Transitions III: Reflections

Do I know myself?

Well, yeah, I have bipolar disorder. It couldn't be more obvious than this.

Last week was pretty much a hyper week for me; I slept six hours (or less) daily and still manage to last through the day without naps. In fact, I get more manic as the day passes. I had mild insomnia almost every night.

Today's a busy day. I've rushed two projects. Just a few minutes ago, my depressive episode kicked in. I didn't feel a single bit accomplished--I feel useless now. I feel pessimistic. I suddenly fear about issues that were too trivial, too pathetic.

My depressive episodes are not naturally induced, they are caused; by what? I don't know.

But I'm getting closer to the answer. It's a recurring pattern actually. 

I'm both a socialist and a loner.

There will be times when I hate being alone. I'll get emo for being alone. I want to socialize. I want to be surrounded by friends. I want to jump and joke around, scream, and just be who I am.

Who am I?

I used to call my dark side (I'll refer it to depressive episode from now on) a "separate" being. Shadow Vegas. He is my dark side. But calling it "dark" is an understatement; an insult; a disgrace.

I have two reflections--my manic episode (the hyper me) and my depressive episode (Shadow Vegas). Both of them are me. I am not me without any one of them.

Shadow Vegas is unique. It's the side of me that is intrigued about this world. It's my creative side.

Shadow Vegas is forever a loner but never lonely. When I'm too lazy to socialize, I'll usually hide in a corner. Shadow Vegas is lazy. I like being alone and I like socializing.

Shadow Vegas is also sad. I can be extremely ecstatic a minute ago, and a minute later I might be so doleful that I may be on the verge of crying.

Shadow Vegas is pessimistic yet optimistic.

I'm confident that I have many loyal friends. I rejoice. I'm also confident that my friends hate me. I weep.

I'm comfortable around friends. I rejoice. I'm uncomfortable around friends, but I'm comfortable alone. I rejoice.

I can be satisfied about being myself, yet two seconds later I might loathe and curse myself to hell.

Whenever I think about high school, I feel as if it's just a long, extended dream; as if it never occurred in reality. I lament about how childish I was in high school, yet sometimes seek to relive that moment just for the sake of it. Sake of what?

I don't know.

But I'm getting closer to understanding my reflections.

My reflections are slowly becoming one, but it can never do so; because I don't want it to merge. I like having two sides.

It makes life more interesting, and unique.

My life might seem ordinary from the outside, but I live in two worlds. I like it. Very much.

Transitions II: Shadow Vegas and Me

Transitions I

My mind is weird, unnatural yet sometimes overly creative. Whenever a wrong combination of events occur--not necessarily positive or negative, my mind will automatically lapse into what I call a "transition" state; my mindset borders between the real world and my own extremely vivid subconscious.

My emotions become uncontrollable, as my mood fluctuates too rapidly between a dreamlike state of being "happy" and just sad. I don't know why; as I've said, my mind works in weird, mysterious ways. Sometimes I think too much, or place too much importance on trivial issues.

I still haven't found the cause for this as of today, or even the name of this extremely intriguing case. It may be bipolar disorder, but I'm unsure.

This started since year 2011. I just realized that most of my poems were composed during this state.

After CPU's drama festival (it was a Tuesday night, right before Labour Day), I stayed back in college while waiting for my parents. Her parents came and fetch her before mine did, so I loitered around the college compound. I repeat, it was nighttime.

Most of my transitions happen at nighttime.

When I noticed myself talking long, slow walks in the darkest areas of college, instead of sitting at one spot and playing games on my iPad (like I usually do), I know for sure that I'm not myself.

I decided to simply allow my subconscious to rule over me, it wasn't too bad; I went to the toilet to answer nature's call, strolled in and out of the learning hub, etc. It's just that I started to ponder about everything, issues that I normally wouldn't give two shits about. But I noted something--I really liked the dark.

This is a stark contrast to my usual self, who (I confess) is afraid of darkness. I wouldn't dare to enter the kitchen in the middle of the night without turning on the lights, or stick around in the living room more than five seconds after I've turned off the lights. I'm afraid of weird sounds; I get paranoid of them. All of them.

