The good old days…

This morning, when I was giving a brief introduction about the information processing model, I used the expression the good old days in my discussion and context involves racism. .

It was supposed to be a means of expressing sarcasm. Like the good old days when chinks and dogs were not allowed into restaurants. Or, the good old days when I felt/feel like a lost soul in limbo without a status partially legitimate.

However, with my flat affect, it did not really feel like that.

The whole day, I was haunted by the perceived impact of that expression.

People everywhere knew about it and they showed their disapproval about it. More specifically, people in Harlem and its vicinity, including the campus and the neighboring streets.

This is why, on my way home, I gradually come up with the decision.

Today is the day when I am taking a paradigm shift and speak directly to the facts I am observing and the ensuing beliefs. This could only be done by directly itemize the beliefs.

People are watching me and listening to me from everywhere.

All the cameras installed are functional in capturing my moves on campus, at work, and on the street.

In addition, somehow people have found a way to record my conversations either with the others or my self-talk. The closest guess I have is by hiding some kind of recording devises on my personal items. In addition, the laptop’s recording capability also makes it one of the best candidates to perform the task of spying.

Remember that I used to tract the hits on my blog site, visitors’ duration and even the IP from which the visitors accessed my blog pages. The minimum numbers of hits led me to construct another hypothesis—the new posts are received by senders through RSS feeds. This is how they get to read my posts without having to hit ratology.

While I do not believe my blog is so very widely read, or else I had better go take a course in creative writing, I do believe that stories might have been relayed from one individual to the others through oral narration. This could be done by having one key person reading the blog while the rest listening to it via person-to-person conversation, radio broadcasting or, less likely, television (this is the less preferred option since I haven’t heard David Letterman mentioning it).

My blogilicity could also be the attracting factor for my students and ended as the confounding factor in my teaching.

I also believe that there might be some kind of established media that has been in place for a while that allow people to volunteer information they gathered through direct or indirect interaction with me. This could be in the form of another blog “dedicated” to the sharing of information in all different formats related to me.

In addition, everything I do on the computer is recorded and information is transferred synchronously to wherever the destination may be.

As a result, someone is reading all the information digitally transmitted including emails etc and, thereafter, publishes the information to a dedicated location or converse it with the others regarding the given information.

Given the security policy in place, it is relatively unlikely that the institutions I belong to to allow personal information to be revealed this way. In addition, it is unlikely for everyone to not feel a sense of moral responsibility (remember the Truman Show).

As a result, I come up with the following explanations:
1. Social loafing: Everyone’s job is nobody’s job. Why should I be the one to tell her about it.
2. Involvement of the Department of homeland security (or CIA, FBI): I have been put under supervision and somehow there is bleach in the security and confidentiality of the information. In addition, social loafing.

What I have described in the above paragraphs represents the mental model underlying all my delusional ideologies.

What could you do to help me deconstruct my system of thinking?

If you come across this writing, post a comment to ensure me that this is the first time you step into ratology.

If else, post a note to tell me what the reality is.

How well could such information be registered in my head?

I could tell you in advance that no response is equivalent to the representation of social loafing while response different from my belief will be categorized as faulty information as part of my conspiracy theory.

Including the medication, there doesn’t seem to be a good solution to such an equation.

At least, the good news today is that the intensity and duration of the depressive symptoms have started to decrease and I actually spent a few good hours early in the evening being a happy psychotic—as opposed to be a depressed psychotic.

At the same time, watching the whole 9 yards on the news… who cares about a rat’s ass about a ratty life? 8-O
  

Model

Just got back from my friend’s place where I spent the evening at.

It was a good time out for we talked about a lot of things… from critiquing the ecologies of the higher education, to the sharing of ideas about work, to, simply, gossiping. lol

Then, at some point, the topic shifted to the symptoms I live with in my everyday life.

It was, one day last year, when her mother came to visit, did I share in person my experiences with people other than my psychiatrist, the therapist and this friend of mine.

My friend told me tonight that her mom remained to be so very amazed by the degree of lucidity in my narratives about the while nine yards.

She indicated that the informal discourse had also helped her gaining a better understanding about the things we called psychotic symptoms, including hallucinations and delusions.

