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This is a question Losing it

Bluehamster tells us: "This morning I found myself filling my mug not a teabag, but with Shreddies." Tell us of the times when you've convinced yourself that you're losing your marbles.

(, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 12:59)
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This question is now closed.

Heaven is a place on earth?
In my very first 'proper' job, if you can count filing the microfiche a 'proper' job, we had an internal postman who'd bring round, well, the post, obviously. It seems this job was too taxing for him, however, and he hired an assistant. Now, I try not to judge people on appearances, but this guy was very clearly an E-freak. And as gay as a camp christmas. He's flounce aroudn the office, always chewing something, always staring slightly off into the distance with his bleached 'Candy flip' hair style and skin tight Breton tops or his billowing blousy shirt and not quite Daisy Duke shorts. Frankly he was a breath of fresh air in an office of stuffy academic types or bored straight out of Uni-ers like me.

I'm still not entirely sure of the details of what happened to him, but one Tuesday morning, he zipped round the office in his usual manner, dropping off the post, flirting ironically with the grannies and the...well...likes of me, actually...and going on his way. But then it all went wrong and somewhere between pushing his post bag into the Mezzanine lift (not a euphamism) and reaching the fifth floor, he had a spectacular breakdown and was found in the lift, naked, curled up clutching his trolley (again, not a euphamism) repeatedly mumbling 'I want to go to heaven, I want to go to heaven, I want to go to heaven'.

Poor guy.

And frustrating too, because nobody thought to clarify if he meant 'where God lives' or the gay nightclub.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 16:49, 3 replies)
I can never work out whether
I'm incredibly lucky or it's all just so unfair.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 16:20, 3 replies)
Made a chilli
A Jo Pratt recipe, off the BBC Food website. Fantastic it was, me and my housemates fit to burst, i get up and commence washing up.

The pot gets a squirt of washing up liquid, and thinking only about how full i was, i stick my finger in for one last taste before its scrubbed clean. The 'enhanced' flavour took a while to register but when it did, back up came the dinner.

The feeling of disappointment overshadowed the embarrassment
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 15:30, 1 reply)
I fervently wish that it was Friday
So i could get out from behind this desk and spend a weekend with my friends and the woman that i love. Then i realise that i am wishing my life away and although this is drudgery of the worse kind that i am lucky compared to many who don't have a job. But then the reality of this grey existance kicks in and I know in my head that the moments of sunshine that warm my heart are all too brief and Monday will once again bring back the black dog to gently crush my soul in meaningless tasks.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 15:24, 14 replies)
I sometimes shit in my hands and write passages from the bible onto the walls.

(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 14:22, 14 replies)
My husband is-a crazy!
He say 'I no want to eat-a peanut', then he go and eat peanut! But he-a allergic to the peanut! Him-a swell up like blimp again! Ha ha! Oh no!
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 13:47, 2 replies)

(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 13:18, 6 replies)
I remember when I was feeling like a dog in the middle of a dual carriageway
The doctor told me I was in danger of getting run down
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 13:12, Reply)
I once found myself going down a dark path in life
Ended up, I was Darth Vader.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 12:20, Reply)
Who am I? What am I doing here? Who are you people? What's with all the purple cocks?

(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 12:13, 2 replies)
Madness, sheer madness
I've almost lost my marbles a few times due to some personal problems. This is not about that though, this is about that God-damn annoying condition called "Tinnitus".

I've always had it, regardless of age/situation or background noise it's always there if I concentrate on it. As anybody who has Tinnitus will tell you it will be there if you look for it so you have to "let go" and just let it wash over you else you will go mad.

To the crux of the story!

I was at a friends and we were doing the usual, video games, food, smoking enough green stuff to float the house up like a hot air balloon... After a few hours we got tired and went to bed, my Ipod was low on charge and my phone dead, so decided to try and sleep without any background music. Which was a bit of a mistake.

