assortment of randomness

It's interesting how your whole life can be dictated by one malfunction in your brain... I can't even remember how bipolar works. Something to do with seratonin. I hate it though. I don't know why but I've been rapid-med-cycling lately. That's my on-med cycle (my off med one is longer and way more extreme). It's watered down, but it's bad enough, and rapid cycling is almost more frusterating than the extreme kind. Math geek that I am I kinda view myself as a sine or a cosine function. We're doing oscillations of a spring in math, and I kinda feel like one of those springs, not the kind with the dampening first derivative coefficient, but the kind that could bounce forever over their amplitude with no resistance...
Yesterday in biology my lab partner cut her finger on a razorblade as we were putting our cat ("Cousin It"... my gosh who names their dissected cat with all those bisected muscles hanging out?) away. I stood right next to her and watched her go through the normal human being's reaction to a painful cut. First she exclamed... I can't remember if she swore or not. Then she looked shocked at the blood welling up inside her latex-free glove. Then the pain hit her and she started crying and was taken to the nurse. Normal. Me... my reaction was not normal. I have been struggling in biology for weeks with the desire to steal one of those new, clean razorblades we go through like crazy. The problem is you get in so much trouble if you're caught. So I haven't. But when Heather (my lab partner) cut her finger I just wanted to grab a clean new one in its cardboard sleeve and cut my wrist, right over the pink ribbon scar. Then, instantaneously, every cell of me went numb. I was gone. I was floating away.

Everything about me when it comes to pain is abnormal (whatever normal is). When I cut my finger, I felt nothing. Either I dissociated right away or I am so used to cutting myself that I stored the pain away in some inaccessable part of me. I didn't say anything. I finished making the stupid quesadilla. Normal people feel it, say something, cry. Anyway, seeing Heather do that threw me into a depressive loop which lasted until sixth period when I went with my mom to buy another tennis racket for the one I ran over the other day (presumably). I hadn't studied for that test so that was a good thing. I was as depressed as medicated depression can be as I stared at all those rackets. But I cylced immediately, confusingly, a little later and was hypomanic, excessively happy, a little irritable.

I have made JV tennis, not varsity. I have not played well at all at tryouts. I go back and forth from caring to not caring with the oscillations of that spring. I like the people on JV though. I think it will be fun. I might shatter this sphere of dead air around me and be friendly and make friends. There's another junior on the team and a senior; other than that freshman and sophomores. I'll finally be the older one. Funny thing is I think I'll still be afraid of and intimidated by everyone on the team. I can't seem to be one of those confident upper-classmen that ruled the JV tennis with an iron fist when I was a freshman or sophomore.

What is interesting about math (I'm sorry I'm being so random) is that there are some instances when the question is simpler and more accurate than the answer. Like the question what is the squareroot of two. Spitting that back and saying the square root of two is more accurate than the analytical answer. Maybe I'm weird but I see metaphors in everything. For a few years of my life my writing was dominated by allegories. Eventually I gave up because I realized that everything was connected, and everything's qualities could be compared to something else's. But I still think about them. And that is an interesting quality of some mathematical expressions.

I haven't cut in a few weeks and I'm not sure if I'll do it again. I sure wanted to yesterday in biology, but it was only for an instant before I slingshotted out of my body. It's not that I have any real conviction to quit or anything. I'm not even trying to quit.
As to eating, I really need to lose the weight I put on this week. Today I ate a cookie. I'll pay for it. Binge, purge. There's pills for everything. I don't even know how to eat normally anymore after all this binging and purging. Maybe the way I eat will always be screwed up. The problem with bulimia is that if you finally stop purging, you still binge every once in a while, and if you can't purge there's no way to not feel miserable about it or get rid of it.

Finally, I found out today that fantasticality is a word but fantastical isn't. That seems weird to me for some reason. Why would you reference something's fantasticality? You could just call it fantastic. I realize that fantastical (which I wrote on my English test) is redundent, because it's turning an adjective into an adjective, but I was trying to think of what the quality of being a fantasy was. Oh well. Making up words is always fun.

Tomorrow I am hanging out with Charlie again. The guilt keeps creeping in. I wonder if there will be a point when I will just crack from it all?