But not necessarily in a good way.
I always have a horrid time in the autumn. I generally have a down at the beginning of autumn. This year nothing has changed. I realised I have a problem with describing depression. I was chatting with my cpn. He pointed out that I only call myself depressed when I am clinically catatonic. Well. What does that mean? That I'm generally depressed all the time apart from when I'm concurrently flying? Probably. And I always go badly up during the winter. So fingers crossed against too badly up. Last year was relatively mild. I gave an unofficial public lecture on Boxing Day to the visitors of Glos Cathedral while covered with lacerations caused by sprinting naked in the dark into barbed wire, and topping it off with writing imprecations to myself all over my body, and was discovered naked in the morning by my mother in law and sons. So, if that's all that happens, I'll be a happy man.
This post probably sounds coherent, but it's about to fragment into a hundred different worries and thoughts.
First, worried about all the people who have vanished off the radar. I hope they are well. But if so, it would be lovely to hear so. And if they're not, I hope they're all safe.
Secondly, La-Reve's jug - it is packed, addressed, and waiting for the strike to end. Ceramics during industrial action and postal service... (I once worked temping in the parcels sorting office - on a good day everyone enjoyed smashing 25% of items to alleviate the boredom - I was only young, and even though I'd just spent three months pretending to be Moses with robe and staff along St Paul's, I found the attitude revolting.) So it will be sent! I'll damn well drive it up myself next month otherwise. Or December, or whenever next month is.
Thirdly. At least I'm taking an interest in all of you who have helped me at times again. I have been in a hole last month. Think moth emerging from cocoon in a roaring fire at present.
Fourthly. I appreciate people getting in contact through various means. I'm just a cack-handed fool sometimes. Technology and me... clueless.
Fifthly. I was taking the long view earlier. Prompted by talking to the Lisp the other day. The 'episode' that they 'caught' me on was not the worst that has happened since, and all of the others have been under their radar. Because I keep them so; my family keeps them so; and my friends keep them so. Because me, my family and my friends are all in accordance that the MH system in this country is a pile of shite. What's that quote? Samuel Goldwyn? "Anyone who goes to a psychiatrist needs their head examining."
Sixthly. I once again distrust my cpn. Nice bloke. Maybe professional. But one day and I hope it isn't my fist and his nose that alerts him, he will have to work out that he can't square that circle. I told him the bare minimum about the Wales weekend in the summer. I WAS NOT IMPRESSED to be asked by some milksop psychiatrist about it. So I told him it was none of his fucking business, due to reasons of professional confidentiality.
Seventhly. That Wales weekend was strangely lovely. I expected a horrible pile of stress. And I imagine everyone else did too. But we all managed somehow or the other to be 'quite' relaxed. More relaxed than many weekends of friends we've had up there. That weekend gave me a pile of faith in all of us. I think it's the others who are the problem. The morons, the unimaginative, the mail-readers, the blinkered old horses, the etc etc etc
I must stop or else I will burst my spleen.
Take care all, Dx
Ready To Rock
1 month ago