Journals as Research (just take me to the loony bin already, pretty sure y’all keep it around the corner, over there by the recycling)


Journals as Research (just take me to the loony bin already, pretty sure y’all keep it around the corner, over there by the recycling)

I think the answer to moving forward on how I can heal my brain sits in the tub of journals sitting across my floor. In fact, I know it.

You know, I’ve had a lot of bastard people call me crazy in the span of my 20 years, and although I wish them the best, I am just itching to prove those people wrong. I know that might be arrogant, but if this blog hasn’t been spontaneously destroyed with the divine stamp of “arrogant terrible person” yet, I may as well milk this introspective stuff for all it’s worth.

I don’t think I will turn into a recluse. I know it is part of my family. I want to know why.

I say very similar things, in the exact same speaking/writing voice, in all that I write.

Coming up for a simple code to figure out how to heal myself would be extremely easy. I knew this was coming before I left for Chile, and I even wrote down the first and last entry date of all my entries into a piece of paper, and a spreadsheet I had stored on my Google Drive.

Thing is, if I’m legitimately crazy, then we’ll all know it then. If not, people are looking for budget friendly solutions to mental health madness, right? I see y’alls crazy and I raise you 40+ journals. Let’s make this duel a thing.

Seriously, if I can’t understand how I think, I can’t understand how anyone thinks. I can’t make them any happier or say anything decent, because my brain will always be slightly unhinged, because I simply don’t understand. If analyzing for the patterns I see things in and comparing them to the world has always worked out so far, by the grace of God, why the hell wouldn’t I run into those flames? Fear can stop anyone. But this is right. I know it is. I know it for sure.

Quite frankly, people already think I’m a wing nut here and there. I would LOVE to see those people shut up, and more than anything, I would LOVE to be able to use this enhanced, time given understanding to produce lasting healing in other people’s lives. If I could use what I know and remember to change the trajectories of other people’s lives for the good, then why shouldn’t I try? I’m not running from this anymore. I will find out.

Whether or not people accept this idea isn’t just indicative of what they believe about God, healing as a whole, spirituality as a whole, mental illness, deviance, etc.; this crap is personal. In any standard trial, that would disqualify me, because it might influence something negatively, due to bias. But I’m sorry, we all have biases. They can be big or small or crazy or silent, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I know that there is valuable information in that tub, and if it only makes my life a little easier to breathe, I’m going for it.

I don’t believe in canonized medicine, for the most part. I believe our bodies can heal themselves, if we give them the chance. I don’t believe in prescription drugs for lifestyle issues, and I know that many cultures around the world don’t either. Even if it comes to nothing, at least I will learn. Debunk some mis-assumptions. There is no flaw in this, because it’s not like I want to be a success-talking Einstein. I just want to help people, and if possible, myself. I know who I am, and any time I have been in a “caretaking/giver” kind of role, I have been the happiest little butterfly on this side of the planet. I can do plenty of things that rely on logic and facts and whatnot, but for real, those are not the entire side of the picture in most people’s lives that I have ever met, and y’all can’t tackle me for what you’re too classy to study. I see your class and I’m calling you out. I’ll let you know, and I think even if I’m wrong, the practice of just doing it will free my from my past. Let’s see what was actually there. *Cracks knuckles*

Christ has given me fearlessness. I am not wasting that. Not here, not now, not then, not ever. If it takes some hard work to make my dreams a reality, since when has that not been a part of me? I am so sick of suffering bullies who are so often wrong, and so often clinically level wrong. We all hide behind these statistics instead of saying what we really think. I’m sick of it.

Not all healing professions or professionals have attitude problems, but the entire assumption of trying to “heal” what isn’t always broken seems like a crackpot’s wet dream to me.  I know that people have good intentions. But every scientist has a certain amount of baggage from just being a freaking human being, and if I’m just being proactive with my assumptions and transparency, then so be it. I don’t really want to go into research, but you know what? I might be onto something, and who the hell would ever know it if I don’t try? I’m doing it.

Even if I’m delusional, at least I’ll get a couple demented arch-nemeses out of this, right? Lol. I see you one Michel Foucault and I raise you twelve noncents. Isn’t that how science is done, anyways? Nobody likes each other because they separate to their separate camps, and throw up their hands when they can’t seem to work together. Uh-duh. That was decided on the grad school applications, mkay? That one was a given. Learning how to make your poorly-adjusted work in practice? Now aren’t we all human. Lol.

If I was legit crazy, wouldn’t I be slightly less charming? Ahahhhhhah okay actually they’ll probably say that means I have dementia. Farts, science. Farts.

My Google Calendar is just another “ritual” to you ppl, right?

What about the manner in which I tweeze my eyebrows? Does that ruffle your feathers too? Maybe I should Rorschact my way into an A. We’re learning that right now. I like my teacher, but our class consists of making fun of bad science sometimes. Lol. Welcome to research, and join the cakewalk. Didn’t I say that about college once? (hahha jk I totally did, it was just one of those thought boogers that stuck)

If they couldn’t find the perfect disorder for me as a kid, I assume that either means that I broke the tests, they were totally wrong, or I’m just too terribly “deranged” to have any hope of a “happy” life. Look who’s laughing now. I’m pretty happy as I’m typing this. This misdirected anger may actually do me some good. The goal is that it would be a good I could somehow share.

But seriously, in terms of research methodology, I’m not really sure this would even be a thing. I’d have to think about what I’d even code for. I know that there are software that could provide a way to linguistically analyze some of the things I’ve written, but as crazy as it sounds, it may be best to do it in terms of raw emotion, and start there. I can always come up with a better system. If it is true, then it will be true in whatever nonsensical way I find to measure it. It’s not like these journal entries are time sensitive material. My perspective is pretty time-sensitive. But there has got to be a way to eliminate that. It may be complete bull crap, but how will I ever know otherwise? It’s not like I have much else to do.

School will always be my priority while I’m in college, with Church, and friends, and family, etc. School is an occupation, church is a lifestyle choice. I can do all of these things through Christ who strengthens me. I’m not scared anymore. It’s time.




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I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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