What do I want? To be with my lover who
has declared herself not my lover. Oh it hurts, my gods it hurts,
because all I want to do I is make things right, The bodies age, and
the minds age too. But what are we to do? It seems senseless to give
up at this time. A year of shit and pain, events outside our ken.
Just dreadful in every sense. Suicide. Death. Two family members. It
has broken us I think. I am still trying, but it seems so futile.
Never such love and innocence again.
My black dog. Or as I prefer, my black
beast. Psychiatrists and community psychiatric nurses tend to ask
very banal questions, such as: “Can you identify your trigger
points?” Well, the short answer is no. When the real and deadly fit
comes upon me, it is always without warning, often with no
aggravating circumstances. It is as if a black cloud exhales from my
being – a me – not me – that solidifies and ossifies like a black
beast that encases me. The real me shrinks to the size of a guttering
night-light flame. The black beast has all the power, and the glimmer
of me can do nothing but protest in a tiny voice.
Thankfully this has only taken me over
fully twice in my life, in 2007 and 2008. It has partially tried a
handful of times since, but I am canny. Last Thursday it turned up
big-time. The black beast cares not for the consequences of your
children findng you hanging or stabbed through the heart.
I took every variety of pill I had, and
for the first time I called the Samaritans. She was wonderful. And so
many friends have reached out and sent their love on facebook, so I
suppose that spying, advertising, watching, habit-logger has some
Things improved gradually over the next
few days. I'm still in a hole. But I'm not drowning. And the
Samaritans got £20.
And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep; and if I weep, 'Tis that our nature cannot always bring Itself to apathy, which we must steep First in the icy depths of Lethe's spring Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep; Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx; A mortal mother would on Lethe fix.
~ George Gordon Noel Byron ~ Don Juan, Canto IV, 4.
It is thus that the few rare lucid well-disposed people who have had to struggle on the earth find themselves at certain hours of the day or night in the depth of certain authentic and waking nightmare states, surrounded by the formidable suction, the formidable tentacular oppression of a kind of civic magic which will soon be seen appearing openly in social behavior. - Antonin Artaud