It’s been a year

ad2135dce180e78e428f9daf4d43e13c

It’s been nearly a year and a half since I posted to this blog. I haven’t written much in general during that time. I guess the medications they put me on changed my desire to write.

So what’s happened in that time? Well I’ve continued working for the music school I started at shortly before my writing hiatus. However, parts of my job have changed. In addition to the day-to-day tasks I did before I now do video editing, something I’ve been working on for a while. It seems to be going well, although my self-doubt constantly makes me second guess that.

Now onto my moods and meds. I’ve been on the same medication for nearly two years. It has had amazing results, my moods have been mostly stable and my insomnia is nearly nonexistent. Unfortunately, I’ve recently been more down than I had been and my anxiety has been increasing. I began to drink for a short while, luckily I stopped that quickly before it became and issue.

I read an article a while back that mentions that in a lot of cases bipolar meds can stop being effetive after three years. Given that I’m near the two year mark and recently seem to be a little less effective I’m a little worried to say the least. Since I can’t do much about I’ll sit and wait.

I think I’ll try to start writing more, but that’s all for now.

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

 

I’m too happy to write

I love writing, I always have. Whether it’s boring nonsense with grammatical and typographical errors, or a heart felt expression of my pain and depression. Lately something has changed. I have stopped writing almost entirely.

So why the change? Given my bipolar disorder it could be a manic episode causing me to lose focus and my ability to write. Perhaps it could be depression that has left me so isolated I can’t even reach out to strangers.

I don’t think it’s either of those I think it’s something entirely unexpected; happiness. Plain old happiness.

Up until about a month ago I had stopped going out, seeing friends, I had no job, and most days the thought of getting out of bed was just too much to handle. So what changed?

Well they put me on medications, one of which helps me sleep and I am so grateful for that. I started doing therapy for the first time. These both seemed to help, but not in any substantial way. Then I got a job at a music school for drumming, pretty much my dream job, and suddenly things began to change.

I felt truly happy, especially when I was at work. I didn’t want to go home. This happiness lead to my being able to manage my social anxiety a little better. I seemed to be radiating joy. Friends I hadn’t talked to in months, or in some cases years, wanted to hangout. Everytime I hangout with someone all they could say was that we needed to do it again as soon as possible, which is an experience I haven’t had since my youth.

The therapy and meds almost certainly had some affect, and I will continue them, but it seems that finding something that is so much more than a job, something that makes me eager to get up every morning even if I’m feeling down, is what is truly driving my happiness.

I may have lost some of my desire to write, but I gained so much more. As long as this feeling lasts I will cherish every minute of it!

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Conditional happiness

So I started my job at a drum studio last week, it is by far the best job I’ve ever had.

It’s a small local business and everyone treats each other like family. Plus I get too play drums anytime I’m not on the clock.

Unfortunately my meds still seem to be fairly useless because the days I don’t work I return to my anxious depressed self.

I see my psychiatrist today, so hopefully they’ll up or change my meds in a way that helps.

Wish me luck!

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Tree

Love is like a tree; it grows with time, radiating beauty. But when that tree dies, the roots remain a painful reminder of what was; what could have been.

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Inevitably death

The smarter the person the more they analyze. There is a direct correlation between genius and insanity; especially anxiety.

Well I feel suicidal, not so much that I’ll likely kill myself, but in a way that makes me feel like a fucking genius.

This world is shit. We ignore everything that is wrong with distractions. Forget the children dying of malaria, I have cable.

How can anyone live knowing all that is wrong. It baffles my mind and breaks my heart. Some days my ability to do nothing kills me inside.

Fuck cable, vacations, vegans, celebrities, and every other asshole who ignores the problem.

I’m literally in tears over the pathetic state of this planet.

Fuck everyone.

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Numb

image

The call came late in the night
A voice I knew all too well
Yet had not heard in ages
I could instantly hear the pain
Her voice trembled as she tried to speak
“She’s dead”
These words burned in my ear
I could picture the tears streaming down her face
But what was I to do
My long lost love looked to me for comfort
But I had none to give
My cold heart too numb to save her
So I listened, silent
As she cried herself to sleep

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Strangers

image

A short story I started, but never finished. Enjoy!

As they sit across from each other on this brisk autumn morning, they feel a level of comfort and familiarity that, as perfect strangers, they can neither explain nor understand. As they gaze across the table at one another, tea in her hand and coffee in his, each longs to know more about the other. Despite this urge, both are feeling too timid to speak.
Now she begins to feel embarrassed for inviting him over. She never does things like this; invite total strangers to her table for coffee. Him, being the shy man he is, cheeks flush and palms clammy, blurts out the first thing that pops into his head, “How’s the tea?” How’s the tea? He thinks, that’s the best you can do? With a sheepish grin, she looks up from her tea, takes a sip, and replys, “Quite lovely, thank you.” And with that, the silence has returned. However, it no longer feels awkward, as it had a moment ago.
They both seem to be enjoying the silence, and the company of the other, as they sip from their steaming cups. Without speaking another word, they finish their drinks.
He tips back his cup, emptying the last of his coffee into his mouth. Then he sets the cup down, politely thanks her for the company, and excuses himself from the cafe.
As she sits there, alone, she is overcome with discontent. How could I not ask for his number, or at least give him mine, she thinks. With out much more thought, with the assumption that she will never see him again, she pulls a book from her bag and begins to read.

Several weeks later, with the cafe debacle a fading memory, she begins to board her train. She is taking a trip up north to get away from the distractions of the city. Luggage safely stowed, she begins looking for a seat. Silently she sits across from a gentleman reading the paper. The unfurled paper blocks his face, but she notices his well tailored bright blue blazer. Between the blazer and the newspaper she assumes he must be an older man and decides not to interrupt his reading.
After a few minutes spent gazing out the window she reachs into her bag, pulling out a notebook and pen. The notebook lay open in front of her, pen sitting atop the blank page. By this point she is glaring at them, as if willing the pen to write on its own. She can’t think of a thing to write, which is nothing new. She has been suffering from writers block for months. First she tried switching from her computer to a typewriter, hoping the change would spark her imagination. When that didn’t work she tried pen and paper, still nothing. With the deadline for her new book fast approaching, this trip is her last chance to find inspiration and solitude. She hopes the change in scenery will shake free the vivid thoughts and dreams that inspired her first book.
Suddenly she has the feeling that someone is staring at her. So lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the man across from her put down his paper. He is staring in stunned silence. As she begins to blush, she realizes it’s the man from the cafe. After a few moments of silence, she lets out a little laugh. “Hi,” she says. “Hello,” he replies with an amused grin.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” she says. The glow on her face telling him it is a pleasent surprise. “What are you doing here? I mean, why are you on the train?” Once again she can’t find the right words. She pauses for a moment, she was beinging to get all in a fluster. “Taking a trip?” She finally asked.

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison

Smitten

I feel smitten is an under appreciated word. More importantly, I’m smitten.

Since my ex broke my heart and moved away I’ve been avoiding the opposite sex. However, I recently started talking to a girl. She’s sweet, funny, cute, clever, nerdy,  and a smart-ass. I couldn’t ask for more.

While it’s still early, just talking to her brightens my day. I’m excited to see where things go.

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison