[I'm coming back to this the day after I wrote it in order to place a little perspective om the original post.]
I wonder if I shouldn't refer in part to week seven but I'll stick with week eight for the time being.
I'm tired as I write this and my hands are clumsy. I took three Klonopin tablets and two sub-lingual Zyprexa tablets last night. I think I may be hung over from that experience. I wanted to be numb. Excluded from reality. I've done this before with excellent results. The first time I took two Klonopins, one Zyprexa and one Valium. I excluded the Valium last night I that's why I don't think my results were as satisfactory.
I took a Klonopin just a few minutes ago. Hopefully it will calm me down. I am full of inchoate anger and depression about my life. I want to be numb again. I might do this anyway. I can't stand being me right now.
My life has become meaningless. I do nothing that I can hold forth as an achievement. I watch television and listen to music. I am currently listening to a mix of songs I put together yesterday. At least I am able to do that but what accomplishment is this in the larger scheme of things? The simple fact remains that my life has no purpose.
[Actually, my life has purpose. I am here to be with my loved ones who care so very much for me. My lack of perspective about this is selfish to an extent. But it is difficult to remember at times.]
It's been a long time since I have felt suicidal. I feel it now. A simple cut to the wrists underwater and all the hopelessness and lack of meaning slowly ebb out of me. Some will mourn over my passing, at least until my possessions become the subject of probate. A fitting end. Nothing to look forward to even after my death. But I guess it won't matter once I am gone.
[I'm not suicidal. I just feel that way when despair and hopelessness overwhelm me. But I am no where near to acting upon it. The blatant entry above scared my poor wife who reacted first with anger born of worry and confusion. In desperation she called my brother and her daughter. My brother was typically unreachable. But I did speak with Lila for almost an hour and that helped straighten out my head.]
The music is beginning to form images in my mind when I close my eyes. I see it evolve into patterns as it unfolds. It does not call to me. Yet. I hate what the Geodon has done to me. It has robbed me of the one escape that I had left. Now I must rely upon prescription drugs and their limitations. No more bipolar mania and no more psychotic episodes to take me away from this horrible existence. Granted the psychotic incidents involve blood. But it's trivial compared to the release they provide from this reality. It's a dream and I wake up from it refreshed and ready to face life again.
[I take my medication insofar as I can as it is prescribed.] I would be deceiving the reader if I did not admit to the feelings expressed above but my intellectual side keeps me aware of the necessity of taking my psychiatric drugs. The last thing I need now is to end up in 72-hour observation at a psychiatric facility on a 5150. This part of my diary shocked, dismayed and created a sense of panic for my poor wife. I need to mix my feelings in with intellectual awareness so as to soften the blow and place them in perspective.]
I'm full of anger tonight. At first the Interferon injection on Sundays left me psychologically vulnerable on Mondays after which I became lucid again. This has spilled over into my life in general. I am constantly fatigued and irritable. I am lost in a sea of imperceptible emotions which can make me angry or cry or otherwise loose control of myself. Perhaps that's why I seek to become numb psychologically. To escape this dreadful mixture of emotions.
I don't know what to do. Perhaps I'll abuse Percacet tonight. It's another escape and less prone to removing all emotions altogether. I would rather be high from a narcotic. I have marijuana but I've become strangely paranoid about using it. I'm afraid my wife will do something to freak me out. I need to be left completely alone when I am smoking dope.
[As it happens I took two Percacets much to the dismay of my wife. She screamed to remind me that one of the items in my Hepatitis C Treatment Contract was to listen to others and that I was disobeying this. She was right of course. But the desire to escape was so overwhelming in me that I did so anyway.
I feel trapped. I have no where to release my despair. I have o place to escape to psychologically. Sure, it's easy for others to say that I should live with this while they enjoy the befits of escape of alcohol or marijuana. Bu what's my outlet. I have none. And this makes me angry. There is a tone of hypocrisy -do as I say but not as I do.
I think I may return to using marijuana despite everybody's protestations. A least is safer that Percacet. And it doesn't turn me into a zombie like the combination of Klonopin, Valium and Zyprexa do. I don't want to feel nothing. I just want to feel something good.]
