Club Dancing and Anxieties

I like going out dancing. It's probably one of my favourite activities.

I do this sober for several reasons, mostly because I don't drink, but also because if I danced while drunk, I'd probably throw up everywhere. (Actually I almost definitely wouldn't and I never have, but I'd be worried about it, which would make me anxious to the point of nausea. So just no.)

People tell me they love going out dancing, but that they can only do it while they're drunk. Also that they drink as a sort of 'social lubricant' so they feel more comfortable talking to people.

I literally cannot comprehend either of these things. Mostly because I'm fucking autistic and my brain is a feedback loop and I literally only understand what I relate to.

But. The reason I don't understand, is because I guess I just don't give a shit what anyone thinks. As long as it's true, that is.

Like, if you assume I'm Italian or something, I'll be pissed off because I'm not fucking Italian. Not that there is anything at all wrong with being Italian - there isn't. I'd be way more irritated at being called Italian than if someone called me a dirty Jew. Because I am a Jew and if you think that's a bad thing, that's your problem, and I don't care because I like being a Jew.

How this relates to dancing, is that I I'm dancing, I'm having fun doing it. And if I'm meaning to dance like an idiot, it's because I find it amusing and don't care if people think I'm stupid for it. Besides. People at clubs watching me dance like an idiot are drunk and won't remember later/are dancing like idiots themselves. (The difference being that I'm doing it on purpose, and they're drunk)

And as to the whole, 'it's easier to talk to people when I've had alcohol' thing... Whyyyyyy??? If you go to a bar and talk to people, they're drinking and they'll assume you are too and that's basically the same thing since you can pretty much get away with saying/doing anything ridiculous in that case.

It's a beautiful thing, not caring.

Except I do care about some things.

Like not throwing up ever. Also not having anyone else throw up near me. The second is slightly more important than the first.

Unfortunately for me, being anxious makes me nauseated. And being nauseated makes me anxious. And then sometimes, I get anxious from worrying about maybe getting nauseated, which then makes me nauseated.

Fun story: I've never had food poisoning and the last time I threw up was July 2010 (Whatever I ate was not good. I barfed in a toilet at my friends house while wearing her Optimus Prime shirt). Before that, it was November 2008 (I had the stomach flu and barfed all over my mom's bed. Fun.) before that, it was probably 2001, perhaps earlier. I barfed grape Gatorade onto my parents' bed. Yum. I no longer enjoy grape Gatorade.

I can list off pretty much every time I've ever thrown up. I might be missing a few times from when I was a kid, but I definitely remember 11 times. I don't think that's a lot, but I think the fact that I'm that disturbed that I remember all of them is rather telling.

In addition to remembering these times, I also remember at least 12 panic attacks I've had from people around me either throwing up, or being about to throw up.

People always think its funny, and then I can't breathe or move or stop crying and its really not all that funny anymore. They don't think it's that serious, and then it happens.

That makes me anxious, too. The idea of a panic attack.

Someone tried to tell me once that I wasn't having a panic attack. I wanted to punch her in the face. But fighting makes me anxious too.

Anyway. I think it's funny when people tell me I'm brave for doing something they're afraid to do. You cannot be brave if you aren't afraid. Shaving my head and dancing and wearing crazy clothes is not brave when I do it. It's a lack of fear and its self expression. I'm not afraid of myself.

For me, going out to eat at a restaurant is brave of me because they make me anxious and afraid.

Once Upon A Surgery

I was reading something just now about what 'actually' happens when a patient wakes up after surgery. I literally have no way to know if any of it is actually true. I mean. I assume it is?

It's not that I've never had surgery; I have.

Apparently I woke up in the OR with a tube down my trachea and probably started talking just after it was removed. I was definitely talking on my way out of the OR and into the recovery room at which point I told the nurse that my pain was at a three and they put me on some sort of narcotic IV painkiller. No idea which one.

Not that I actually remember any of this happening. I don't. At all. Not even a little bit.