The matter of the fact is that I could only speak for myself but not for the others.

Yet, through my limited understanding of the world, I have come to be a firm believer that people need to be educated about the nuts and balls about mental health problems. These include both the well-endowed ones to whom living with symptoms is a reality and those lucky ones whom could only live such experiences through vicarious learning. lol

The purpose of my blog, as I have indicated in my profile, is to show that I could live a life with or without of the symptoms.

Furthermore, I have attempted to use the sharing of my thoughts and experiences as a means to provide people an alternative perspective to view those with the problems.

This could be the healthy people’s view of those sick or the sick people’s view about themselves.

I hate to say this and this might just be my imagination or misunderstanding of the world surrounding me….

People have been taking a deficit view about the occurrence of mental health problems.

Regardless of the philosophical stands, I personally prefer to adapt the disease model because, in this case, symptoms as treatable and manageable.

If there should be cross-cultural differences among different cultures, so should there exist similarities.

I bet that people’s belief about mental health patients to be one of the similarities regardless of the culture even though there might be a gradient in the degree of acceptance across cultures.

Essentially, mental health patients are deficit by default and such deficit could result in incompetence.

Is it really true?

Granted, the lack of opportunities for substantial and continuous professional development might result in the inability for some of the patients to develop advanced skills.

At the same time, not all mentals are subjected to such constraints.

Other than the issue of opportunities, the most important factor in sustaining the facts and perception are the facts and perceptions themselves.

If I could categorize people into the normal and the abnormal, the deficit model we held about the mental health patients could be one of the core problems that perpetuate the performance gap in patients and those claimed to be normal.

Worse of all, it is not until the patients to start shifting away from viewing themselves with a deficit model could something be done in making a change to their own life.

I am by no means discounting the realness of the decapacitating, if not dementing, impacts of mental health problems.

I have been there, done that, and I am still living it.

However, I will no longer (when I am not depressed lol) allow myself to accept mental health problems as the cause of my failures. This is because, “what else could I accomplish if I can’t accept the responsibility of having failed for myself?”

I don’t make big money. I don’t even have a full time job.

However, one thing I have is my decision to live and the choice to take the disease model if it helps.

For those of you who are reading, what is your model?

For those of you who has been reading my posting and who might have forgotten me to be one of the psychos, how do you deal with the cognitive dissonance and would a shift in the model help?

Such as the plausible educational implications of my blogs—shall there be anything at all…

Also, you could either agree or disagree.

As long as you respond to my question, my words have been processed in your working memory and, chances are, some part of it might even have been encoded in your long term memory... lol
12:28 AM

The Wars of Worlds 8-O

Just finished reading an article about the reading wars-- the wars between the proponents of the phonic and whole language approaches towards the teaching of reading.

The beginning of the article was like any other articles you could expect in reading one of those literatures.

Somewhere in the middle, when he was starting to discuss the relationship between reading research and politics, I burst out laughing. Realizing my laughing at the reading, I burst out laughing the second time.

There is nothing funny about wars anywhere on or outside of this planet.

The wars I was laughing at involve a lot of intellectuals with their pens as the fiercest weapons. The purpose of their attack--- teach reading by focusing on phonics such as skills in sounding out words or by focusing on giving students the literatures so as to foster their motivation and fluency in reading.

I laughed for the first time because the discussion about politics and research was starting to sound like the plots in the movie "the conspiracy theory."

For the second time, I laughed because I could not believe I was laughing about contents in THAT kind of reading… 8-O

Then, while I was looking for the URL of the article to be included here, I found another article talking about the math wars.

It seems to be so very absolutely beyond my understanding that how people could choose their sides in these wars for such beliefs and such convictions are required.

Then, it occurred to me that my laughing at their battles--- what kinds of beliefs and convictions does it take for me to laugh? (And, no disrespect, experts.)

http://epx.sagepub.com/content/18/1/216.abstract

Imaginary world

What is in my imaginary world currently?
In point format:

1. CIA is involved 
2. FBI is involved 
3. The school is involved 
4. My mental health professionals are involved 
5. Every inch I move, I am recorded.