She's still awake at this time, 9:00PM. I love her but I wish she would go to sleep. That way I could avoid the hassle or guilt or whatever I get from her when I take psychoactive drugs. I love her but she doesn't understand what I am going through. Hell, nobody does. Not even my psychotherapist.
Speaking of which I slept so long this morning I had to cancel my appointment with her. That's going to cause unnecessary expense. I need to talk her more about these feelings that are take over my waking consciousness. I am reaching the point now where everything everyone says to me has a "double meaning." My paranoia is rising. I find it harder, almost impossible, to trust anyone anymore. Another reason to escape reality.
The music is talking to me now. But it's not telling me to do anything. The latter is a warning sign of psychosis. But will I recognize it when it happens? I doubt it. The time will come when I will exhume a razor blade and reach the magic point where I say to myself, "I ca do this." That's when I enter the dream state. But by that point the music has a hold on me.
It's the just a matter of time. I can feel it rising in me.
[My wife reacted with (as mentioned before) with anger and worry about this diary entry. She demanded to know what was going on with me. I was abashed at her outburst. I had expected calm sympathy and talking on he sofa. Instead I got a violent burst of energy directed at me. She threatened to call my brother and her dughter which she did. As I mentioned, my brother was unavailable. But her daughter was able to talk me through the worst of my feelings of loneliness and despair. I felt much better after having spoken to her.
My wife had turned the music off completely after having read the part about hearing it talk to me. I think she may have interpreted my remarks above as a stepping stone to psychosis. It wasn't. Music always talks to me. The problem happens when music begins to tell me what to do. This is the warning sign for psychosis. Not my particular love of music. In any event, I do not intend to stop listening to music just because my wife turned it off in a panic.
Looking back on the diary entry I realize that it was too much of a stream-of-consciousness experience. I need soften these entries with intellectual intertwining so as to put the "rougher" parts into perspective. Otherwise I will scare those around me who do not understand that there is always an intellectual current flowing beneath the spewing of emotion that characterized my entry above.]
I wonder if I shouldn't refer in part to week seven but I'll stick with week eight for the time being.
I'm tired as I write this and my hands are clumsy. I took three Klonopin tablets and two sub-lingual Zyprexa tablets last night. I think I may be hung over from that experience. I wanted to be numb. Excluded from reality. I've done this before with excellent results. The first time I took two Klonopins, one Zyprexa and one Valium. I excluded the Valium last night I that's why I don't think my results were as satisfactory.
I took a Klonopin just a few minutes ago. Hopefully it will calm me down. I am full of inchoate anger and depression about my life. I want to be numb again. I might do this anyway. I can't stand being me right now.
My life has become meaningless. I do nothing that I can hold forth as an achievement. I watch television and listen to music. I am currently listening to a mix of songs I put together yesterday. At least I am able to do that but what accomplishment is this in the larger scheme of things? The simple fact remains that my life has no purpose.
[Actually, my life has purpose. I am here to be with my loved ones who care so very much for me. My lack of perspective about this is selfish to an extent. But it is difficult to remember at times.]
It's been a long time since I have felt suicidal. I feel it now. A simple cut to the wrists underwater and all the hopelessness and lack of meaning slowly ebb out of me. Some will mourn over my passing, at least until my possessions become the subject of probate. A fitting end. Nothing to look forward to even after my death. But I guess it won't matter once I am gone.
[I'm not suicidal. I just feel that way when despair and hopelessness overwhelm me. But I am no where near to acting upon it. The blatant entry above scared my poor wife who reacted first with anger born of worry and confusion. In desperation she called my brother and her daughter. My brother was typically unreachable. But I did speak with Lila for almost an hour and that helped straighten out my head.]
The music is beginning to form images in my mind when I close my eyes. I see it evolve into patterns as it unfolds. It does not call to me. Yet. I hate what the Geodon has done to me. It has robbed me of the one escape that I had left. Now I must rely upon prescription drugs and their limitations. No more bipolar mania and no more psychotic episodes to take me away from this horrible existence. Granted the psychotic incidents involve blood. But it's trivial compared to the release they provide from this reality. It's a dream and I wake up from it refreshed and ready to face life again.
