Solace For The Solitary

This is the last time I will post in this journal, except I may at some point make some of my private entries from last year public. At the moment they are just for me, but I hope one day to be able to share everything.


Some say I am a bad person.

Some say I will go to hell.

But today I realised they are wrong. I am not going to hell. This is hell. Hell is here, and I am living it. Nothing and no one can touch me now. There is no hell compared to the hell in my mind. All the fire and brimstone you can threaten me with, I do not fear it. I fear nothing - because I fear everything, and I feel everything. There is no hate and no sorrow that I do not know. Fear me, because you cannot hurt me. You cannot hurt me now.

To all those I loved and all those who looked back in indifference, there is no meaning now. Every word, every glance, fades so small. You are everything and you are nothing. That will never change.

To the ones who tried, and it was not worth it, there is no apology now. There is no erasing the past but maybe if we try we can erase the future and maybe even the hear and now.

To the ones who never even saw at all, there is no freedom now. I will leave this torture but never will you.


This journal kept me alive the past two years. No more. I cannot cling to what I do not know anymore, even when I know it better than ever. To anyone who is reading, this is not a suicide note. I'm a rational person, it's one of my biggest faults, and my rational side knows that these sound like my last words. And they are - but only here.



To finish, I will remind you all of the art of the tarot: You know, if you pick Death... it does not mean death.

It means change.

:(



I didn't go back to college.

I have a new psychiatrist... but he was only temporary so next time I go it will be to see ANOTHER new one... gah.

We bought a rabbit and he is my BFF (Best Furry Friend) hehe.

And now we are broke.



What I said, about married life being weird? So true.

Okay, I'm actually giving up alcohol. Honestly. I need to give my liver a break.

I drank until I was sick on Saturday night. Copiously, copiously sick. Jonas looked after me until we finally fell asleep at about 5 or 6 in the morning, and gave me our nicest bowl to spew into. I shall never eat from it again! :(

We reckon that this time I had about 15 units, or at least that's how much I drank, how much I actually processed is less apparent. But I haven't drunk since - the sight and smell of alcohol makes me kinda queasy, which is probably a good thing.

I'll go back to being wholesome for a while now.


Ahh man, the newsreader just said the headline in one of the newspapers tomorrow is going to be about how British teenagers are more likely to binge drink. Oh, it's shameful, I'm shameful.



Heroes was on tonight (Go BBC2 for buying it - no intervals!) and I like it a lot so far, and I've heard that the first few episodes are not the best, so fingers crossed it'll get even better.

Going now, to not drink.

Okay! So. Stuff. Happening.

We got married on saturday; 07/07/07, which is now apparently the most booked wedding day in history (we don't mention that fur-wearing bint from Desperate Housewives) because it's supposed to be lucky. I think it really was a lucky day - the weather was perfect, the ceremony was perfect (and I managed not to cry! Yay!), my clothes and flowers and our matching shoes and RINGS were perfect, the champagne and meals out we had were perfect... and then it gets a bit too x-rated for this page :D

We also found out on tuesday that our photos are perfect! I will post my favourites when we have the nice quality ones on a CD.

www.katejacksonphoto.co.uk

So in a way everything is the same but also completely different. But we don't, you know, suddenly hate each other or anything like that. It's nice.

And I'm going back to college in september, and repeating a year - so everyone will be EVEN YOUNGER and it will be EVEN WEIRDER that I'm, like, hitched lolz. But I don't even care. I know half the people are going to be freaked out and the other half, mostly girls, are going to be all like OMG HOW TOTALLY ROMANTIC AND CAN WE SEE YOUR RIIIIING?!?!? I'm pretty sure I can deal.


In other news I was very drunk last night. I had a whole bottle of wine, (tee)totalling (well not really. Sorry, bad jokes are a side effect of being married apparently) 9.4 UK units and considering the recommended daily limit for women is 3, I was a bit fucked up. I was sat on a bean bag talking to my mum, which was fine, but then when we hung up I stood up - which was not really fine. We had music on and Jonas's gauge for my drunkenness was how bad my singing was :P Let's just say it took a good few hours for my singing to become bearable. I could literally feel myself forgetting the moments - like when you wake up from a vivid dream and almost immediately you can feel the memory of it slipping out of your mental grasp. The wine was getting nicer the more I drank, but then started to turn nasty, which I think was probably my body's way of telling me to stop. It was a Kumala Western Cape 2006 Rose, which according to their website is a mixture of Pinotage, Merlot, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes - and overall very creamy and interestingly different.

It was a strange but fun experience. I will repeat it sometime.

And then I woke up really early this morning.


Married life is weird.

WE HAVE INTERNETS!

WE ARE SAVED!!!