Did I miss anything else?

I think it very much captures it.

The rest is but collateral damages… (not really anything damaging except for the fact that it sounds nice. lol)

As a result, I am living a life like that in the Truman show.

Such describes what they call as delusion of grandiosity. lol

Am I sure?

Yes, absolutely sure.

How do I live with it without loosing my head?

First of all, I am not even quite sure about me ever finding my head. As a result, you can’t really loose something you have never had.

Also, in case I have ever been accountable for my head, detachment, rather than the attachments that bring you the bugs, might be the key to survival.

Detachments don’t come easy or naturally.

Essentially, there are two ways to be detached.

The first involves pharmaceutical intervention such as antipsychotic medications.

The second involves, again, pharmaceutical intervention (lol) and the consequential capability it grants for one to perform self-regulated learning to detach oneself from the world (:-O).

The possible price of such ability might include abilities such as the encoding of new events—or you might call it running short of memories about the recent days past…

An example, I have recently found out that--- I don’t really have recollections about even things happened on the same day, let along those occurred with week as a measure.

Funny enough, it was yesterday when a girl friend of mine and I were reminiscing about the years past…

It was the time when we lived the life led by the great Gatsby.

We both were happy that the time had past while, at the same time, we do not regret having lived through that time while we could still claimed ourselves to be wild and young (good excuse, eh? lol).

To use a sentence to describe the collective experiences of the whole era, I would say that it was about partying, hanging out, alcohol, cigarettes, love, hate, betrayal, reconnect, gossips, rumors, confusion, sex, deaths as well as the usual occurrence of closing the bar hours after the bar was closed while one could already see the rays of sunlight peeping through the sky.

The old joint was a place to fill that sense of belonging and, I bet, the same might be for many of my pals. I had contributed to the force that drew people in by bringing that huge chunk of emptiness in me with the hope that the entrance would grant me a sense of belonging.

It did happen and these pals remain to be my friends.

The closing of the joint had officially marked the end of that era.

Yesterday afternoon, we thanked God that we lived through it and we continue to live.

It was about a year ago another usual suspect in the old scene told me, “I will never do it again.”

Like what my friend said yesterday, that discussion was needed for we might just need a closure for the time past by.

It just occurred to me that, perhaps, the mentioning of my grand delusional scheme also mark me request to say good bye to the present (:-O) even though this might not be how it works… lol

At the same time, my life so far seems to be telling me that life is about moving from one kind of f-u-ness to another.

Changes and present (at all points in time), which is lesser evil? Could either Hatshepsut the female Pharaoh or the Mayan king portrait in this sculpture be able to answer the question with their devine power?

Friday, July 21, 2006
The question from citations
When I was in school, they taught me that—you need to find the original citation.

As a result, people who knows me know that I am anal retentive about citing only the things I have really read.

Then, I dedicated my entire day today trying to get a report out only to realize that, somewhere along the line, I got trapped at the first paragraph of the introduction phrase.

I knew what all those levels are about-- Level 4 (advanced), Level 3 (Proficient), Level 2 (Basic), Level 1 (Below Basic). I also learned about the cut-off scores. However, I don’t know how they came up with these levels and, in addition to what is stated in the FAQ page.

So, I tried my entire night trying to find out how they came up with those four levels included in the performance system of NY State and City English Language Arts and Mathematics Tests.

Five hours later, I gave up.

What was motivating me through out all these hours of aggravations?

“Was it the performance goal or the learning goal?” I ask myself.

I am happy, thought, that the performance-goal orientation stopped me from the thing called persevering.

The, it came to me… gees, that book I have been reading is really getting into my head. Not the Great Gastby but the book called “Self-Theories” because I figure this is a book that will be cited.

Sitting back, I realized that all these are but the wrong questions…

So what is the question?

Bloody week: Bloody happy

I was still upset as the week starts.


Yet, some supreme force already had it all panned out two weeks in advance for my session with my therapist happened to be on Monday afternoon.

So I bitched about things only to realize that it is the multiple presentations of the same principle… or issues might be a term more appropriate for it.

