Difference between revisions of "Sadtober"

From Peter
Jump to: navigation, search
(Blanked the page)
 
(2 intermediate revisions by the same user not shown)
Line 1: Line 1:
Notes for a back chracter, each note in preference.
 
==Idea / fiction==
 
  
Enter a username and an email address, and click the "by email" button. Note you need $wgEnableEmail=true or else the sysop must pick a password and send it to the user.
 
The account will be created with a random password which is then emailed to the given address (as with the "forgot password" feature). The user will be requested to change password at first login; when he does this, his e-mail address will also be marked as confirmed.
 
 
 
==1==
 
 
It was just my own crisis. The morning I waited for my wife to rise, I shouldn't have done it, I should have leaped into action with the children although that isn't fair on her. She has a cold, has menopause, has just had a face infection, her husband is depressed, she has had back surgery, her best friend has had a stroke, she is morphine, valium, neurontin, and other things too, we both smoke that awful skunk. It wouldn't be fair almost to dash out with the boys, not that I could. I have a Tramadol withdrawal, that is like a cold, and I only took it a few days this week, to deal with the pain of my head injury. I wasn't prescribed it, but we have plenty Tramadol under the bed. I should be worried about valium habits, morphine habits, I have been presribed valium, and I ate them up quite quickly, two a day, especially when I smoked that awful skunk. I take 2 Citalopram daily too, I should have not taken 2 valium last Sunday, after my head injury. I now have to wait all month, to see if I will get better, or of any of it will get better. Will anybody get better. My mouth feels like closing, I feel like muttering, today I felt like running away for all of the month of Sadtober, it felt like a foregone conclusion, a starting point and ending point, I just kept quiet in the end.
 
 
[[User:Pilgrim of Crisis|Pilgrim of Crisis]] ([[User talk:Pilgrim of Crisis|talk]]) 13:45, 2 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==2r==
 
 
When I began managing the shop, one of the first things I thought about were the problems that consistently occurred on Monday mornings. It always seemed to be, although it might not have really been, but it seemed to be that Monday mornings were a fractious and dangerous time, which could set the tone for a whole week. I started being in the shop on Monday mornings, an hour or more before it opened. My wife said this was good role modelling for the staff. I made sure the week started well, and then any hand over went smoothly. I waited around all the morning making sure everybody was happy, and that any communication difficulties were sorted kindly.
 
 
As if to prove that I had forgotten this aspect of my work, I made this [[Monday]] morning a hell for so many others, especially my business partner, by overreacting, panicking in sadness, writing angry messages, engaging in fighting, you know all what else, an awful scene of attrition. When you wake some days you don't even know how fragile you are. I was like Godzilla with a sore head, knocking my body off the buildings, and so unhappy with myself. I had ten staples in my head, and I had forgotten they were being removed that afternoon. The procedure was painful, but I sat through it, I have become not attracted to pain, but in a special place of my own where pain is quite acceptable. I left the surgery and felt the cold air, now rushing into my skull. My head didn't like it. Being held together with staples last week, my head was in one manner tied together, held in place. Now the two sides of my head, split by my fall, were like fingers gripping to hold a body to a rock shelf.
 
 
I collapsed straight to bed for an hour, I think I was in shock, I was so cold. I wooke up, and my wife was also rising, both of us threatening to pick the children up from school. I went to the pick up and then later, offered to play football in the cold, which I did, fprgetting that my head was open. I had smoked some of the godawful skunk, but the shock of kicking the ball hurt my head, and so I returned home to take Tramadol. That night I took morphone, too, but could not sleep. I rose late in the night and drank a can of beer, smoked heavily of the the awful skunk, and returned to bed to listen to a podcast about Catalan independence. Feeling mad after 40 minutes, I rose again, drank another can of lager, and smoked much more of the godawful skunk. I returned to bed, but this happened again. Finally I listened to the audiobook of [[Frankenstein]], I don't think that was an accident.
 
