I let out a gasp. Such a powerful statement. Giggle.

“I’d give up sound for you.”

Another giggle.

“I’ll be your sound.”

“…raver problems.”

I just want to blog and complain about everything that I hate in life. Which is a lot.

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 10:40:41 -0800

I just want to blog and complain about everything that I hate in life.

Which is a lot.

I had an odd, vodka-fueled dream last night where humans and high functioning zombies were...

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 10:20:43 -0800

I had an odd, vodka-fueled dream last night where humans and high functioning zombies were attempting to live in harmony with each other. Well, actually, the humans were attempting to enslave the zombies and use them for their own benefit. Naturally, they were born enemies and their relationships were stained with distrust and resentment. I came across a zombie who had already been enslaved and chained up. However, I noticed that he was playing with some sort of ninja star weapon connected to a large chain that he threw around like a whip. It frightened me as I passed and I found myself dodging this way and that to avoid getting cut. I pondered what insanity had led his human owners to allow him to practice using such a dangerous device and I voiced my concerns to them. “Eventually, he will learn how to use that weapon against you,” I warned them but they were surprisingly naive and brushed it off like nothing. I feared for them. And myself. But eventually my dream came to an end, as all dreams do, and I was left to consider the significance of what my sleep had told me. I considered the fact that, in order for those humans to be safe, they needed to take that weapon away from their slave. This one simple act would grant them complete control over their potentially dangerous property. They would be free to do whatever they wanted with him and he would be utterly defenseless, forced to submit to whatever treatment they saw fit. It eerily reminded me of our government’s current attempt to take away our weapons and it sent an angry chill down my spine. We were the slave zombies and they were the humans. They were trying to take away one of our last claims to freedom - the right to bear arms, to protect ourselves, from them. They wanted to leave us defenseless against and, thus, submissive towards whatever injustice they decided to throw upon us. They had figured it out. Take the weapon away from the slave and take the last ounce of their freedom. Take the weapon away from the slave and you’ll have complete control. I laid in bed, eyes wide, wondering if perhaps I had uncovered a great and dangerous conspiracy, wondering if perhaps I, alone could save the whole of the American people. I thought of the naive, ignorant slave owners, or so they seemed, and the poor, clumsy zombie unknowing of the power that he yielded. I turned over and let out a yawn. Perhaps, after all, it was just the vodka.

Life is not money. Life is experiences. Saying that you have $10,000 in the bank is not the same as...

Sun, 20 Jan 2013 11:27:08 -0800

Life is not money.

Life is experiences.

Saying that you have $10,000 in the bank is not the same as saying that you have a happy life.

Saying that you traveled the world and raged face at Tomorrowland? That is a happy life.

One

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 21:52:00 -0800

of the most important things that cross country taught me was to never give up. Even when it hurts.

…

Especially when it hurts.

Today,

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 21:50:46 -0800

I hate everyone.

I’m not sure if I should try to change myself, or those I surround myself with.

All I know is, I am fucking sick of trying to accommodate.

This is me. And you can go fuck yourself.

Someone asked me recently, “I am going to be entering UNLV in the fall. Tell me, honestly,...

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 20:45:25 -0800

Someone asked me recently, “I am going to be entering UNLV in the fall. Tell me, honestly, what sororities should I avoid? Who are the bitches?” with a laugh.

I immediately thought, Easy DZs and laughed to myself. But then, after a quick self-scolding for having prejudged yet again, I remembered my trip to White Wonderland and the friends I made along the way. I traveled with two ADPis, my sorority’s supposed rival. To put it simply, they were awesome girls. We had great conversations the entire four-hour car ride and not once did I feel left out or awkward. It even made me sad to think that I connected better with these girls than my own sisters. After hearing countless nasty rumors about their chapter, I was utterly and pleasantly surprised. But this new, unexpected epiphany tasted bittersweet. It was absolutely lovely to realize that I could actually belong somewhere and it was even more empowering to realize that that somewhere was with my fellow ravers. But it hurt to consider that maybe it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t connect with all of my sisters, or even the majority of them. It hurt to realize that maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault in particular. Maybe it was just the unavoidable, unchangeable situation. The combination of me and “them” just didn’t fit right. But then I realized that, maybe that was alright. Maybe everything didn’t have to fit right. And that was the beauty of sisterhood. That they may not always understand your quirky raving jokes, or that you’re too broke to go to lunch with them. But that was okay because they were your sisters nonetheless and something deeper than a love of a music scene and a mutual lack of financial resources bound you. It was a unique sort of connection that I could never have with my fellow ravers. And that was okay, for I shared a unique connection with my ravers that I could never share with some of my sisters. And, oddly, that was perfectly okay, too.

So, the moral of my discovery and what I eventually explained to that curious girl was this: in the end, there are complete fucking bitches in every chapter but there are also a lot of amazing girls, too. When you’re looking for your sisterhood, you will know what’s a good fit for you, you will just feel it. And remember that whatever decision you make, it’s the right one, even if it’s not perfect.

Thinking back, I don’t know if I was trying to convince her, or myself. But, somehow I felt better.