So... This is kinda what happened:

1 - 30 minutes: Tinny background noise, think small radio static
30 - 45 minutes: Background noise changing in pitch, head starts to hurt, clench teeth together.
45 - 50 minutes: Noise gets louder, cycling up each time I try to ignore it.
50 - 70 minutes: Noise starts going cyclic, can't think about anything but the noise, can't see anything as it's pitch black, can't feel anything as too stoned.
70 - 90 minutes: Start freaking out, all I can hear is a loud Air-raid siren in-between my temples ranging in pitch and length. Lights won't work as lamp plug not wired up, too stoned too speak correctly or rewire, hands have (in my head) swollen up to immense proportions and throbbing in time to noise.
90 - 110 minutes: Start biting hands to distract from noise, rubbing and eventually full out scratching skin to distract from noise.
110 - 115 minutes: Start bleeding, head is spinning. Noise is absolute. Still can't turn lights on or move
115 - 120 minutes: Start seeing flashing lights, noise is making my head hurt.
120 - 125 minutes: Stand up, can't see anything. Can't feel anything, conscious thought has been pushed out due to the noise. Walk outside with duvet wrapped around self.
125 - 128 minutes: Trip over duvet and fall down flights of stairs.
128 - 130 minutes: Can't feel a damn thing. Wrapped in duvet like a cocoon and can't move hands, legs, or anything. Still pitch black, noise has become a living thing tearing and chewing on my brain and ears. Mind feels squeezed, feel like I'm observing myself from a window outside my brain, start shaking uncontrollably. Am sure I'm crying but can't feel anything as body has gone numb and unresponsive.
130 - 135 minutes: Realise that if I don't turn on the lights, or TV or music I will go insane, start crawling along floor to wall.
135 - 140 minutes: Reach wall, inch up and turn lights on. Unwrap from cocoon and crawl into living room.

From there, I spent the next 7 hours meditating, listening to music, performing kata and playing video games. Anything to distract from the noise. My friends found me the next morning looking as white as a sheet and with bite marks over hands and arms so that I wouldn't fall asleep. They gave me a valium, sat with me and let me sleep for a few hours.

Apologies for the lack of funniez however this is the story of how I very nearly lost conscious thought that night and as a result, not many funniez to be had, Tinnitus very nearly drove me insane in the course of a single night helped by the sheer amount of grass I was using to self medicate. I still am terrified of the dark and silence but as a result I'm now seeing a counseller and things are better.

However I will never, ever forget seeing myself from outside my body shivering, alone and in terror in the dark not even hearing myself cry and feeling the pain as I bite my hands to stay awake. Loosing it? I very, very nearly lost it permanently.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 11:53, 7 replies)
Today I said "fuck you bitch die die die" to my wife
When I was thinking "I love you, sweetheart."
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 11:48, 3 replies)
Lying to the other half about losing it...
You know what I mean.

When she goes out and you have a warm bubble bath, twist a towel around your wet hair, snuggle up on the sofa under a blanket, get a bottle of Lambrini and a nice box of chocolates out, put on your favourite Sex and the City DVD and just have a damn good laugh. Sometimes you may paint your nails or try a bit of her blusher and mascara on.

Then when she comes home early and catches you, you have to pretend you’re having a breakdown. You start sobbing and rocking; mascara smearing your freshly blushed cheeks, saying you’re not sure what is wrong with you at the moment but you’ll sort yourself out.

Just me then?
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 11:22, 4 replies)
I'm normally quite good at keeping focus.
Once I'm engaged in a task, I don't get distracted all that easily.