 
[[User:Really Reckless|Really Reckless]] ([[User talk:Really Reckless|talk]]) 13:22, 4 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==3==
 
 
I am not jealous of other couples, of other people, by all means they have their lives and I have mine, and all these entail. But increasingly, I see that we are both ill. My wife is on so many painkillers, and the godawful skunk too, but we live with the prospect of her spending whole days, many hours at the very least, in bed. "I don't want this to be my life," she says, and for so many years, I didn't even realise it was my life too. If you come home from work, or from any trip, and don't immediately have to lie down for two hours, and spend those hours moaning in pain, taking valium, morphine, neurontin, and so forth, you might not be fully aware of our situation. My situation. Our situation.
 
 
Not sleeping, I was a wreck in the morning, and yet I still did good work, I am minutes away from finishing a book; by which I mean the final. final edit before typesetting and printing begin. It's been two years, but now we are very near to having before us a real life copy of [[How To Do Privacy in the 21st Century]], my new work. Other than that, my head was most exposed today, and I should have been resting, but I was not able to. In fact I seem to have had a mad burst of work today, and in the evening, wife and I visited a new local diner, a cheap and good Carribean place. She was ill and distracted, but we were out, and that was that.
 
 
We returned home and watched the first half an hour of Powell and Pressburger's 1944 film A Canterbury Tale. Thereafter I did what I do best, which is drinking beer and cleaning the kitchen, while smoking the godawful green skunk. My mood had been kindly stabilised by the women in my life, my wife, my business partner and my sister. I owe everything to everybody, still.
 
 
[[User:Really Reckless|Really Reckless]] ([[User talk:Really Reckless|talk]]) 13:30, 4 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==4==
 
 
A person is supposed to be on [[Citalopram]] for six weeks, and then the person can feel better perhaps. This is like a magical operation, because if the roots of the feeling are not purged, then what is the point of taking drugs. I wonder today of any amount of drugs could get me back to work. I am not sure if the problem is being able to work, it is being hurt at work. That is, when I think back to starting this work, starting this business, being in this business, that is what I have done to myself. However work has eneded up this year, however it has panned out, I have been hurt. Even if it is a little hurt on a daily basis, or a significant hurt that has kept me off work for days, or longer, it's hurt.
 
 
It isn't anyone, it's me. The thought of going into that situation again, when I am guarantted to be hurt, this can explain why I am in bed, this can explain why I am physically dropped at the thought of being at work. I am not sure if I did any work today, or what was happening. I would have finished my book, I expect, I had to finish the book today.
 
 
The new doctor had my report from Accident and Emergency and she asked me that drink was involved and I said it was. She then asked which level of bevvy merchant I was, whether merchandising at this level was a problem and I told her it was not. This was an isolated incident, I told her. I was not wrong in saying that my head injury and the drinking of alcohol combined as they were, were the basis of an isolated incident. The fact is that I drink plenty all of the time, but I never ave head injuries. In this sense the accident, if that is what it was, was elective.
 
 
What happens with Citalopram, she said, is that it can and will take six weeks to work. Then we take it for six months. Then and ony then do we ask if we are feeling all right and if we are feeling all right we then removed the Citalopram very slowly indeed, until we are taking no Citalopram but are in fact happy. Nobody mentions work. Nobody mentions self harm. We all think about the Citalopram and how effective that is going to be. I take 20mg, but it will take three times that, it will take three times the amount of death in my head to allow me to take that hurt from work, any more.
 
 
==5==
 
 
This is a Thursday, and earmarked for healing. What does that mena, perhaps coffee and the godawful skunk, and some morphine, some of the dreaded oramorph, which exists in a capsule form, and is virtually useless to me, but which might perhaps cause me to be still for half an hour.
 
 
I took it anyway and lay still for an hour, after sending the book away. The book is nothing, I would much rather be able to go to work and not be hurt than write a book. But I know my place this week, and i know the effect I have on others, it's because I am hurting that I am not always available to be my best. I am the best I am at this job, it is very far below what is acceptable and so I get hurt.
 
