After a two day hiatus, thanks to the intervention of an actual life, I'm back into the 'Blog-Sphere' with new found creativity and cause for discussion...at great length.
I just watched 'Shutter Island' and, as Pixel rightfully pointed out, am having a rather spectacular fit of absolute paranoia.
For anybody who's not seen it (spoiler alert) - chap arrives on psychiatric penitentiary island in the butt-fuck middle of nowhere to investigate a patient disappearance, some crazy hallucinating/archetypal conspiracy shit goes down, eventually it's revealed the whole shindig has been one massive role playing session to get him to admit that he's insane - breakthrough, relapse, lobotomy.
OK, so it's not going to win an Oscar for originality but it got me to thinking.
I've flirted with mental illness for a good many years - done my usual stints in school councillors offices, psychotherapy sessions, self-referral to the P-Wards, forced referral to the P-Wards, self-help groups, A&E (post life threatening stunts) and being medicated up to high hell.
I've never seen anything through to the end - skipped sessions, dropped my dosage, turned back when we got to the hospital, bullshitted and excused every delusional or violent episode away as PMT, hangovers...misunderstandings. You get the idea.
I'm not crazy. I'm just eccentric.
More often than not, letting loose for a while is simply fun - my flatmates enjoy my mania, even my Mooma finds it hilarious and my creativity receives limitless benefits from it...the depression, that's just the price you pay for the good times.
But sometimes, sometimes after I see (even in fiction) the terrible things that untreated psychological problems can bring about or when I remember, not what has been done to me - which I do - every day, but what I've done to myself, to my family or friends...then I start to worry.
The moment the most important people in your life turn round to you and say you've gone too far and despite putting everything, every semblance of control you have left into it, you can't stop - that's when you elevate from 'quirky' into 'dangerous'.
The last few weeks have been preoccupied with looking to the future, whether that be in respect of employment or family, and right now all those plans seem laid on some incredibly shaky foundations: how well will she hold it together, for how long this time?
The last thing I want to do, sat here as I am now being of sane mind and body, is hurt people but I am aware of how quickly that changes; the muscle spasms, the shakes, the burning in the blood, sweating and swearing and sticking that knife a little further in each time I scream into the face of the people I love.
The worst of it; that's not where I want it to stop.
It's never enough to see them cry. To verbally take people apart piece by piece purely because I can. Fucking with the minds of both old friend and stranger alike, till somebody breaks, comes down to my level...there's a part of me that isn't satisfied with this, wants to take it to the next stage, and that's the one I don't want anywhere near my future children.
I'm contemplating going back on my medication, seeing this through and once and for all putting my demons to sleep - unfortunately these things don't come with a guarantee nor do drugs have any concept of what to leave out of their mental purging.
They can't differentiate the good from the bad, the healthy from the abnormal - it's like using nukes on a basket of kittens and if it doesn't work? One day, years down the line, I'm declared sane and come off Sertraline or whatever cocktail they have me on by then - everything is peachy and then 'boom!'.
Sirens, headlines, fucking...Crimewatch, life in prison - just another wanker let down by the rapidly failing system - nothing gained at the expense of all capability to imagine, love, be a functional human being for the few years I had.
Reversely, I don't go on my meds - I act a bit weird now and then and it's fine.
Or I act a little too weird and I simply don't get the chance to meet anybody with whom I could have my theoretical family to (hypothetically) murder in their sleep.
If I do this, when I do this, I'm doing it for those close to me, and not for myself - I'm sick of being a burden.
Annie.
<3
I just watched 'Shutter Island' and, as Pixel rightfully pointed out, am having a rather spectacular fit of absolute paranoia.
For anybody who's not seen it (spoiler alert) - chap arrives on psychiatric penitentiary island in the butt-fuck middle of nowhere to investigate a patient disappearance, some crazy hallucinating/archetypal conspiracy shit goes down, eventually it's revealed the whole shindig has been one massive role playing session to get him to admit that he's insane - breakthrough, relapse, lobotomy.
OK, so it's not going to win an Oscar for originality but it got me to thinking.
I've flirted with mental illness for a good many years - done my usual stints in school councillors offices, psychotherapy sessions, self-referral to the P-Wards, forced referral to the P-Wards, self-help groups, A&E (post life threatening stunts) and being medicated up to high hell.
I've never seen anything through to the end - skipped sessions, dropped my dosage, turned back when we got to the hospital, bullshitted and excused every delusional or violent episode away as PMT, hangovers...misunderstandings. You get the idea.
I'm not crazy. I'm just eccentric.
More often than not, letting loose for a while is simply fun - my flatmates enjoy my mania, even my Mooma finds it hilarious and my creativity receives limitless benefits from it...the depression, that's just the price you pay for the good times.
But sometimes, sometimes after I see (even in fiction) the terrible things that untreated psychological problems can bring about or when I remember, not what has been done to me - which I do - every day, but what I've done to myself, to my family or friends...then I start to worry.
The moment the most important people in your life turn round to you and say you've gone too far and despite putting everything, every semblance of control you have left into it, you can't stop - that's when you elevate from 'quirky' into 'dangerous'.
The last few weeks have been preoccupied with looking to the future, whether that be in respect of employment or family, and right now all those plans seem laid on some incredibly shaky foundations: how well will she hold it together, for how long this time?
The last thing I want to do, sat here as I am now being of sane mind and body, is hurt people but I am aware of how quickly that changes; the muscle spasms, the shakes, the burning in the blood, sweating and swearing and sticking that knife a little further in each time I scream into the face of the people I love.
The worst of it; that's not where I want it to stop.
It's never enough to see them cry. To verbally take people apart piece by piece purely because I can. Fucking with the minds of both old friend and stranger alike, till somebody breaks, comes down to my level...there's a part of me that isn't satisfied with this, wants to take it to the next stage, and that's the one I don't want anywhere near my future children.
I'm contemplating going back on my medication, seeing this through and once and for all putting my demons to sleep - unfortunately these things don't come with a guarantee nor do drugs have any concept of what to leave out of their mental purging.
They can't differentiate the good from the bad, the healthy from the abnormal - it's like using nukes on a basket of kittens and if it doesn't work? One day, years down the line, I'm declared sane and come off Sertraline or whatever cocktail they have me on by then - everything is peachy and then 'boom!'.
Sirens, headlines, fucking...Crimewatch, life in prison - just another wanker let down by the rapidly failing system - nothing gained at the expense of all capability to imagine, love, be a functional human being for the few years I had.
Reversely, I don't go on my meds - I act a bit weird now and then and it's fine.
Or I act a little too weird and I simply don't get the chance to meet anybody with whom I could have my theoretical family to (hypothetically) murder in their sleep.
If I do this, when I do this, I'm doing it for those close to me, and not for myself - I'm sick of being a burden.
Annie.
<3
Interesting take on mental health. I think we have all sat at the bottom of the crazy-pit and tried to decide what to do next at one point or another (whether we choose to admit that is something else entirely.)
ReplyDeleteIf I might be so bold as to suggest an alternative?
If you're currently neither suicidal nor a (significant) danger to others, I would suggest talking rather than medicating. If you don't fancy the unis frankly ludicrous waiting list then I would advise seeking out the guys at 10for10. Very nice, very helpful, and affordable even on a student budget - your doctor should be able to put you in contact.
Also you still owe me coffee based chat after your sleep-deprivation based welching missy. xx