Friday 27 January 2012

I had 5 minutes today where I tried to feel good

Or look like it at least...it was an awkward and crappy 5 minutes.

I don't know if it is the meds, the psychiatric ward trauma or something else. Perhaps it is a lack of my favourite recreational drugs which means there's little pleasure at all.

I was given an extra day in the recovery house I'm staying in. I'm no longer a detained psychiatric prisoner. I managed to get access to the internet on a computer to send off a form for a little money, something I've been trying to do for a month. No pleasure there.

Ciggies don't make me happy. Booze doesn't feel like it used to. There's no cannabis in my life. I'm not self medicating any more but the self medication was way better than I feel right now.

I don't know if I'm going through anhedonia. I don't know if this is depression or the negative symptoms of schizophrenia. I don't know if this is ptsd or burnout caused by the stress of the psychiatric ward, a place I describe as my personal hell because detention is punishment. It could just be the medication but I'm on a low dose and still I feel like shit.

Every day I've prayed for death...actually all but one and that day I think I just collapsed asleep...this year. I am dead inside and flat and tired in ways I can't describe with words. My life is shit and has been for too long and too deep shitness.

At least I can sleep.

Sent from my smartphone

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About Me

We It comes in part from an appreciation that no one can truly sign their own work. Everything is many influences coming together to the one moment where a work exists. The other is a begrudging acceptance that my work was never my own. There is another consciousness or non-corporeal entity that helps and harms me in everything I do. I am not I because of this force or entity. I am "we"