It is the same issue that has been driving me crazy, literally, for the past few years.

It is what caused my relapse last year before I even had a chance for my symptoms to go on full remission.

It is what put me through all these hassles of working part time while waiting for that full time position to emerge.

That bloody immigration thing it is.

So, I walked out happy and all happy because I have pinned point the core of the problem while the solution is yet to be sought.

It has nothing to do with the grant.

It has nothing to do with the resume.

It also has nothing to do with my working over time on a part time position.

At the same time, it has everything to do with everything.

If you gotta blame it on someone, blame it on the institutions that set up the policies, blame it on the rain that causes the flood and, most important of all, blame it on the situation.

I often wonder whether I am actually the one to be blame for it is me who decide to continue dealing with the same issue while all issues would be annulled shall I simply return home.

Concurring such a thought originating from the theory of internal locus of control, my therapist’s voice often pops up, warning me the danger of asserting too much control within myself while some issues are actually out of my jurisdiction. (Apparently, I am pretty well trained by my therapist and psychiatrist. lol)

All pronounced nullified.

I look inside myself-- free of responsibility and free of obligations-- in response to institutional policies et al.

What is left to be sought?

I was and I still am all happy.

What is to be sought is from within and from the construction of oneself.

So I went back to work, exhaled.

I continued with my readings and writing.

And, I continued living without a sense of gravity.

I was and I still am down to earth.

I felt and I still feel the sense of motivation.

Ayn Rand is right.

The worse crime there could be is to give up the sense of self for, when all is nullified, there is only the self that could propel the drive to move.

So, I decide to be, nothing more than selfish.

To hell with the institutions for I will continue to live till I stop kicking (:-x).

The continuing efforts on getting quality work done and meeting the grant deadline? Value added.

I am dead...

I am dead… :-O

Considering the price of cigarettes is soon to move up to the teens, I have been pondering about quitting smoking… at least, move to the stage of smoking cesstion.

Getting ready for bed, I Smoked the last cigarette in the pack, only to find the insurmountable amount of anxiety rising from within---

There are no more cigarettes when I lay in bed and when I wake up in the morning….

It was a kind of obsessive compulsive thinking.

I attempted thought stopping.

I attempted refocusing on something else.

However, I was more than aware of the real reason behind all these effortful trials.

Then, as I was stepping on to the ladder of the bunk bed, I came up with this brilliant idea...

In stead, I looked at myself and I said, “Assume you are dead.”

Yes, just assume that I am dead then no memory is to be recollected and no anxiety is to be triggered by any notion and any kind of “deprivation.”

So, I laid down in bed murmuring to myself silently… “I am dead. I am dead. I am dead….”

This morning, although I applied the patch on and physical withdraw was not yet an issue in concern, I still could not help thinking about cigarettes, either consciously or unconsciously.

As a result, I had to keep on reminding myself of the “fact” that I am dead.

Telling myself that I am dead did help me to live through the majority of first day on my mission to smoking cessation. However, it was before I came home did I walk into Duane Reade and bought me myself a pack of cigarettes.

Two hours after I unpatched myself, upon arrival chez moi, I sat down and lit a smoke... fixed that nicotine craving a bit but did not really get me that buzz.

Death…….

That seems to be a thought so very comforting and its sound uncovers all residues and dissipates it all.

My obsession with death doesn’t translate to my lack of fear for confrontating my or other’s death.

I am afraid of death.

The last thought I could endure is the notion of death associated with people I care about.

My own death, on the contrary, is a notion both too distant and too close for me to comprehend.

Surely, I had those nights…

Those were the days in which none was to come for my aid when assassins came attempting to kill me one after another and night after night.

They killed me with guns, knifes, poisons, and any means I could ever imagine.

I had been subjected to methods such as being crushed, drown, frozen, burnt, and all other ways of death.

One day at a time, I would be sitting in front of my desk or lying in my bed or the bed in the hospital, hearing the warnings about the secret service, the police, the special forces, the demons, the devils, the ghosts, and the everything else, getting ready to come take my life.

The expectation of the process of being killed and become dead marks the highlight of the nights.

One time, they missed me but took the life of the patients next to me.

