I found a lot to be excited about at the asian art museum. Too much. Can’t focus still. My vision isn’t blurry, I think that I would like to read more than write today.

I learned some good habits from my mom this weekend, but also just plain mimicry, which I think she could tell. I need to find my own way. Not her way. It’s hard when mom comes to visit and she sees the patterns of her father and my father and simply confirms what is there. Bipolar and Depression.

Ugh. I don’t want to be a label and I want to be functioning, but my genetic lottery is downright awful. Must learn how to function. Keep it together. I need more friends. It’s hard when you have a mental illness because it’s the only way I connect these days. I live a life of solitude surrounded by people. They will never understand the battle that rages within. The coping skills I have to learn are there, surmountable, but nonetheless a hard road to go.

I’m a curious being, but I’ve turned it into navel gazing. Maybe it’s always been this way. I’ve always been obsessed with journalism, particularly blogging and now it’s a matter of working with people, getting them interested in what I’m interested in. I believe in a way out. Advocacy is a way to connect with people. Or I must simply read and be an eternal student in my way through life.

Board games have been a pasttime. Albeit it’s a hard road to go down. I’m repeating myself again. Let’s not get into that.