The Mental Disorders of Winnie-the-Pooh Characters


Childhood? Ha.

Originally posted on Knowledge Guild:

Winnie the Pooh: An article by the Canadian Medical Association diagnosed and identified him with three disorders based on the following behaviours:

  • Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It is likely that he suffers from the inattentive subtype where a patient exhibits careless and indifferent behaviour towards his peers without exhibiting narcissism.
  • Impulsivity with obsessive fixations. He is obsessed with honey. He grabs it everywhere he can and is even prepared to take risks in order to acquire it. This fixation has also contributed to his obesity.
  • Obsessive-compulsive disorder: He is exhibits repetitive counting. On top of that, because he suffers from OCD in combination with ADHD which could eventually contribute to Tourette syndrome in later life.

Piglet: Generalized Anxiety Disorder. He may have suffered a significant self-esteem injury in the past which is causing him great stress, anxiety and general nervousness. He also suffers from a distinct…

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I Will Not

I am not going to write another post about you. About how much I loved you, but how I afraid I was that I did not love you enough. I will not confess all the things you did that made me so angry I wanted to break things, or that made me so happy I wanted to dance. Instead, I’ll say things like “I am so scared of my role in my new job. The anxiety that comes from knowing that there is much that can go wrong, and that the responsibility is all mine. The insecurity of not knowing if anything I am doing is just right, or if everything I’ve done is so wrong.” I’ll talk about how when I’m nervous, or upset, or if something has triggered me, I’ll tug on my ear, and bite my nails. I’ll even throw in a tidbit about how much I love to take the band off my hair, and play with the hard, kinky spirals  my mother and I once spent so many years straightening. On occasion, I may talk about how angry I was when I felt that I’d been there for the people I cared about, but how it felt like I could never turn to them the year I let everything go, and crashed. Maybe, I’ll even bring up the “dark” year. The one in which rolling out of bed made me want to cry for the futility of it all. Or perhaps, I’ll go a step further, and confess that–when the pain went away, and all I felt was numbness–I wanted to hurt me. I needed to hurt me. Just to be sure I was still alive. That I was still capable of feeling something. Even if it was almost the blade of a knife I’d held over the flames on my stove. What do I know, is that I will not. I will not write another ridiculous post about frustration and anger; disappointments and expectations; forgiveness and uncertainty; love and understanding; that features you, because I don’t think you ever truly did anything to deserve it. So no, I will not write another post for you. And if on a whim, I catch one verse, one line, one lyric, one poetic phrase flittering out my fingers, I will turn away from it. And, if you ever truly knew me, you’d know, forgetting an iota of what I’ve written, letting go when the words are calling, is one of the hardest things for me to do.


K.N.O.W. Pour le quatorze janvier.

Desperately Searching for the Girl Inside

wpid-c360_2015-01-18-16-29-30-449.jpgI keep searching desperately for the right book,
The one that will make me feel again,
The words that will revive the girl inside
The girl who once had a heart, and felt with this heart;
Yet, I know it’s a lesson in futility.
That girl is gone, Gone Girl on
A Walk To Remember, on this search
For My Sister’s Grave, where there once was a Safe Haven.
But instead of the Safe haven,
There is only The Notebook, waiting with pen,
And paper for the words I still hope to find,
In the body that is mine, where this girl I once used to know
Felt inside.

Sabbath, November 1, 2014. 2.46 p.m.