I was lying there, listening to them, and waiting for my time.

I missed my own death that night.

At that point, it was all so clear to me that it was not my own death that is most torturing.

Rather, it was the possibility for me to be killed but not to die that is most exhausting (similar experiences is actually depicted pretty well in the movie Solaris).

It occurred to me that… for the many a time I was killed, I remained to live as a person, as a zombie, as a ghost, and as any other kinds of creatures.

Everyone else could die and remain dead, I remained to live and I could not die.

I was subjected to the cruel torture of living my zillion deaths, along.

This series of torture did not stop until I finally was told that I am only human…

What a lengthy detour one has to take to reclaim one’s humanhood! :-O lol sigh…

Perhaps, this is the reason why I have been so very anal retentive about death and its implications… shall anyone, such as me, every wonder why…

So, again, last night, before bed, I said to myself, “Assume you are dead.”

It was not a sense of irresponsibility that drove me into that thought.

Rather, I was counting on a state where all is dissolved and where there is nothing but Dasein.

It is a state when I could simply open all sensory channels of mine and experience existence as it is.

So, does it mean that it was nothing more than a morbid day I led today?

Quite the contrary, the state of being dead allows me for a new life, new routines and an ez-pass to view the world the way I like to see it.

Of course, my detached way of being also helps in helping me to believe in a life just like heaven…

I do not know whether it will work or not to help me cut down on smoking successfully, if not quitting it, since I did have 3 cigarettes today. Yet, think positively, it is better than one pack a day and all these dead talk is actually fairly anxiety-probing.… lol

At least, that would be a good way for me to conduct a case study about the implications of psychotic symptoms as well as the side effects of the antipsychotic medications. lol

I am dead but I remain alive.

The notion of death will not engender a sense of irresponsibility. Rather, as mentioned earlier, it should be used as a way to clear all background noise and focusing on what death could inspire… a relative and progressive view of equality in mankind (as long as you don’t ask me what that progressive view means).

At the same time, I am aware that a night’s mumble jumble on death is enough. Or else, I might as well be really dead if I were to let myself dwell on this BS for I would really be a even worse lost soul in limbo then… lol

Joy comes in the morning

This is actually the title of one of the audio books that I listened. Of course, like many other books, this book is about the pursuit of a sense of self.

As I was going down to the basement to check on my laundry, I found myself floating in a sea of joyful feeling.

Then, this thought occurred to me, “Joy comes in the morning.”

It was this morning when I finally did what I have longed to do for all these time.

I gave an abbreviated lesson on the information processing models and their implications on learning.

The powerpoint used in this class was actually the shortened version of the one I used for the Educational Psychology class.

The purpose of today’s lecture and the ensuing lectures is to share with the parents the current advances in our understanding about brain and learning.

It is my expectation that such an understanding will be of some help for the future learning with them and their children.

If you ask whether I have conducted some scientifically based studies to evaluate the effectiveness of the program, the answer is “No.”

Then, when am I feeling so happy shall there be not yet tangible and quantifiable evidence to prove the positive outcome of my efforts?

It might sound funny but it is true…

I have, in many previous postings, indicated my effortful attempt to be a disbeliever.

Due to the circumstances, I need to make myself disbelieve all perceptions regarding my personal being for the psychotic symptoms have made it impossible for me to distinguish between what is real and what is not real. I actually have to refrain myself from even thinking about such disbelief.

Essentially, it is the detachment from such a belief that is keeping me kicking.

I suspect that, the day I decide to let go of such an effortful act to remain detached would be the day when the symptoms start overtaking my being.

The I came to the realization that…

I do have beliefs.

It is OK to believe in something...

I am allowed to have beliefs!!!

I believe the importance of engaging parents in their children’s education.

I believe that parents should be given the same preparation and training as the teachers-in-training.

Such are my beliefs and I have no doubt about it.

In a sense, it is a relief to me to allow myself to be a believer in something…

It also makes me feel like walking in the cloud when I am given the opportunity to act on my belief.

Believe it or not, joy comes in the morning when I have to cut my sleep short to get ready for my teaching… lol :-)

And, yes, I had a dream that, one day, I could have beliefs.