 
Despite it all, and disproving my medical record, and without damaging my head, I carried on drinking beer and then wine, this was later on in the day, and I was also smoking the godawful in godawful amounts, binge smoking, chain smoking, and did not take [[Citalopram]] but worked on my website as I drank, and even wrote some drunk emails, that is embarrassing, but I wrote drunk emails, it takes so long to do, to write a drunk email, about half an hour per email, and they are usually asa short as I can make em.
 
 
Nothing can get me to bed in this mood, because nothing can beat alcohol for raising me momentarily into a state of self-belief. This sounds like the most dangerous story I have ever told. Just skipping back a few days, looking at the announced patholgies, and the confession here and now, that numerous drugs and habits now tackle the hurt, which I am tired of feeling. One day I will be able to flood myself with its feelings, the feelings of that hurt, but I had better be ready. I would be safer doing that somewhere far away, far away from everybody.
 
 
[[User:They Self|They Self]] ([[User talk:They Self|talk]]) 03:15, 9 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==Friday==
 
[[File:Half-diazepam-tablet.jpg|thumb|right]]
 
Last night would have been the most I have drunk since my accident, which was only 12 days before, and which was not entirely an accident, more of an elective head injury. The staples from my head injury lie remarkably clean. My head feels more like it has had staples in it than ever. Last night I smoked the godawful weed, having begun the day earmarked for healing with some of the dreaeded oramorph. I don't know ti today, but I have not learned properly how to take it.
 
 
Slow progress through then, there are never any hangovers at this advanced level. In the evening, my wife and two friends are at a restaurant, and then at a city bar, and then at a city hotel bar, a vast, dark, illuminated place, built on the lack of disappointment of alcohol, filled with people that are likely there just now, as I write, spending so much money, spilling themselves in drunken temas across the town. Late home, I am exhausted, how could I not be, but just in case, because worry has taken over bedtime now, because to lie awake is to worry for death, a half a [[Diazepam], as there is quite often a half [[Diazepam]] in the candle holder.
 
 
==7==
 
[[File:Godzilla=monster.png|thumb|right]]
 
Ill health, recovery, excessive drinking alcohol, depression, were you to sleep an extra hour for each of these needs, you would meet the needs of these needs by staying in bed and sleeping, or acting out the nearest equivalent, for an extra five hours. That is no reason, but a retrospective look back at the day, when I rose at 2PM, these may have been the causes. I was of no use to the family, my wife told me so because she needs to recover too, and she was in such extreme pain, and also needed sleep.
 
 
The equivalent of sleep is what people that are depressed, if there is such a thing, know about. I am lying in bed for reasons of sensory deprivation. I can hear what is going on, and I can feel the covers, a deep warmth that is, with my limbs perfectly arranged so I am not aware of them. I am speaking to no one, I am waiting for sleep, I am having the odd lucid and unpleasant dream, quite a few are about my head injury.
 
 
I took the Citalopram later in the day, and smoked some of the godawful skunk. The family dressed up smartly and went to a 50th birthday party. At the party I made an effort, I listened to a man who was a linguistics teacher, he was supposed to be according to everybody that was there, and according to himself, the most famous professor of linguistics in the world, or at leasat one of them. He showed absolutely no interest in listening to me, but was engaging and clearly intelligent in telling me his entire life story, I listened to the whole life story. I accepted that my life story may not be so grand, but I did wait ofr my turn to speak, although it didn't come. I met a friend afrom school, for some reason he was in Edinburgh. He told me how much he loved morphine, how much he enjoyed sucking the capsules, as it gave a fonder slower release. I smoked more godawful when I arrived home, and took half a [[Diazepam]] in order to watch a little of the old Japanese film [[Godzilla]], and the newer Italian film, [[City of the Living Dead]]. Neither did much for me, because I was sinking so fast, and I listened to piano excercises, blues scales, church modes, other scales, all on my smart phone until my wife arrived and I dropped away.
 
