Zoloft me

I have been prescribed 50mg Zoloft per day.

I didn't want to do this, but have no choice. So here goes, I'll let you know the results...

choose life (rejecting the darkness)

I am the darkchylde.

This is my baseline personality. 18 months ago, when the carousel of confusion had only just commenced, and my mental fluctuations seemed addictive and thrilling, I wrote out 7 names that corresponded to the discrete moods I perceived. Blitz I remember, a sort of functional manic. dc is me, I think, at least its me now and I'm not trying to deconstruct the universe too much or situate myself as a messianic figure, which is about as normal as I get.

The darkness was at the bottom of the list, the name I give to the depression that beckons me into the void. Think of it as a symbiont life-form; parasitically feeding on my energy and emotions, draining me of life. It has held sway since late last year, around Christmas, and I have borne the consequences.

As per my last post, I have had intense, chronic headaches for the past 10 days. I had a CT scan today, that and the blood test I had on Friday both came up fine, no problems. Which is good news but also means we are no nearer to assigning a cause. So they fall into that catch-all category: 'stress'.

However, there has been one (and only one) positive side-effect to these headaches. I have been in too much pain to be depressed. A week ago, when the Panadeine Forte still worked and the codeine high wore off: in the absence of pain I was depressed. However, when the headaches returned, as far as I was able, I could think unhindered (except for pain).

Reasoning thus, I deduced:

'it is impossible, that anyone in my tenuous mental state, can - with any certainty - evaluate the rationale and basis for existence. However, given the untrustworthiness of my mind at any given time, it is impossible for me, with any degree of comfort and assurance, to trust my gauge of the meaning of existence at any point. Therefore, termination of my life, or cessation of effort into same, will be guaranteed to occur before all the relevant facts are known or taken into account. That all facts cannot be known is not pertinent, as it is entirely possible that some relevant facts can be discerned which bear upon this matter. Furthermore, regardless of any illusions, all of us, sharing a common humanity, are in the same sorry situation. Therefore, my assessment, is no more or less reliable than anyone elses. Therefore, uncertainty, can be, and henceforth will be, my guiding principle. Thus, I choose LIFE'

And that, is the rudimentary metaphysics for my experiences of the past 10 days. That although I have been in unending, unyielding pain, it is entirely preferable to the nothingness of an existence where the darkness reigns.



So, the darkchylde rejects the darkness and steps into the light...

...however, I think it appropriate that the prosecution be allowed one final chance to state their case. Like Satan accusing the high priest Zechariah before the throne of God, they may state the futility of man's existence. On this occasion, making use of a classic movie moment, the epilogue to Trainspotting:



TRAINSPOTTING (John Hodge)

"Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars,
compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good
health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed
interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your
friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a
three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing
game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose
rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable
home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up
brats you spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future.

Choose life."


...

I am dc, and this is NOT the darkness talking

a boat called pain on a sea of tears

Incessant, unabated, enduring. Any combination of adjectives fails to convey the breadth and depth of the pain I am experiencing. If I had the courage to bang my head against a wall, perhaps I would knock myself out long enough to have some respite from this encompassing pain.

For 10 days now I have experienced near-constant pain in my head. I have seen two doctors, a homeopath, and an optometrist. I am currently taking two pain-killers, and a dozen homeopathic remedies. Nothing seems to be working. The pain-killers work for about a day each and then stop. A migraine abortive did nothing, acupuncture worked for about 2 minutes. I have had my eye-brain function tested (it's in the normal range), had a blood test on Friday (results tomorrow) and a CT scan booked for Monday morning.

I don't care what the problem is, I just want the pain to end. I am managing about 5-6 hours sleep per night, having trouble falling asleep and waking every few hours.

I find it fascinating, that a language as rich and diverse as English, with a seemingly endless supply of synonyms, and the only accurate descriptor for pain, is... pain.

resigned

How crazy do you have to be to be this sane?

I am sitting here soberly, rationally contemplating my own demise.

At least there is no immediate danger, due to my detesting of pain and thus the need to ensure a painless and assured means of dispatch.