But there was one occasion on which my powers of keeping to the point failed me entirely, and I totally forgot what I was doing mid-way through the job. It happened about ten years ago, and that's interesting in itself because even giving a precise time or date to this event seems to be beyond me. I'm normally quite good at that: I can remember all kinds of pointless details about the circumstances in which something happened, even to details about what day it was, what someone was wearing, and so on. This frequently irritates my interlocutors no end, but more often than not, it turns out that I was right. Having said that, there really is no way to tell whether my memory really is that accurate if noone else's is reliable either. I could say just about anything and noone would have any grounds to gainsay me - and this, of course, gives me the feeling of having been correct, though whether my statements map onto reality all that well is another question entirely, and one that's probably imponderable. (Think here of Wittgenstein's example in the Philosophical Investigations of buying a second copy of a newspaper in order to verify the contents of the first. If you want verification, you need an external reference. This is one of the reasons why he thinks a private language is impossible: you have no standard against which to check the accuracy of your use of a word, and so can't know whether you're correct in your application; and if you can't know whether a word is well-used, you can't be said to understand your own private language. It also means, I think, that words have no meaning unless and until they have an established place in the language: to that end, I've been trying to introduce the word "pitimmeral" - a word I invented - into English, purely so I can find out at some point in the future what it means. I've managed to use it in a few published papers, and a mate who contributes stuff to newspapers has tried to slip it in to his work on a couple of occasions, though he's also generally been foiled by editors. One of the editors that won't accept the word is his wife; you'd've thought that she'd be more understanding, but apparently not. Tsk. Professional standards: I ask you. Other members of my department have said they'll try to use it - there's an informal prize that's been offered by my Head of Department to the first person who can use the word in earnest in a published paper. It probably won't happen: a lot of peer reviewers are quite gradgrindian. I don't much like Dickens, but I do like the word "gradgrindian", and I'll forgive him a lot for having given us that.) I have been caught out a couple of times, though. I have what I thought was a distinct memory from the time when my mother was pregnant with my brother, and coming up to full term. I must have been about two-and-a-half at the time, so this is one of my earliest memories. It's of my mum picking sweet peas from the garden in the sun - which is plausible, since my brother was born in July - while wearing a purple maternity dress. My mother claims never to have owned such a garment; and I'm inclined to believe her recollection more than my own, for reasons that should be obvious. There're other events related to my brother's birth that I also remember fairly distinctly - or, rather, images. Things like the illuminated buttons in the lift to the maternity ward, my dad having a cigar in my grandfather's garden, and so on. He had a moustache at the time, and I'm glad he got rid of it, because I think that it's hard for most men to carry that look well, and I often wonder what happened to people's sense of style in the 1970s. The whole decade seems to me to have been a massive style disaster. Part of me wonders whether that simply had to do with the economic trough in which the country found itself: perhaps people simply didn't have the money. But a lack of money won't understand the colourschemes that we fashionable at the time. I always associate the 1970s with brown; and I can't understand why anyone would find anything brown to be anything approaching well-advised in terms of style. Not that I can claim to be anything like a style guru. I am the proud owner and frequent wearer of a cardigan, after all, and I own shirts that could be convicted of crimes against humanity. Well, almost. And I do like them. I sometimes find a shirt that is so hideous it plays on my mind, an insinuates itself into my consciousness, and stays there, until, next thing I know, I've bought it and am wearing it with no shame whatsoever. I bought one such shirt when I lived in Birmingham, and it was when I was once driving from Birmingham back to my parents' house in Stoke (we were all going to see my brother graduate from Cranwell, during which there was a group of officer cadets from the French Air Force whose uniforms made them look like Aeroflot ground crew) - a journey that I'd made countless times in all conditions - that, I suddenly noticed that I had not the faintest idea where I was; and there was noone nearby whom I could ask for directions. Retracing my steps would be tricky, too, because I wouldn't know if I was retracing them accurately (a point which takes us neatly back to the Wittgenstein thing). The only thing I could do was to follow the road until I came across a sign, and hope that something on it was familiar. Fortunately, this strategy worked, and I wasn't stranded in the badlands of the West Midlands; but it added a significant amount of time to what ought to have been a fairly short and simple journey.

Like I said: this was odd, because I don't normally get distracted.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 11:13, 12 replies)
I thought it was Thursday today.
Well, I say thought. I mean 'wished with all my heart'
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 10:08, 5 replies)
Sometimes I'll just sit in my room, laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing.
But it can make me sad, so sometimes I'm just quiet.

Then I'll start crying.