 
[[User:They Self|They Self]] ([[User talk:They Self|talk]]) 05:52, 8 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==8==
 
 
Another day is kindly given over to healing, but I am spending the time hurting and not healing. The worst things in the world were waiting on waking, what I would call black thoughts, the stuff of [[Anomie]], thoughts of self harm (where is it, what is it, how will it affect me?) the asaking of an awful question (if you want to hurt, then how did you feel about having your head stapled ten times?) and  that familiar desire to run, to faint, a distant hirting desire that spells out one mode of being: THE BED MODE.
 
 
My wife was kind today, she let me adopt the mode, she left me to the bed, and I sucked one of the [[Morphine]], just like my friend had mentioned. I sucked myself off, in fact, to a curious new place, somewhere my friend had been, although I am sure he had sucked himself off to somewhere finer than I arrived to. Sucking morphine, I realised that when the tablet was cited as oramorph, it really was in fact that, the liquid form of morphine. When you suck it in this form, the capsule dissolves gently in parts, and the goo that is released begins to coat your teeth, or your gum, or whichever area of the mouth you are containing it.
 
 
That and [[Citalopram]] at about 6pm, after more of the godawful skunk, that weed they keep selling us, that godawful skunk weed, that we keep buying.
 
 
[[User:They Self|They Self]] ([[User talk:They Self|talk]]) 14:59, 9 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==9==
 
 
I awke with no plans, one awakes with no plans on days like these. There were plans the night before, many of the plans involved leaping into action on Monday morning. There were a pile of papers on my desks, a pile of envelopes and scraps of paper to be dealt with, but none of them were. Again, I played the license to the full, and I lay down. Once more, godawful skunk, a sore head, only on the outside, mostly sore at the memory of the scar, [[My scar]], and the fear of exhaustion, that is a real fear. I don't much move for knowing the results.
 
 
Sucking [[Morphine]] and wondering what to do next, what to read or watch, or whether to lie there in bed, in the dark. There I ponder: "am I fit to make the bottom fall through the floor?"
 
 
Sucking morphine like this, having established the truthful path to abuse, it is not any salve for depression. Yet when the morphone wears off, that is when things happen, this is a funny thing. When the morphine is presumably in effect, I feel very little that is different. Maybe I am less mobile, maybe I am less contained. Either way, when it is not there, the morphine, I long to go back to this place that I can describe only as a non-place. There is less [[care]], or maybe I [[care]] less.
 
 
Today i am in bed all day. You are at work, as are your ilk. The motorways are full, the offices are humming, the shop floors are busy and I am in bed, with as much darkness as the shutters, the curtains and the drugs can provide. More morphine later makes the movies [[Godzilla]] and [[Capricorn One]] less tolerable, unwatchably curious really. The movies make about much sense as the stage acting and screen sets allow. In fear of the night I smoke as much of the godawful skunk as I can and then take [[Diazepam]], just to be sure I have had everything, and that I feel nothing.
 
 
[[User:They Self|They Self]] ([[User talk:They Self|talk]]) 13:03, 11 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==10==
 
[[File:Healing head.jpg|thumb|right|The Head Wound Heals Well Enough Today]]
 
Maybe when I awoke, the certain parts of me that are running the show knew that I had plans for myself. I don't see how this information can change hands so readily, but it does. It's like that first trip to the doctors, now 10 months ago. How did the doctor know, after I had told her what was going on (low mood! anxiety! self harming! and more) that I had a problem with my neurotransmitters? This must happen every day: Doctor! I am depressed. Yes, she says, he says, yes, he or she says, this is a problme with your neurotransmitters, and how I am able to see that without looking into your brain, and by simply listening to you moan, how I am able to know that is one of our daily medical miracles. Hence [[Citalopram]] is delivered again.
 