It's better than that Bring Back Isaiah Washington petition I saw. Go!

I do have an excuse this time.

No, really.

See it takes like three weeks for the internet (and phone) to be connected so for a while we have been cut off from the series of tubes that I hold so dear. In fact we still are - right now we are in Amsterdam and using Jonas's family's internet. So you see, you have to forgive me. Maybe.

Our flat is nice now. I would invite everyone round for a party, but I hate parties.

:)

I had something cool and ranty that I was going to write about, like the other day. But I forgot what it was.

Instead I feel like writing about this pet peeve I have. Had. Probably have, but nobody's tested it recently.

I absolutely abhor it when I have my nose in a book and someone asks what I'm reading. I tolerate it if close friends do this, but anyone else feels the full force of my wrath. I mean, that's just it; I'm reading. I do it, or at least I did it, not just to enjoy a good book, but to escape, and get away from the terrible people with which this world is filled. And hey, if you really want to know, go ahead and peer at the cover. I would vastly prefer that.

Ugh. Dirt would be another one. So, the world is an upsetting place today.

I'm not going to discuss how I'm feeling today; mainly because I don't know.


I meant to write about this back in February. I'm doing it now so I can throw away the magazine.

That tool Piers Morgan has a column at the back of one of the magazines that comes with the Sunday paper my mum buys. And on February the 8th, he wrote the following:

"Lunch with... David Miliband...
'I'm appearing on Question Time tonight,' the Environment Secretary said as the main course arrived. 'And the turkey scandal is bound to dominate it, which could be tricky.'
'Why are you worried about that?' I asked. 'I think you've handled it pretty well.'
'Ordering the murder of 160,000 turkeys is never as massive crowd-pleaser, is it?' he said."

First and foremost, for those who don't know, the turkey scandal in question was a scare at the Bernard Matthews factory, where some of the turkeys had avian flu, and every resident of the barn in which said turkeys were kept had to be killed.

Secondly, what annoyed me beyond belief about that comment, comments made by the general public (e.g. "Oh, those poor turkeys!" and similar) and the whole situation in general - just a question: What exactly did everyone think was going to happen to the turkeys anyway? Answer: They were all going to be slaughtered on a massive scale, and their flu-ridden carcasses were going to be packaged and sent out to supermarkets where they would eventually end up on your plates and in your childrens' sandwiches, and finally would rot in your colon. Don't even get me started on the fact that, considering the kind of conditions I think it is safe to assume they were kept in, they are probably all better off dead as it is. I would say that I hope they are all happy in turkey heaven, but I'd be (metaphorically this time) slaughtered by all those who claim vegetarians are just too sentimental about animals. You know, the fear of anthropomorphism and so on.

It's people like that who make me glad to be vegetarian. Them and the type like the rude, rude person who wrote to (fashion, mostly) journalist Liz Jones following her split from her husband, and told her, as one of a list of "Ten Rules" not only that cats were "Vermin" but that she should "Eat meat: animals taste good for a reason."

I hope that that bundle of joy of a person rots away from their own inner guilt. I allow myself a giggle at that thought. And the kind and respectful of you all, meat-eating or not, should too.

I reached a bit of a peak last night, and now I'm down. Just a little. And weird... I feel out of it, like I'm floating off somewhere else; I hope it's someplace nice.

It's annoyng when torrents don't work.

Life is a tightrope. And it has but one rule: The rope never changes. Not the width, or strength, or taughtness. None of that changes. But most everything else can. People start off fatter, or wider, or with less natural balance. There will always be some, you'll know the types, who have great balance, are light, have a low centre of gravity, and make the journey across without ever tripping or wobbling. And then there's the rest of us. You might have excess baggage to carry (I thought it would be nice to bring in other metaphors!). You might be tied to something or someone else, and be getting pulled out in one direction, or more. You might be like me: Upside down and fucking hanging on like hell.

How easy is it to let go?

Am I just wearing the wrong shoes?

It's really windy at the moment too.

I've been feeling a little better these past couple of days; the moments of relief are few but sweet, and well worth the wait.

I'm packing. I really should be revising, but I suppose this is important too. It's strange because in a way it doesn't change anything - I calm as I see things going into boxes, but then it seems like more things appear, and I panic again! Oh well, it'll all be irrelevent in a few days. Did I spell that right? (No, that's a worry for the old me).

On that note: I don't want to be smart anymore. I don't care. Maybe I will be a consumer journalist... it doesn't seem like you have to be bright to slap some product on your face and write about it. No offence to consumer journalists or anything. See, I'm thinking about jobs I could do from home, at least primarily, and journalism struck me as a viable option. I write to much anyway, why not get payed for it? Trouble is of course, I have few qualifications, even less experience and no idea of how to go about getting a job. But I feel guilty that all the pressure is on Jonas to make a living for us both, when he's only just getting free of school, it doesn't seem fair on him. So, consumer journalism it shall have to be. Or perhaps I can become an agony aunt, and focus on other peoples' problems instead of my own, for once.