Yet during that night--oh such a perplexing night it was; I constantly hid myself in darkness--the darker the better. While walking on the pavement, my eyes were fixated on the shadows on ground, as if I've found comfort in them, as if I loved them. I felt safe in darkness, in areas of solitude.

I've came up with the name "Shadow Vegas" while brainstorming about my (unfinished) story "Reincarnation". It was right after I've experienced a transition in Japan. Somehow, the story didn't work out, and I've written this same character in a story about schizophrenia. I've never thought much about it.

But these days, I've been wondering about something; the various ways I've described Shadow Vegas in my stories... It made sense, as it applies to me during my transitions. I might be actually schizophrenic in some ways, or maybe not? I'm not too sure.

I know one thing, however; Shadow Vegas is not just a fictional character that I've created, it's a representation of my own dark side, a personification of my mind's most obscure thoughts.

Dream Journal 4/5/13 -- Guilt in Haven.

--- The true identity of this "friend" is not important to the contents of the dream, thus I referred to her as a "friend" instead. ---

I saw it. No, her; in the middle of a darkened 80s living room, with candles as light sources and wooden walls and furniture. Oh, there was a fireplace. She was just a friend, and she was a lot shorter than me. But she was wild, hostile. Her eyes were narrow and small, like two slits from a knife wound; a huge contrast to reality where her eyes are wide, big and just plain innocent. Her mouth when opened wide, revealed devil teeth; sharp and pointy. She seemed to hate me, as she lunged at me with the force of a beast. I was scared, but I managed to control her.

I felt as if I've treated her real badly.

She seemed too sad, yet too evil.

She wanted to find me--Alvin.

I lied to her and told her that I'm not Alvin, and I hoped that she would believe me. If there is a skill that I'm proud of, it's my ability to control the outcome of dreams. She believed me. Thus we begin our search for Alvin, who is me and wasn't me.

We searched my house. It was a condominium unit, with a connected living and dining room, a door to the kitchen at the back and a hallway to the three bedrooms in the front. We entered the master bedroom. We saw Jillian Michaels (the trainer from The Biggest Loser US) standing, or running on a treadmill? I'm unsure. She motivated us to run. Run to where? Do we need to even run? My house is a small one, there's no need to run.

I felt even more guilty.

Next, we entered my own bedroom. It was night, so it was obviously dark; we didn't bother to turn on the lights. On the floor, we located my pair of black shoes, and inside contains a Pikachu doll. It had its legs broken, and somehow only my friend could fix it.

She didn't fix it.

She, for some reason, decided to attach human doll legs onto it. She attached the legs of a female doll onto it, and the legs of a male doll next to the former. Both the legs were thin, very un-doll-like, and seemingly malnourished, for a doll. Only the female doll's legs fit, and she threw the male doll's legs away.

We found a wig in my drawer; a pink wig to be exact. The wig was chopped up into several pink cubes. I noted the square-like shape. I find it very irritating.

My friend wore the wig, and it is revealed that she is Jessie from Pokemon's Team Rocket.

I felt very relieved, as she was not my friend, but an anime character. I don't know why.

Somehow, a guy appeared beside her. We found another wig, a blue one. It was cut up into several pyramids.

Oh, so the guy was James from Pokemon's Team Rocket.

Suddenly, a mysterious guy banged my room's door(s). I don't know when did that happen, but my room then had two doors; one of it is the usual one (a wooden door), one more is a wooden door with a highly transparent glass pane on the upper half.

He wanted to barge in. He was filled with hatred.

And we know one thing--we had to hide my friend, who is actually Jessie.

I blocked the door, while shouting at him lame excuses (such as "the guests are sleeping" or "the guests are naked").

After we hid her under a blanket, we let the man charge in. I saw an elderly businessman appear right before my bed.

In real life, I felt nature's call.

But, something in my mind felt unsatisfied about that dream; it didn't have a proper end. I was in half-conscious mode; my eyes half-open but my mind was still in dream state. It's time to end the dream.

I immediately deduce that the mysterious guy is Brock from Pokemon, and everyone clapped. I woke up, and immediately wrote this into my iPhone Notes app.

This is not just a dream, this is a message from my subconscious; a message about what? I have yet to know.