Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Like varicose veins, ugly twisted and swollen with the emesis of words


I've always wondered if I don't suffer from ventricular tachycardia consistently while I live this thing called life, is there something wrong with me? I'm sure everyone's familiar with "premature ventricular contractions" (thank you Natalie Portman for defining the sexy in speaking in medical terminology) - some thing that I have yet to experience all through 2011, a special emphasis on today, the first marker that we've weathered through at least half of this year. Pat yourself on your back for the good work that you've not found a way to execute the perfect suicide! 

Occasionally I do dream up of conspiracy theories that venlafaxine has sneaked its way to my frontal lobes and temporal lobes and did a little jig up there fucking around with the rate of cellular regeneration, maybe that's why I haven't been feeling myself quite like myself. 

In psychology, I'll be slapped with a myriad of behavioural issues: disassociative identity disorder inevitably related to post-trauma stress rooted in childhood, social anxiety, narcissism, and I'll throw in one major depressive episodes of someone with bipolar disorder NOS. I feel for depersonalized than dejected actually so I'm not quite sure where I stand. 

Ok my cerebrum seriously feels like a plate of scrambled eggs. Will continue this blabber another time...........

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