It would probably be better if I was kicking and screaming about this, sweating, panicked, as I have been many times before. Now I am just resolved. Tidy up my affairs, ensure all necessary coverages have been placed in effect and then...

resolution

I am going through it; why am I still here?

I have been so suicidal the past 1 month, I will either get counselling, get on some meds that will mess me up with all sorts of side-effects and still not likely get me to a point where I am functional or I will be dead.

We shall see.

LtU&E (Life the Universe & Everything)

Hey,

before getting into this, as far as modern music, there is Pink Floyd, then there is everybody else. I even have them as a separate genre on my iTunes: Floyd.

So.... I am on the edge; I am neither down nor up, just spiralling into the abyss. Darkness is at its core, and I so want to embrace it. This is not a deathwish, more a desire for oblivion, so that this endless cycle will cease. I am so sick of the constant treadmill; up. down. forward. back.

You know what really annoys me? People who preface a phrase with, I'm not going to lie to you. That means that the next thing you tell me, or else the last thing you said to me, will be/was a lie. If you weren't going to lie to me, you would just say what you have to say. Also, in all honesty. Really, do your words need to be effaced with these meaningless supporting struts?

I have left, I have gone back, I have left again. Now I feel sanity leaving me. My brain feels like it is being crushed in a vice. Thought is a struggle. This could get messy.

From the varied reading I am doing, I think many bipolar suicides are a result, not of depression, but rather the realisation that this will not end. The up/down cycle, regardless of medication, will continue...

At some point, this hits home. That is isn't going to get better, that there is no rainbow, that no matter how acutely fabulous you feel, this too shall pass. That the darkness will recede, if you but give it time. And then, you, you will be left to pick up the pieces. The fractured relationships, the so, so innocent tears, the miscomprehension. All is laid waste, and at the end, there I stand, in the eye of the storm, to survey the damage I have inflicted.

dc

depressed again

the night /
stare into the void /
spectres behind /
the ghosts of righteous roads forsaken /
empty

MASKS

Broke as usual.

I look like a millionaire, but don't even have loose change in my pocket. Of course I DO have about $3k+ sunk into this workstation. $5k into a business wardrobe and another few k into various items of portable tech.

But if tomorrow wasn't payday, I'd be struggling to fill up the tank.

It all seems like a game, sometimes I just throw my hands up and say "in 80 years we'll all be dead [or wish we were - probably sooner in my case, either way], so what's it matter?" Unfortunately, when I'm not in the deep throes of depression or on a wave of serotonin induced ebullience; it is all too real.

I pay the price for:
a) the years I spent studying while subsisting on government subsidy for students while supporting wife & child
b) the years I spent on a low income after study while attempting to build a career (also with aforementioned dependents)
c) the debts incurred to pay for essentials like food, fuel & insurance.

So now I am on a somewhat elevated income, the majority of my fortnightly salary goes on debt, while the rest barely covers utilities and my wife's medical costs.

Which has me strangely thinking (for it is the only way I think), about the masks and personas we adopt in life. The rebel, the punk, the businessman, the mother hen, the ladies man, the virgin, the whore. While they can seem affected, like playacting, the way blackness can sometimes almost seem a cultural motif (the tattoos, the jewellery etc); as opposed to a series of gestures emphasising solidarity with ones own oppressed people.

For instance, here, now, online, I am in the guise of the DarkChylde; pondering the nature of my life and seeking beauty despite the absence of joy, hoping for light where all is dark. Yet my other persona is that of the man who dons a suit each morning and heads into the office. The two are linked, yet different, a difference most apparent in the physical visibility (something I am extremely uncomfortable with) of my day-to-day being.

In this physical world I project a serene confidence, a certain unflappability and emotional stability. Yet like the proverbial duck paddling, underneath I am running the gamut of human emotion, joking and laughing with my co-workers, all the while thinking about how best to hang myself from an exposed electrical installation. That is probably why I enjoy stories so much; all stories are at heart about the other. In descending into narrative, I find an escape, in the literary donning of anothers garb to walk undetected I am allowed to experience the emotional exposure I forgo each day (for the sake of a salary and an externally untroubled existence; debts aside).

merely a whispered screaming in the darkness I guess...