8 Reasons Why Narcolepsy is a Mental Illness

that includes hallucinations, sleep attacks!, hardcore memory loss, crushing fatigue and nerve damage.

I just woke up from a two-hour lucid dream session that involved Justin Bieber and me in a swimming pool. I'm not really cool with that. So instead of risk falling back into that groggy half-asleep state
that nightly bombards me with voices and people who aren't there, I decided to do a little writing about narcolepsy.

I have had narcolepsy my whole life and it has been crazy. And I literally mean that--I'm a little crazy. I've been hallucinating since I was four. I really thought that my dolls and shit were alive. Ok maybe you did too, but I really really did. Anyway... what I'm saying is, I know narcolepsy is caused by a brain chemical imbalance, and that "mental illness" is kind of a silly word, maybe. But I think narcolespy belongs there. So I made a list of the 8 ways that narcolepsy means I might be a little crazy. or i mean you might.


The Weeknd, Dennis Cooper and Sadism

I read a few of Dennis Cooper's books around 2007.  

It was a really weird time for me. I was living in San Francisco and felt off-kilter and displaced a lot. And also, just cold. That city is so fucking cold. I was reading authors that really weren't good for me at the time--Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski, and most of all, Dennis Cooper. 


an analysis of "breaking bad" and the anatomy of pain

breaking bad analysis

No one would like Walter White in real life. And by like, I mean LIKE. That feeling of oh shit, this guy is awesome. The Walter White of Breaking Bad starts off as a grumpy science teacher, and quickly descends into the rank corridors of the methamphetamine trade. It isn’t cute.

I have been on meth. I’ve watched a middle-aged woman in a track suit snort lines next to her bulimic 17-year-old; I’ve watched a guy show me how he had to “parachute” his meth because he only had a few teeth left, and little to speak of separate nasal cavities. (Parachuting is where you wrap the drug in toilet paper and swallow it.) It’s a toxic thing that kind of reminds me of cancer—a thing that feeds and spreads with the anger of wildfire. And while my interaction with meth involved mostly innocuous college nights spent playing spades until 8 in the morning, the stuff I’ve seen that drug do to people’s faces is enough to make me recoil. This is the truth: I never became a meth head for the same reason that I never became a hardcore drug addict of any kind. It really isn’t worth getting ugly over.