Or maybe I can't do it at all. I suppose I have to be patient and see how it pans out.

*screws up nose* Doesn't sound like me at all.

So now I'm actually seeing another new person who is not a doctor, and that may be a good thing. A bit refreshing. Decent therapy; maybe I won't need ebay anymore.

I have some hope, but really I just miss Su. Maybe I will email her sometime.

I made myself a daily routine, that will be more relevant when Jonas is here permanently (see, you knew it wouldn't be long until I mentioned Jonas, eh eh?). He is coming on the 31st of this month and we are oving in to our own flat! A little ray of sunshine in my dreary world. I will post pictures when we move. Dammit. My M key is being weird and... pressy.

See, I know these three entries could have been one, but really I was always like that.

I'm going now, before the flow of creativity becomes to much for me.

What? I don't have anything to say. This is Brockwood all over again. Sitting at the computer all day tap tap tippity tap tap. Happy Feet. Heh.

How can I care so much and be so completely apathetic at the same time? It's so stupid. And I don't care. But I do. Am I bipolar now?


Risperidone: 0.5 mg
Mirtazapine: 15 mg

I started seeing this new psychiatrist this year (nb: for all those not interested, I made all the private entries before new year. I'll sort them some time) and yeah, he may be just as useless as the rest of them. At least he is not Dr.S and doesn't go on about how I should realise I am a very attractive young woman. No, this is Dr.K, who goes on about not much at all really.

So am I bipolar? Could be. Dr.K says something new each week. We have had: Depression (of course); Psychotic Depression (teaching an old dog new tricks really); Social Anxiety; Anxiety Disorder (different, apparently); Panic Disorder (different again! my) and OCD. And they were never heard from again.

I don't really want a diagnosis. Does it help to have one? I don't really care. Haha, those words again. Maybe I have Apathetic Caring Disorder. Maybe I have Making Up Disorders Disorder. Maybe I don't have anything at all. Maybe it makes no difference in helping me.

I have all the symptoms, of everything. I bet anyone reading five bucks that next time it'll be Borderline.


I'm gonna keep writing here, even though I am a place in time where I have nothing to say. Maybe I'll just SWEAR!

Is it a sign of things going wrong if I write in here?

Things are certainly going wrong. All those years that I was depressed and miserable and all emo and wanting to die, I seriously thought that that was rock bottom. I thought that was it.

How stupid can you be.

I'm afraid of everything, including not being able to make it through this. If I know anything I know I can't go on forever in this state. Every second I can feel the cold tendrils of panic rising from my stomach and tightening around my throat, and I can't, I can't breathe. There's no way I can live like this. I think sometimes I want to end it, I want to kill myself; but this isn't me, and it isn't me I want to kill. I want to kill it, rip it from my throat and maybe then it would be gone. It's scary. Nobody ever tells you that the scariest thing is being scared.


Really I'm just praying that the medication will work, provide some kind of relief. Yes, I will put up with all kinds of ridiculous side effects if it means this will stop. It has to stop.


I took two of my general studies papers. I will take my maths papers if it kills me. Haha.

And I will go out. I will. Hey, it may just kill me.

The headphone socket isn't working properly.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes.

The rest of the time, I either can't hear anything, or even if there are headphones plugged in the sound still comes through the computer's inbuilt speaker (seemingly regardless of whether or not the sound can also be heard through the aforementioned headphones). Also, the sound tends to cut out/go weird in one way or another if I lean on the side where the socket and in built speaker are. Which I do a lot when I type.

I can't afford to pay someone to fix this :P Shit.

Coursework it is then.

I feel like I'm going downhill now.

You see, it is not strictly true to say I haven't posted on here for months. I have made many private posts for myself, which I may or may not make public - we'll see.

But this says public. And it's very strange. Flexing my hands and flexing my brain feels strange. I feel strange.

But here, just another coping method. I miss something. I don't know. I just have to try.

Bye.

I'm clean.

My room is tidy (enough).

I have nothing important to do.



Except go to school on Monday :/



Oh well, at least I get to wear my new shoes.

"Experiments with stoned rats suggest that cannabis use reduces the amount of corticotrophin-releasing factor (CRF) in the amygdala."

Jesus. Just smoke it yourselves, how difficult can it be?





I'm still a mess.

Fuck.

I know it's bad when I get to my third entry of the day.



I'm terrified.

That I can't do this.
Or at least, not without picking up a razor.







Perhaps I shall turn to religion.


:(