I must be an idiot. Everyone else would figure out their predicament and fix it. Not me though. I was going to say "not I" but that sounded just too damn grammatically korrekt so I deliberately typed "not me". You wanted to know this didn't you? Yes, I thought so. That's why you're here...
Why am I here? Fucked if I know. I'm depressed again. There are so many things you can't really talk about in a public blog. Like the conversation I just had with my partner. I can't tell you about that. It wouldn't be right. So already you're outside of the context matrix.
Medication. I'm talking about the mind-altering anti-depressants. I won't take any. I don't trust the doctors and I trust the drug companies even less. Paranoid? Well, that's what one of those bright sparks has diagnosed me as. He might have been right.
I'm sick of life. I don't deserve to live. I don't know what to do with my life - literally. I don't deserve any sympathy or consideration. I'm a waste of space. A waste for resources. A waste of oxygen as they say. I get a veterans pension. That's tax payers' money. I'm not worth it. That money should go to someone who wants to live and is willing to do something with their life. Life is sacred. What a load of shit. There are so many people who die even though they really want to live. If I could give my life to one of them, I gladly would. But whilst it's supposedly my life, I cannot give it away to anyone who could make better use of it.
I've either ditched or alienated every friend I ever had. "I have no need for friendship, friendship causes pain..." (apologies to Simon and Garfunkel) I have no friends now except my partner. She loves me. Do I love her? Yeah, I do. And then, at times like this I think that if I loved her I'd get out of her life. I must be a toxic influence. She doesn't think so. I think I'm a pathetic wanker. But do I do something about that? No.
I've tried years of counselling. It made no difference. You know the old joke: "but you've got to want
to get better." Hahahahahahahahaha... "Helloooooooooo... I'm here because I have depression. Depression often manifests as a feeling of apathy. And you're telling me I must want to get better? Yeah, right!" So shoot me, see if I care... anyway, I gave up the counselling. It was just more of the tax payers' money going down the drain. I already felt guilty enough.
Every now and then some genius loaded up with good intentions suggests I should try Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT). Well, I know all about that stuff. I even delivered something almost identical to that once under a guise I used to call "Personal Effectiveness Training". It works fine if you're not a guy who's given up and is suffering from "failure fatigue". I hover on the edge of suicide like a hang-glider hovers over the edge of a cliff.
But I'm too gutless to actually do it. Oh I have a couple of methods I've decided I'd use but when it comes to hard action, it's all too hard. I came close once though. But I felt that before I did it I had to go and visit my mother's grave because I'd never been there since the day she was buried in 1963. The trouble was it took me two days to ride the motorbike down to where she was buried and after I had a cathartic "conversation" with her at the graveside I went back to the motel and got out the plastic bag and the adhesive tape. I wrote the suicide note and the instructions for the police. I put a chair close to the door (so you would see it as soon as you opened the door) with a sign with large letters which said "KEEP OUT - SUICIDE" so that the hapless motel person checking the room would be spared the trauma. Then I tried to get up the courage to do the final deed, but I could not. Once again I was a failure. I never felt so lonely and lost in all my life. I went and got a bottle of bourbon, cried lots of tears of self-pity and drank myself into a stupor till I fell asleep. Next morning I checked out and rode back home. My partner had believed the lie I had told her before I went, namely that I had to get away for a few days to clear my head. About a week later I told her the truth. Some might argue that I should never have told her. I don't know. Whatever I do, it's always wrong. Pathetic, aren't I?
Shrinks. I should go to them? Did you know that shrinks have one of the highest suicide rates? Even higher than fucked-in-the-head veterans? And they're going to help me? Yeah, right! Not once have I found a counsellor who I thought really understood anything I was telling them. They have no idea what it's like. None. Zero. Zip.
And the thing with feeling suicidal is that you can't really tell anyone because of the law. If you tell someone that you want to kill yourself, the authorites can lock you up in a psych ward against your will and do whatever they want with you. Once they've committed you "for your own protection" you lose all rights to refuse treatment. You have no say in what medication or treatment you will be subjected to. So they can use you as a guinea pig for whatever treatment they're experimenting with that week.
Read some books on this topic. There are heaps of them. Horror stories. There are people who were admitted under such conditions and never got let out again for years. Time and again the facts emerge that most of the symptoms for which they were kept in there were in fact caused by the side effects of the drug cocktails (or other "treatments") the psychopaths running such institutions were subjecting them to, and that the original depressive episode may well have run its course in a matter of days or weeks had those bastards not administered their "treatment".
Some years ago I was told by an acquaintance who works as a nurse in one of those institutions that no-one is subjected to electro-convulsive therapy (ECT) anymore. She assured me emphatically that I was wrong in my belief that they did. Well, some months later I read that it was still widely practiced and since then this has been reiterated in the media regularly. So who can you trust when even those within the profession blatantly bullshit unblinkingly to your face? I have since realised that she is a dope-dependent psychopath who despises mentally ill people. And she works with them. Her husband, who is a shrink, once told me that he only does it for the money (if he was joking, he didn't let on). And the system is not geared to detect the likes of them, be they nurses or shrinks. Be afraid. Be very afraid. The psychopaths are running the asylum.
I've got shitloads of stuff I could rant about, but for now I've said enough. It's 1.20am and I'm feeling sleepy enough to try going to bed now.