Wednesday 3 October 2012
Contact Us
Being King Lear, I am, of course, employing the royal 'us.' This web-log, at present, is a solo effort. For the purpose of this web-log our contact address is kinglearblog@outlook.com
And I Shall Sleep at Noon
I see a total of 10 people have viewed this web-log. Hooray! I am not a good web-logger. I am a good tweeter. I am not a good writer in the sense that I am inconsistent. I go on a writing binge, and then I may not write anything for months.
Well, wherefore this long delay? My psychiatrist thought that it would be a good idea if I took more medication. Instead of taking 75 milligrams of lustral (sertraline) I should instead take 100 milligrams. I complied with his wish... well at least at first. I am terrified that these tablets could damage my brain. Any small twinge, or ache, and that is brain damage: I do be convinced of it. Perhaps I am different to most of the mentally ill. Many mentally ill people are suicidal, but not I.
But whereas the Fool wishes to die, I wish to live. The best revenge is a good life, and I need to exact this revenge. To die, and to fail is to hand victory to my perceived enemies.
So, anyway, after about a week, I stopped taking the increased dose, and reverted to the original. But such traumata as these knock the stuffing out of me for weeks, nay: months!
And the problems, which necessitated my taking an increased dose persist. It is probably not an exaggeration to say that they have even worsened. My hypochondria is the worst it has ever been, and my thoughts are filled with cursing, obscenity and self-loathing.
I discovered a wonderful diaphragmatic breathing application on my Smart Phone, today. I shall provide a link, anon (soon!)
Well, wherefore this long delay? My psychiatrist thought that it would be a good idea if I took more medication. Instead of taking 75 milligrams of lustral (sertraline) I should instead take 100 milligrams. I complied with his wish... well at least at first. I am terrified that these tablets could damage my brain. Any small twinge, or ache, and that is brain damage: I do be convinced of it. Perhaps I am different to most of the mentally ill. Many mentally ill people are suicidal, but not I.
"And I shall sleep at noon."These are the ominous last words of the Fool in King Lear. He never speaks again, and is taken to be dead. Indeed some read into this that the Fool commits suicide.
But whereas the Fool wishes to die, I wish to live. The best revenge is a good life, and I need to exact this revenge. To die, and to fail is to hand victory to my perceived enemies.
So, anyway, after about a week, I stopped taking the increased dose, and reverted to the original. But such traumata as these knock the stuffing out of me for weeks, nay: months!
And the problems, which necessitated my taking an increased dose persist. It is probably not an exaggeration to say that they have even worsened. My hypochondria is the worst it has ever been, and my thoughts are filled with cursing, obscenity and self-loathing.
"I hate my fucking self. I want to hang myself."These are the sorts of semi-involuntary thoughts that course through my brain. Of course, I do not wish to hang myself, at all: but sometimes the thought of my dangling at the end of a rope gives me a perverted sense of relief.
Friday 13 July 2012
A Bat Credit Card!!!????
Wednesday 11 July 2012
Welcome, Dear Reader
Hello all! I have been contemplating this weblog for some time. Perhaps it is now time to call this blog out of the realm of conceptions, and into the world of virtual reality.
The thing is: I suffer from mental illness. At present - though I be able to manage it - it is making my life feel like a living Tartarus.
I have seen what this pestilence of the wits can do to people: It is a Helter Skelter; a slippery slope, if you will.
People start off a little bit neurotic; they suffer some sort of mental collapse; "recover," relapse, and before you know it, they are essentially a zombified vegetable - like unto a watermelon in appearance - and they are no longer half the man or woman that they used to be.
I have seen it happen time without number. I do not know ANYBODY within my circle of mentally ill friends who have made a full and permanent recovery.
The thing is: I suffer from mental illness. At present - though I be able to manage it - it is making my life feel like a living Tartarus.
I have seen what this pestilence of the wits can do to people: It is a Helter Skelter; a slippery slope, if you will.
People start off a little bit neurotic; they suffer some sort of mental collapse; "recover," relapse, and before you know it, they are essentially a zombified vegetable - like unto a watermelon in appearance - and they are no longer half the man or woman that they used to be.
I have seen it happen time without number. I do not know ANYBODY within my circle of mentally ill friends who have made a full and permanent recovery.
"I have seen 'em come and go and I've seen 'em die; and long ago I stopped asking why."
Johnny Cash, San Quentin.
However, such is not my destiny: I refuse to believe it, I am far too kind, good-natured and talented for that to happen to me. By hook or by crook, I shall find a way out. To this end I have set up this weblog as sort-of like a diary.
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