For hours. Hours and hours and hours.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 10:02, Reply)
Not me but a friend, honest
Now my friend Karen is a lovely woman and very intelligent but her grip on reality is often iffy at best.

She's a GP and very bright and we often end up in conversations in the pub with her and another friend that I struggle to keep up with (i'm not dim, but medicine is not a strong point) during one such discussion Karen and my friend were discussing treatment for rheumatoid arthritis and bandying around all sorts if serious medical and chemical terms. I had therefore activated the smiling and nodding subroutine and was enjoying my beer. Five minutes into the conversation Karen suddenly stops as if struck by sudden insight and turns to me with a very serious look and asks "do you like lobster?"

Conversation grinds to a halt and everyone looks confused, there is a brief pause as everyone mentally goes WTF then Karen turns round and goes back to the medicine.

Now this is just one example, Karen is capable of conversational shifts that can totally derail any conversation and she never ever things the changes make anything less than total sense
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:52, 2 replies)
A number of times
Ive woken up hearing audience noise (laughter/clapping) in my room.

Thinking its the TV, I will sit up and watch the TV.

after 10 minutes or so, I realise the TV isnt on, and that im infact sitting up in a dark room, giggling at a blank TV.

I do this several times a week.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:42, 4 replies)
I discovered
when i was in school that was able to repeat the words (in my head) people were saying - as they were saying them.

Let me explain.

If i was ever bored in school, the teacher would be standing up next to the blackboard or wherever, speaking out loud. However, as they spoke, I changed from listening to them, to matching the sounds in my head.

God only knows how this works, perhaps my brain actually delays my hearing contiousness so it appears I am speaking the same words as them.

Either way - I used to try and do anything to avoid remembering it, as once I would remember I could do it, my brain would automatically switch to that mode - leaving me unable to listen to what was being said.

It would drive me nuts. :(
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:38, 1 reply)
I regularly confuse east and west
Fuck it, pretty much everything else this week has been tenuous.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:31, 6 replies)
Speaking Mug
I had a meeting with the MD of the company I was working for. Halfway through the meeting his phone rang. He picked up his coffee and confidently said "Hallo" to the rim of his mug!

That was bad enough, but I did the same thing recently.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:29, Reply)
The spare wheel carrier in my van squeaks.
Quite often I start hearing it as Morse code, because it's at the same pitch that amateur radio repeaters send their idents at.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 9:17, 1 reply)
Like this one time at band-camp
Not only did I fill my mug with shreddies, but I put my tights on over my skirt and shoes. Tsk...
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 8:29, Reply)
I post lies on the internet, expecting people to believe them

(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 4:33, 7 replies)
Making myself hear thing
In silence, I can make myself hear things, mostly cat meowing. This is somthing I'm aware of, yet convince myself it's real. This woulden't be so bad if I didn't need to start the process in my head. (I tend to think it's been a while since I did that, I wonder if it still works)

It's only bad when combined with sleep paralysis, I'm aware it's happening, know I can't move and have to try not to think about scary noises. This always starts me thinking scary noises. It's not pleasant to hear a large vicious sounding creature sniffing around you when you can't make your eyes open to convince your self it isn't there.
(, Wed 27 Jul 2011, 0:31, 2 replies)
After a busy day at work, I crashed out on my bed....
still fully clothed, zzzzzz away so happily to myself like a baby in a cot. I heard someone shout my name. I startled myself into reality. I looked at the time.

! Eight o'clock. ! Fuuuuuuuuuu, I'm freaking late for work (I start work at 7am.) Flew downstairs, and out the front door. Leapt over the gate like a superman, and ran down the street like a bullet train. Got to office. Only to smash face first into the front door.....

You see, I'd only been asleep for two and a half hours. Now it wouldn't be so bad if I used a 12hour clock, but no. I use a digital 24hours clock. It was 20.00
(, Tue 26 Jul 2011, 23:29, 4 replies)
Woke myself up laughing once
Have no idea what was so funny either.
(, Tue 26 Jul 2011, 21:00, 4 replies)

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