 
Then I knew, this morning. I was to move upon my to-do list, move upon it with with vigour, or with anything I could muster. Or perhaps I will sleep instead, until one pm, and this after sleeping through the night, and sleeping the sleep of the soundly drugged. Then therefore, this Tuesday I began to work for the business again, after anothre week of doing virtually nothing, I began to work for the business again, and spoke to my business partner. I wrote her a letter last Friday it was, in the letter I tried to say without apology, that I could see the effect i was having on those around me. It's monstrous really, that is to say, I have the effect of a monster.
 
 
I remember when my father had a head injury, five or so years ago. The injury was horrid to look at, monstrous even, and when I expressed shock, he laughed it off. I thought that my father was being brave about this, but the fact is that when such an injury heals, or begins to heal, it barely hurts, and it becomes much worse for others, who have to see it, and then imagine the injury again, and again, and again, while they are in your presence. And they don't just imagine the injury happening to you, but worse, themselves. As the injured partty, however, you feel nothing, and can see nothing of it, and forget about it for most of the day, at least until you see the horror in people's faces.
 
 
The depression has made me a monster though, not the injury. There are connections between the two, tenuous but real. Otherwise, I am unpredictable, and a threat of harm to myself, and that is not something that is much tolerable to others, I am afraid to say.
 
 
[[User:They Self|They Self]] ([[User talk:They Self|talk]]) 14:47, 11 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==11==
 
With none of the godawful skunk, one tends to sleep longer. There is something about that blackness that draws me in and holds me there. My business partner tells me that the hardest thing is getting that foot on the floor in the morning, and even though I hate it when she is right sometimes, I have to admit she may be right this time. The sensory deprivation is so addicting in itslef, or I would rather say consuming than addicting, it is so consuming that it can envelope the day as well. My speciality this week has been the challange of getting the foot on the floor, but even after that, with the feet in motion I am in difficulty. I have been working in the house by myself, I have been at work, although not at work. Work is such a strange accumulation of tasks, that come my way, and leave by elecronic means. I speak on the phone, a little, I write, a lot.
 
 
[[User:Kucumatz|Kucumatz]] ([[User talk:Kucumatz|talk]]) 12:30, 13 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==12==
 
When I awaoke at 5am I had been within an awful dream. The dream had been of my own devising, it was even humourous. At one stage I was trying to go to the toilet, to evacuate what the Scots call a 'jobby', but the entire cubical was stacked with 'jobbies'. I negotiated this, until such time as I noticed that the flush handle for the lavatory, was also a 'jobby', it was kind of like a Scottish 'Naked Lunch'. This was a joke, which is possibly why it rose from the lower stream to be something that I was aware of.
 
 
I met a friend, a good friend, and I asked her about lithium, which she takes. I told her the effects of my own life, and what had brought me to medication myself. None of it pleases me. Before I left to visit her, I smoked what I would call 'bags' of the godawful skunk. In fact, I had smoked some immediately after I woke up about 7:30am, and this was because of mood. It was a mistake to smoke it, I was still going to be awake 22 hours later. But these bad decisions rise from moments when bad feelings lead quickly to bad decisions, and where bad habits maintain. The walk to meet my friend was pleasant then, and the meeting too. In the evening I bgean with a glass of wine, however, and by four in the morning, had drunk nearly a bottle of white wine, before Irish whiskey, maybe four large glasses, and tidying rhe house in a tremendous fury, that is my style. All the time, constant smoking.
 
 
[[User:Abernethy|Abernethy]] ([[User talk:Abernethy|talk]]) 02:32, 17 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==13==
 
 
That is my cursed state, the cursed state of drinking alcohol to dawn, for no apparent reason, unless a compulsion is a reason. There is a story in the news world that has kept me awakew most fo the night, and reading articles, and watching video blogs, and listening to women, and it is the story of the Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein, who is the bad boy of the world, for his decades of sexual harrassment, alleged. There is no doubt, by the way, that the behaviour is not just alleged, so i think i will drop that nicety. He even agrees to some of it, so I am pleased to take that as a confession, to offer us something empiracl upon which to fixate our own stories and hopes.
 