Whole Foods.

Tue, 08 Jan 2013 12:05:39 -0800

I hate the place. Like, seriously, hate it. I think because I always see Ed there. For reasons I know all too well, he loves to creep up on me on the rare occasion that I find myself browsing through its vitamin-smelling, off-label-product-packed aisles. He’ll peak through cereal boxes, reminding me of the very selective ones that we used to share. Kashi. Oh, he loves Kashi. He’ll point with his bony, scaled finger at the impressively low calorie count and natural ingredients displayed on the side of the box all the while critiquing my overly processed breakfast choices of late. I’ll push him away with an “ugh” and leave the aisle that used to consume hours of my shopping trip. But before long he’ll find his way to the produce section and pop out of barrels of organically-grown, pesticide-free apples, holding one out for me to marvel. I take it and remember how these plump little green treats would be our dinner. I feel his fingertips trail up the back of my spine and it makes me shiver. I place the apple back, tender. Everywhere, everywhere he finds me. Near the detox tea sample station, he’ll hold out tiny paper cups filled with self-defeat and needless criticisms. Near the soup and salad bar, he’ll offer me a bowl, yet instead fill my head with reminders of what a grotesque, worthless human into which I have transformed since leaving him. “You’re too disgusting to even shop here among these pure eaters,” he’ll whisper while we pass the freshly farmed, hormone-free meat section. I try hard to ignore his insensitivities, my imperfections. But by the time we find ourselves at check-out, faced with those damnable magazines, it is almost too much to bare. He holds one up, shining, in front of my face, a mirror of perfection to reflect the cracked, jagged glass of my imperfection. I close my eyes and push him out of my mind until we are again blanketed in the safety of the outside chill, away from the store’s organic triggers and, more importantly, Ed himself. I can breathe again and remember the world that exists beyond the barred prison walls of anorexia and addiction and self-harm, the world that I built for myself finally free from Ed, a world that I can finally, honestly say that I am happy living in.

"You up?"

Sun, 06 Jan 2013 04:17:26 -0800

I wished the reply to be “Yes, baby, of course. What’s wrong?”

But I got a “Yeah. What’s up?” instead.

Better than nothing at all I suppose.

Times like these remind me of how much I miss you. As much as you hurt me, I like it, in this weird, masochistic kind of way. For some odd reason, I love opening my heart up to you just to see what you think of it, even though I know it is always to my disfavor.

I am not sure whether it is the champagne, the fact that I have been left emotionally alone for the first time in months, or the truth, but I have a strong desire to blurt out my undying affection towards you. I miss you. And I know you know that. But I want to remind you. I want to pry open the dark crevices of my heart for you and ask you what you think.

I know what the answer will be. But I have a taste to do it just the same.

Ewwughhh

Fri, 04 Jan 2013 14:43:23 -0800

I am now remembering why I have not been on this blog in so long. Reality is too sharp a knife for these tender arms.

Back to my other tumblr with its beautiful anonymity. And EDM.

I ~~think I~~ have finally found my calling.

And it just happens to be in the form of epic rave GIFs, trance, and PLUR.

…

Hello, Tumblr.

Fri, 04 Jan 2013 13:03:27 -0800

I had a sorta date with my ex-boyfriend last night. Yes, it was strange. He picked me up and everything. On the car ride to the restaurant, discomfort hung in the air between us tight as the strings of a freshly tuned guitar. But I kept my smile pressed even tighter. I only had to fight back tears twice. Okay, three times. Which made me angry. And confused. At this point, I believe it is safe to say that I do not have romantic feelings towards him. That is not to say that I don’t wish an entire decade of singleness on him…and maybe some unhappiness…and loneliness…and academic and professional failure. But my jealousy-fueled insecurities are beside the point. In all honesty, I do not predict that it would hurt me so terribly to find out that he was moving on flawlessly, that he had found someone new. It was not the prospects of our futures that hurt me when I saw him last night, it was the reminder of our past. In too many ways he reminds me of the life that I have just recently left behind. He represents the nostalgic residue of one of the biggest life transitions that I have ever been through, of all of the changes that I have had to come to terms with over the past year. In our past life together, we would have enjoyed our dinner, stopped by RedBox and 7-11 to stock up on Indie movies and Sour Skittles, and gone home to my parents and my dogs and familiarity. We would wake up together in the morning and make our signature breakfast with more pancakes and eggs and bacon than a five person family could finish. And we would lounge around all day watching MTV or surfing the internet until one of us got up the motivation to force the other to get dressed and go running with them. That’s how it would be. That’s how it used to be. But, instead, after dinner and a frozen yogurt dessert, he took me home, to my new home, without him, and without my parents, and without the familiarity. Seeing him forced me to realize how different things were now. I suppose I had been gliding along in my new life too distracted to look back and ponder the all the change that had taken place. And I suppose he was the mirror that I needed to help me see that. It felt uncomfortable, borderline painful. But I swallowed it like a bitter pill, looked at my current life with a reassuring sense of satisfaction, and moved on.