Paper jam.

Besides being my #2 favorite song of all time (second only to this song), The Who's "Baba O'Riley" has always hit a deep resonation with me because of the opening synthesizer. If there could ever be a musical embodiment of how my brain works, it would be this. Constantly moving. Constantly frenetic and frantic and oftentimes incoherent. My brain never, ever, ever shuts off. I wouldn't go so far as to call it ADD -- I can pay attention quite well to things. Maybe too well. But it's always processing.

This is great in certain circumstances. Right now, I'm watching Monday Night Football, listening to music, writing a blog post, answering questions for my text-service query job for the place that I won't actively name but you probably know, and texting on my cell phone. I can multitask with the best and with terrifying accuracy and agility.

Sleep is difficult for me. My brain doesn't shut off to sleep. I've turned to remedying this with TV (I almost always require a TV on when I fall asleep, much to the anger/chagrin of many roommates and boyfriends), and oftentimes a combination of legal and illegal substances. The thoughts don't stop. The obsessing, the constant organizing and processing and analyzing, it never turns off unless I drown my brain with pointless late night television, or chemicals. Even then, sleep is difficult. I have, and still do, frequently go 2-3 days without sleeping. It doesn't come. It usually can't.

I tend to alienate people because I oftentimes get quiet. I can be the life of the party, loud and obnoxious, but often, I get quiet as I think and process the situation surrounding me. I move the furniture around the room in my head. I consider the amount of cream cheese on the bagel. I obsess on the pile of pillows over on that couch that are askew, and I'd love to straighten them, or refold those blankets on the back of the couch. People think I'm not listening; I'm listening. I'm just also running five or six other programs on the insane processing system that is my brain.

Even with that, I can function fairly well (although mildly socially retarded). But sometimes, there comes a glitch in the system. I start to think about a particular thought -- usually something unnerving, upsetting, or depressing -- and everything gets stuck. Whereas a normal person would probably think about it for a minute or two, decide to themselves, "That's too bad, oh well," and move on with their day, the paper jam continues. I obsess. I can't let it go. I fixate on it and it consumes me. It pulls me under.

I compare it to printing a 1,000 page document and the printer jams on page 2. The processing can't happen, but the damage can, and does. I become toxic as I continue to sink into this downward spiral of poisonous thinking. What follows is a predictable series of events for me -- I begin desperately grabbing for things that are stationary, things that are constant. Relationships are a big indicator. And if there's even the most remote sign of volatility in a relationship (whether real or imagined), I pull it into the spiral with me. I can't stop myself. I know what I'm doing and I can see it, even predict it, and I can't stop. The paper jam continues.

Things get dark. I get dark. I continue to fixate on what was once a minor problem and it is now an all-consuming black hole. I draw into myself. I alienate friends and family, particularly if I've pulled those relationships into the fray too. I turn off. I turn to sabotage, I make stupid choices and decisions in an attempt to cover up the downward spiral, but not necessarily stop it.

I can't stop.

I medicate. I drink. I draw further in. The lights get darker and the tornado gets bigger. The diameter of the damage gets bigger, and unless you know how to get me to stop -- which is essentially a solid, angry bitch slap, literally or metaphorically. The paper jam doesn't stop until you beat the shit out of the printer.

Oh, I get furious. I kick and scream. I lash out harder and more angrily, but the spiral stops. The machine has been turned off and groans to a stop.

I stop. I breathe. I think.

I breath. I surface. The fever breaks. I can think clearly again.

The well-oiled machine that is my processing ability fires up again. I go back to the frantic pace that is my mind, and all is well again.

But there is always the possibility of kinks in the system. I'm just always a little scared, after another "incident," that the people who clung on through the storm, may not have the patience to stay around to weather another one.