 
==14==
 
For Saturdays, the divide between active and ill, or even active and depressed parents is obvious. The active are cycling, playing football, chopping wood, shopping for outdoor gear and running their girls boys around rugby, hockey, tennis and football grounds. The ill and depressed choose bed as they have always done. In our house the parents may be both ill AND depressed, or various degrees of each. We ask if we can face the possibility that depression is being ill and that heavy painkiller use, is also illness. Depression, possibly, becomes unavoidably illness, when legal medication becomes involved. The use of legal medication in remedying pain, becomes illness also. It is such a miracle that others manage, also.
 
 
During the daytime, when it began, the family paid some visits, and this parent undertook tasks about the house, such as hanging curtains. My wife is collapsed in misery, largely, and looks at me like she hates me, but its not me. In the evening, the adults retired, moods melted, my wife and I watched The Lady Vanishes (1938) in bed, and smoked a joint or two of the pure [[godwaful skunk]], and this seemed like the neatest escape. Why was it such an escape? It was because we were supposed to be on holiday, that is to say, we had told everybody we were going to be on holiday today, and so nobody phoned, nobody visited, nobody bothered us, no phones rang, and nothing happened. In our lives, this is a little dream. After the movie, my wife lay there and I fixed her hair in the dark, touched her shoulders, this was for two hours, at least the godawful skunk gave me strength for this. After 2:30am however, I did not sleep, and lay upon my side with most of me, but not my mind, asleep.
 
 
In fact I saw what I called 'the lower stream' in a previous paragraph. This is a long time to be awake and to be lucid dreaming. I think I must have lowered into this state and remained there, because for three hours at least I watched dreams come and go. I rose at 5am and smoked some of the godawful again, and drank a shot, and then a pint of water, but I remained awake until 8:30am, when others rose, and I blasted off to sleep. No accounting for the effects of any single drug, any more.
 
 
[[User:Debosh|Debosh]] ([[User talk:Debosh|talk]]) 06:38, 19 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==15==
 
 
I was thus able and even permitted to sleep all morning. After this, I didn't feel too bad, groggy perhaps, as if slightly hungover from something, when what I am hungover from is a mood. Today we left fro holiday with my sister and her family, her husband and the two girls. There are eight of us on holiday and all the adults are on quite a concoction of drugs. All the adults are on an antidepressant, or mood altering drug of some kind, and for some reason, though not the same reason. It is a chance to speak to my sister, and we have driven 100 miles south, into England, and there we will spend the week together.
 
 
The drive is satisfactory, despite the slight dream state of the night before. I am unused to some of the aspects of being on holiday, such as the auto-reply on email. This auto-reply on email doesn't work for me, because I can still see the emails, and I am at the stage with my work that everything feels like a mountain, so letting emails for into a mountain of mountains, is only going to end with myself feeling badly. Nobody can win with me, and this is why I like to spend so much time alone, and in the dark. The safety for myself and others is incredible. I look at my emails and it appears everybody thinks I am normally capable of work, and offering responses, when in fact the effort is significant.
 
 
We arrive on holiday, it is a chance to speak to my sister, because I would like to pull together some facts about this situation, these medications, I would really like to in some kinds, be a aprt of this society. Every item of news informs me however that I am not, that I am behind, or out of touch, or ignorant. That is the feeling, it's ignorance. Whereof I am ignorant, and that is most places, I must remain silent. Work, family, public discourse, silence please. The great example is that whatever I say about the Harvey Weinstein farrago, I appear to be wrong. The issue is one of a crisis in gender, or a crisis in masculinity, or systemic problems for which I must raise my hands. It is perhaps a great moment for men to be quiet and for women to speak up?
 