Life is a piece of shit… (Oops, pardon me for my foul language)

Ever thought that I am permanently stable like a rock? Ya. The title of this posting was how I felt for most part of the day and I did voice it out loud enough…

It started with the fact that I need one more piece of paper work to process the legal document to enable me to teach two courses. That added to uncertainty and anxiety.

I tried to convince myself that I was cool about the situation by consciously reminding myself that I should treat this opportunities like my delusions. I also attempted to brain-wash myself by repeatedly telling myself, “Life is wonderful!” I further applied the biofeedback technique of putting a smile on my face, wishing that the happy expression will trick the brain.

All measures sort of calm me down a bit.

Unfortunately, when I found out that the color printer was not working and I could not fix it, the volcano exploded…. And, I started to go Meow Meow Meow….

As a result of these, I came back to the old office, picked up the paper shredder and started to fix it again.

By the time I was done fixing the shredder, it was also time to see my therapist.

It was a good thing that we had our meeting today because it helped me to keep my small rat brain in place.

Ended up, the issue that triggered my meowing was the parenting of my parents who are turning back into adolescence.

The two of them have been fighting about continuing to live in the city or to move to the suburban area up on the hill. Dad wants to move up to the mountain, growing his plants and chicken. Mom wants to live in the city, closer to every thing, provided she could, beyond a doubt, manage to climb up the hill on a daily basis.

The solution I provided when I went home was… “Then why doesn’t each of you go ahead and stay where you want to stay? I will try to really find a steady job to support your expenses.”

That sounded like a good idea then…

The only problem is that my dad is recently found to have an heart condition and he just had a small preventative surgery. The day I came back to New York and days after, he reportedly actually had some tough days as a result of his heart condition.

So, how could I not be concerned about leaving him alone up on the hill with his vegetables and chickens? :-O

This and many other things, apparently, were not too well-digested in my mind last night. As a result, it took me at least 2 and a half hours trying to fall asleep after I took my Seroquel last night (and that was the first time).

The inability to resolve the parenting issues (lol), inadequate amount of sleep, and uncertainty about the teaching position, plus a printer that does not work, all contributed to the showdown of Ratprincess’ King Kong.

If it is really true that depression is anger turning inwards, it might be healthiest to show my anger externally rather than putting a cap on it and let it secretly broil.

In order for me to continue the healthy expression of my externalized anger, there has to be a receiver of my vested attention so that it would be turned inwards towards and neither will it turn into Generalized Anger Disorder (Don’t think it’s available in DSM… lol).

After thoughtful deliberation, it is concluded that the helplessness that came with uncertainties is the root of the problem.

At the same time, the uncertainties are a result of situations and situations are situations.

With the legal issue regarding my work status, for instance, I find it absolutely understandable for a country to put forth legislation to set constraints on the aliens so as to protect the employment opportunities of its people.

It was me who chose to keep myself in a state of constraints, be it consciously or unconsciously.

In the mean while, since my parents have allowed me an insurmountable degree of freedom when I was growing up, I shall be in no place to say to either party whether they should live up on the hill or down by the city, regardless of the impacts that I perceived about their choices.

In a sense, I could see the situation clear… Yet, such clarity does not resolve the issue of locating an object for the lingering anger…

Putting the blame it on myself is no way to go (depression-related), I could only blame it on fate.

Yet, fate, in my definition, is made possible by my choices… It is me myself again that is incriminated in the trial…

Such dialectic and recursive discussion sort of adds to a sense of anxiety…. And, I have long known myself to have the propensity to experience my delusions and hallucinations in a state with higher degree of anxiety.

Since nothing could ever be so grand as the contents of my delusions of grandiosity, the loss of nothing material would be as great as that of the delusional sort.

So, to be able to teach or not able to teach; a match point.

To parent my parents; a position not for me.

The moral of the lesson: Life is not really a piece of shit. However, if it does make you feel shitty, think delusionally. lol

P.S. On my way back from my therapy session, someone mentioned, “She is not going to do work.” I am going back to do some more work regardless whether she was addressing my intention.
8:30 PM