Now the Drugs Don’t Work

Call me slow on the uptake.  It probably only took a month or two to realise that I’m drowning again, and it feels like I’m almost back at square one, and this time it feels like I haven’t even got the will to try to drag myself out of it, but I will.

Day operated on a tick list level.  Task 1, get out of bed.  Task 2.  Get into bathroom.  Task 3.  Have a shower.  Task 4.  Clean teeth.  Each task accompanied by a feeling of dread, like every nerve is alert to some danger that absolutely isn’t there.  Fuck.

At least it accounts for the relatively, but not overly bonkers behaviour, and the feeling that I am operating in some realm of reality in which nothing is finally real and everything is transparent in some way.  Mostly the belief in the laws of cause and effect are just about keeping me grounded, but I am seeing threat everywhere, and if not threat something I can’t put my finger on.  What is it?  Dread, I think, I am reading dread in everybody’s faces.  Even with those people who seem quite happy.  I don’t know why.

So today I was sitting quietly focusing on my task based tick list day.  I had that feeling that you get just after something has startled you and made you jump, before the relief kicks in, before you laugh, and then get pissed off, because somebody did that to you inadvertently or otherwise, and it felt like the feeling was even affecting my walk, as though I were walking like Boris Karloff, completely stiff legged, and this feeling of not being too sure about what is really real and what isn’t, not that I’m psychotic, just that the deracination of my nerves is making everything jangle, so that even solidity seems relative, and it could be reached through with the right focus-I mean I know that is so much nonsense, but it describes how I feel as though I am floating through the days, like a ghost, ticking off a list of things that should be done, because everybody does them.  But nothing seems too certain.

But, then something clicked.  I suddenly realised, I feel dreadful.  I feel like I am sitting quietly dying.  I can’t think straight.  I am terrified.  I am in a solipsistic bubble creating this unreal world.  I can’t sit very still, and I don’t want to move.  I don’t want to talk to my friends, I don’t want to talk about this, I don’t want to disclose anything, I can’t verbalise how I’m feeling.  It doesn’t matter anyway.  I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m fucked, I’m fucked.  I’m going to end up silent, a wreck, locked into my own labyrinthine blacked-out psyche, a series of doors and corridors, all leading deeper into the interior, thinking I’m moving along, to find light and air, and only finding darkness, door after door, less air, and less light, until eventually all there is to do is grope about, feeling for the door handles, not sure whether you are even moving anymore, let alone in any direction, completely fucking lost.

Then, I realised the medication isn’t working anymore. I have a doctors appointment in a few days.  Just a case of holding on until then.


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