 
When the story broke, the other day, a tape was played across the world, of the Hollywood producer harrassing a young women, he is effectivdly bullying her into sexual stuff. When the tape was played my reation was sadness, and my sadness arose from the fact that some days I find it hard to accept how little I have in common with some people on this world. Things are different on my own world, maybe on my home planet. I felt comfortable with that for a few hours until I started to speak to women whose husbands were affected by this tape. "I feel guilty," said these husbands, I am led to believ, "because this is how I used to behave!"  I couldn't be more mortified and I can take no comfort from my wife telling me that I am unusual among men, for not being a sex pest, or lecherous, or any of these other things. I can't argue with a woman, or anybody's experience.
 
 
For the moment, a retreat to silence, even though I have been cautioned that as a man who is probably and largely not considered to be a sex-pest by the majority of women around him, I should be speaking up for the innocent. I will do that, I promise every one that I will, but now is not the time. Now is not the time, when a cavalacde of Hollywood women millionaires are popping forward to accuse the men of the their industry of this filth, now is not the time to gainsay Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, Emma Thompson and scores that I have never heard of. Now is not the time to stand up and say 'not all men are sex-pests'. Maybe the time to stand up an say that will be obvious, or maybe there will be a corrective for all society, not just a part of it. I argue with my wife that sexual coercion is certainly bad, and she has to remind me that it is virtually and solely a male problem.
 
 
I speak to my sister, my wife joins us. We touch upon this discussion once again about ANONPERSON being on the drug [[Lithium]] and the drug [[Imipramine]], for whatever reasons we will never know. It might even be surprising if he at his age even knows, but the levels of depression must be enormous if this is the case. What, I would like to ask, will life be like without theese medications? We will never know.
 
 
 
==16==
 
 
What can account for exhaustion? Symptoms of exhaustion are usually a warning that something is wrong physically or emotionally, or that life is in need of examination and change. As worries, pressures, set-backs, and responsibilities build up, we feel less able to cope with them. When did you first become depressed?
 
 
More long sleeping, all morning, and then after a trip in the afternoon, a trip to the dullest castle in England, where they film all of my least favourite media, including Harry Potter and Downton Abbey, after a trip to the most boring castle in England, sleep is desired, found, blackness wins. Because I sleep all of the evening I then have to take a half of a [[Diazepam]] at the end of the night, which will knock me out in about twenty to thirty to forty minutes. Nothing happens thereafter. I get myself to sleep by worrying about how I am going to fit back into my own business, and listening to any sounds in the night.
 
 
[[User:Ether Sad|Ether Sad]] ([[User talk:Ether Sad|talk]]) 10:53, 19 October 2017 (MDT)
 
 
==17==
 
 
Thee best sound in the world, the sound of a storm on the roof, while lying underneath the roof, under covers and in the dark of the night time. Not such a nice sound for my wife, although a nice sound for me.
 
 
==18==
 
 
 
 
 
==19==
 
 
The waking ritual, as now enacted on a family holiday, a holiday with the two families. Left to my own napping, I waken at half past nine in the morning. But I am still not able to move. There is the old knot in the stomach, so I am first off working on diminishing that. [[Citalopram]] might be making me more regularly sad, or sad after the same fashion, but it can't change my thoughts. I struggle with this, becuase other drugs can change my thoughts; so find the one that doesn't encourage one to lie in bed, unable to move, mentally exhausted (it would have to be) and able to think only about the joys of suicide. Little thoughts kick round.
 
 
The [[Citalopram]] isn't working, says my wife. If you change to another one, you don't have to go through the side effects again, that's what I hear. I'm giving it a lot of thought, I am thinking about work, and trying to wrest the fear out of the idea of work, that's a thing. I have to reject the newspapers more than usual this week, because Hollywood is a 'tanker of testosterone' which is now my fauly, even though I have taken a decision to stick to older movies for now.
 

Latest revision as of 12:18, 25 October 2017