[I take my medication insofar as I can as it is prescribed.] I would be deceiving the reader if I did not admit to the feelings expressed above but my intellectual side keeps me aware of the necessity of taking my psychiatric drugs. The last thing I need now is to end up in 72-hour observation at a psychiatric facility on a 5150. This part of my diary shocked, dismayed and created a sense of panic for my poor wife. I need to mix my feelings in with intellectual awareness so as to soften the blow and place them in perspective.]
I'm full of anger tonight. At first the Interferon injection on Sundays left me psychologically vulnerable on Mondays after which I became lucid again. This has spilled over into my life in general. I am constantly fatigued and irritable. I am lost in a sea of imperceptible emotions which can make me angry or cry or otherwise loose control of myself. Perhaps that's why I seek to become numb psychologically. To escape this dreadful mixture of emotions.
I don't know what to do. Perhaps I'll abuse Percacet tonight. It's another escape and less prone to removing all emotions altogether. I would rather be high from a narcotic. I have marijuana but I've become strangely paranoid about using it. I'm afraid my wife will do something to freak me out. I need to be left completely alone when I am smoking dope.
[As it happens I took two Percacets much to the dismay of my wife. She screamed to remind me that one of the items in my Hepatitis C Treatment Contract was to listen to others and that I was disobeying this. She was right of course. But the desire to escape was so overwhelming in me that I did so anyway.
I feel trapped. I have no where to release my despair. I have o place to escape to psychologically. Sure, it's easy for others to say that I should live with this while they enjoy the befits of escape of alcohol or marijuana. Bu what's my outlet. I have none. And this makes me angry. There is a tone of hypocrisy -do as I say but not as I do.
I think I may return to using marijuana despite everybody's protestations. A least is safer that Percacet. And it doesn't turn me into a zombie like the combination of Klonopin, Valium and Zyprexa do. I don't want to feel nothing. I just want to feel something good.]
She's still awake at this time, 9:00PM. I love her but I wish she would go to sleep. That way I could avoid the hassle or guilt or whatever I get from her when I take psychoactive drugs. I love her but she doesn't understand what I am going through. Hell, nobody does. Not even my psychotherapist.
Speaking of which I slept so long this morning I had to cancel my appointment with her. That's going to cause unnecessary expense. I need to talk her more about these feelings that are take over my waking consciousness. I am reaching the point now where everything everyone says to me has a "double meaning." My paranoia is rising. I find it harder, almost impossible, to trust anyone anymore. Another reason to escape reality.
The music is talking to me now. But it's not telling me to do anything. The latter is a warning sign of psychosis. But will I recognize it when it happens? I doubt it. The time will come when I will exhume a razor blade and reach the magic point where I say to myself, "I ca do this." That's when I enter the dream state. But by that point the music has a hold on me.
It's the just a matter of time. I can feel it rising in me.
[My wife reacted with (as mentioned before) with anger and worry about this diary entry. She demanded to know what was going on with me. I was abashed at her outburst. I had expected calm sympathy and talking on he sofa. Instead I got a violent burst of energy directed at me. She threatened to call my brother and her dughter which she did. As I mentioned, my brother was unavailable. But her daughter was able to talk me through the worst of my feelings of loneliness and despair. I felt much better after having spoken to her.
My wife had turned the music off completely after having read the part about hearing it talk to me. I think she may have interpreted my remarks above as a stepping stone to psychosis. It wasn't. Music always talks to me. The problem happens when music begins to tell me what to do. This is the warning sign for psychosis. Not my particular love of music. In any event, I do not intend to stop listening to music just because my wife turned it off in a panic.
Looking back on the diary entry I realize that it was too much of a stream-of-consciousness experience. I need soften these entries with intellectual intertwining so as to put the "rougher" parts into perspective. Otherwise I will scare those around me who do not understand that there is always an intellectual current flowing beneath the spewing of emotion that characterized my entry above.]
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