To my memory, the anesthetist injected a 'mild anti-anxiety' medicine in my IV drip, told me about it, and then I got a mask put over my face. The next thing I remember is being in the recovery room and crying. Not sure why I was crying. I suspect I was either that happy, or the lady in the bed next to me threw up and I was having a panic attack. I remember up to a few minutes after that, then there's a missing section and the next thing I remember is that it was snack time and when I was done eating I got to go home.

The reason I know what 'probably' happened from when I woke up until I remember is stuff I got told by the nurses. Well. The anesthetist told me I'd wake up with a tube down my throat and to not chew it, so that's how I know that bit. I don't know if I chewed on it or freaked out or gagged when they removed it. The nurse in the recovery room told me if I kept talking I'd make myself sick, which shut me up straight away. That was before the missing bit. She also told me I'd been talking since they brought me out of the OR. I laughed for a solid five minutes when I was asked if my pain was still a 3. I asked when I'd even said that and apparently it was also when I was brought to the recovery room. I don't know if it was the narcs, but the fact that I totally didn't remember that made me laugh so much.

Anyway, hopefully next time I have surgery, I won't be given crazy amnesia drugs and I'll know what it's actually like to wake up from sedation rather than to have Versed wear off.

That Is Mahogany

Sometimes things just aren't right to post on tumblr.

Also, sometimes listening to Gangnam Style on repeat is definitely right.

3am on a Friday is the best time for this.

Maybe. I don't know. I need to write something that isn't batman fanfiction (sup I'm a nerd) and my brain has been turned to scrambled eggs from watching Inception and obsessively looking to see when Cobb is and isn't wearing his wedding ring. (It's actually his totem. Look for it, he only wears it in dreams, that spinning top was Mal's totem, he just uses it to see if he's going crazy or not)

Talking of crazy, I must be. I went and deleted Zoolander from my computer. I need Will Farrell screaming that he feels like he's on crazy pills and that foamy lattes make him farty and bloated. I need this because of reasons.

For the past four days, I've been sat in a room bleeding words out of my fingertips. I haven't been able to bring myself to do anything else. I really do feel like I'm on crazy pills. I went outside like 3 times today because I feel like I'm going fucking insane.

Also, I've watched Warrior like 5 times (not exaggerating) and I cry at the end literally every time. My therapist says I like fictional people more than real ones because actors aren't thinking about and doing five things at a time so I actually understand their body language and stuff. If they're what I understand, why wouldn't I like them better? Of course, BradieCat is an exception to this. Not that I 'get' him at all times, I so don't, but I have magical empathy powers where he is concerned. Clearly this is why I married him.

Since melting my hair off, some of my special friends have arrived. By special friends, I mean wigs. This has led to a lot of time spent staring at myself in mirrors. (I say as if that's at all unusual for me to do all the time. Can't help it. Love my face. Not sorry.)

Also, quick everyone go follow Michael Jordan on twitter. It not actually Michael Jordan, but it's the funniest account since Mark Hoppus had an argument with himself about shrimp and prawns and Australians.

I would say my life sucks and is horrid and vile, but that's not actually true. What it actually is, is that in addition to grudgingly adoring Tom Hardy, I go to sleep at 7am and wake up four hours later. Eeevery fucking day. Today, I fell asleep for four hours in the middle of the living room floor. And then we went grocery shopping and I got...

Tomatoes? I literally have no idea what I got because I'm autistic and my short term memory for shit like that (which doesn't matter as I'll know what I've bought if I look in the fridge) is terrible in an abysmally embarrassing sort of way which makes me feel like a fucking dingbat sometimes.

Can I just talk about Bronson for a sec? Because that movie is weirder and more disturbing than Being John Malkovich. Not that either are bad, but puppets are fucking weird and John Malkovich going down on some lady is something, not unlike Tom Hardy's flaccid wang, I could have happily never, ever seen. Unfortunately, I cannot unsee either of these things and they will forever be burned into my brain. This is the part where I would like to quote Jessie Slaughter's dad, but he never said anything fitting.

I feel like I have brain constipation. I'm trying to write everything else here so I can go back to my story. Because I'm Batman and it feels like yoga.

Oh hm. Apparently I wrote everything else. Sleep sounds like the best plan because its 20 to 4.

Lets crack on, shall we? Tally ho and what not.