lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
I have decided that my brain is the Serenity of brains, piloted by Tiny Brain Pilot River Tam and maintained by Tiny Brain Mechanic Kaylee Frye.

The analogy proceeds thusly: sometimes (fairly frequently, these days) it runs out of fuel or has some kind of critical failure. Its operator is smart as hell but not especially reliable, and may be prone to taking unexpected directions or needing downtime at inconvenient moments. It has significant problems in several major systems and there is no part of it that hasn't seen better days. But its kludgy re-routings get the job done, to a degree that's really kind of impressive once you know how much of them is made of creatively applied duct tape. It is, against all odds, still flying.

Also, somebody keeps having sex in the engine room.
lienne: Sunlight filtering horizontally through trees and fog. (emotion: appreciating beauty)
I have not been posting this meme because I felt like I didn't deserve compliments and/or it would be inappropriate for me to pressure my dwircle/flisters to give them to me and/or blah blah depressive bullshit. Well, to hell with depressive bullshit; I like warm fuzzies. Have at!

One little compliment can make you feel amazing.

So give me a compliment, anything in the entire world, even that my shoelaces are pretty. If you like, put this in your journal, too--and once you get some comments, put that entry in a memory or tag and when you are feeling down, just go to that entry and this will remind you that you are fabulous and loved.

Don't forget to post this in your own LJ so I can compliment you, too!
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
Hello internet!

I would like to introduce you to my friend.

He is a pound of shit.

You know you wanna click this cut. )

I hope you have enjoyed meeting my friend. If you would like to complain that this post makes no sense, please refer to fig. 4 above. Cross-reference figs. 6 and 7.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
I don't feel like doing the whole meme. Here's the short version:

My illness is depression.

To me, this is normal.

Every time I try to figure out what I was like before the illness, I can't remember back to a time when I wasn't like this. I can remember times when it wasn't this bad: before my mother got sick. Before my first boyfriend and I had our first relationship troubles. Before I got whooping-cough in October of grade six and missed the rest of that year. But every time I go back farther, all I see is a smaller, cuter Pyth with a smaller, cuter version of my not-at-all-small and not-at-all-cute problems, being perhaps able to breathe easier for a while in between disasters.

If there are any further points I meant to address in this meme, I've forgotten what they were.

*snork*

May. 8th, 2009 07:01 am
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
When I unplugged my internet for all of yesterday, it did not actually occur to me that people might miss me.

Hi, I'm Pyth. My brain is highly nonstandard.

*curls up on all of you*
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
This is what January means:

I spill a box of cereal on the floor and the guilt/embarrassment of that wrongdoing physically stops me from moving or speaking for almost a minute.

The implications of what might happen if I actually did something legitimately bad are terrifying.

On the other hand, I'm wise to the ridiculousness of this by now, and I broke out of it instead of fleeing back to my room to cry and be miserable for a few hours.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
January is heavy.

It's pressing down on the top of my head trying to squash me flat.

I'm not going to let it.
lienne: A fountain pen nib, lying on paper. (Default)
So a while ago [livejournal.com profile] innerbrat talked about how her brain works from the inside. I found it incredibly interesting. I'm going to try to do the same thing, except in my case it'll be a lot less organized and the metaphors won't be so all-encompassing; I tend to come up with nonce metaphors which-- well, you'll find out if you read the post, won't you?

A lot of this is explaining my depression, and is therefore somewhat depressing in itself.

Et voila. )

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