Once More Unto the Breach[1]

Once again I find myself, battered and dazed, at the bottom of the well. I cannot imagine what evil I have perpetrated. What gods I have displeased. What I did, or did not do, to be given such penance. Whatever the cause, the punishment seems to be death. Not the quick death of suicide, no need to call the men with the butterfly nets, I don't have the courage for that. I mean the slow tortuous death where you die second by second, minute by minute. It is the death of not living. Being unable to enjoy any moment of your life. Merely existing.

I should explain why I have not written in the last while. Last year was about 3 weeks too long. The tank was run dry and I had no motivation to do anything. Then came a Christmas holiday. I started to feel better, rather than jinx it I waited to see if the change was permanent. Come the end of the holidays I start to slide, slowly at first but then faster until I was in freefall. This is where you find me now dear reader.

Quote of the Day

^[2]

Sources
William Shakespeare's Henry V, Act III
Time - Dark Side Of The Moon - Pink Floyd

Harumph

I have a very nasty case of "Can't be arse'd". I don't seem to be able to find the motivation to do anything. My mood is all over the place, one day I'm good the next I'm lower than a snakes ass in a wagon rut^[1]. I'm tired. Sick and tired. I'm tired of always being afraid. I'm sick of not being able to participate in my own life . But most of all I'm sick of being sick. More pills, higher dosages, terrible side effects - I'm sick of it all. My solution... to escape. I have found that the only thing that makes these days bearable is to not be in them. I stop being me and become someone else. How? I hear you ask. Computer games and books in equal measure. In a computer game I'm not a fat little nobody with a mental illness, I'm a bad ass mofo with a gun and an itchy trigger finger. The feelings invoked when playing video games are very real. A good game will challenge the player so that there is a sense of achievement when you complete objectives. Fear (the good kind), humour, excitement and accomplishment are all available in abundance.

Books offer the same experience, at least for me. I get deeply engrossed. Start caring for the characters, booing the villain and cheering when the hero defeats them. I am devouring books.

So the next phase of my treatment begins next week. Apart from the pills, potions, leeches and ungments I am to see a psychotherapist. I don't know what to expect from this so I am trying not to pre-judge. Apparently this therapist specialises in art therapy. Gods help her if my artistic abominations are to be analysed. I expect she will recommend exorcism followed by ritual burning. I will let you all know the outcome assuming that I'm not immediately locked in the loony bin... again.

Quote of the Day

Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all — the apathy of human beings.^[2]

Sources
Adrian Cronauer - Good Morning Vietnam
Helen Keller

Zombie Apocalypse[1]

A short one this week dear readers. Yeah yeah, keep the cheering down.

It was a harsh week. Started down and got worse as the week went on. At my counselling session Kay, my wonderful therapist, was concerned enough that she arranged a visit to my doctor for medication to help the sleep and anxiety.

Hope is a strange thing, when you need it most is when it seems to desert you. Earlier in the week I was without hope, and for someone with depression that is a very bad thing. Kay accused me of being a nihilist^[2], which I vigoursly denied. Anyway after I looked it up on Wikipedia I realised that yes I am a nihilist - sorry Kay. What this means is that life, my life, in and of itself holds no special value. Without some purpose, some reason, some quality of living I do not see the point in continuing to exist. As you might imagine this is also a dangerous feeling when one has depression. Especially without hope. If you aren't getting better but are getting worse. When the best estimates put any signs of recovery at months, and in the worst case years.

What a difference a day makes.

I have now had two nights of uninterrupted sleep, no nightmares, just sleep. The difference in how I feel is amazing.

Finally some good news.

The list of side effects^[3] for this new drug are horrific but if it gets me some sleep I'll take them all. I need weight gain like a hole in the head but at least with the cataracts I won't be able to see how fat I've become.

The side effect that is most obvious is the somnolence^[4], hence the title of this post. It's like the rest of the world is going just a bit faster than me. The desire to nap is overwhelming. In fact I think I'll just go catch another 20 Zzzzzzzz....

Quote of the Day

Many of the great achievements of the world were accomplished by tired and discouraged men who kept on working.^[5]

Sources
1: Zombie Apocalypse
2: Nihilism
3: Quetiapine Side Effects
4: Somnolence
5: Author Unknown

Spirals

This week began so positive for me. I started at the gym which is a huge achievement. I really felt that finding the motivation to do this has been like turning a corner. That I was getting better. It did not last. By Wednesday I couldn't go to the gym and by Thursday I was unable to go to work. I don't even remember when I was last able to work a full week. I want to work, I really do but the effort to get out of bed and face the day is just too much. The thought of having to make small talk at the coffee machine, to act normal, fills me with dread. I am terrified of having a meltdown at work. I am old fashioned enough to still believe in professionalism and the thought of appearing that broken is front of my co-workers is abhorrent. In fact appearing that broken to anyone, more especially my wife, my family, has been the toughest trial I have ever faced.

My problem is my old friends guilt and shame. They are the double team of depression. When I can't face going to work I feel such terrible guilt. I am letting my employer, my colleagues, my family and myself down. The guilt leads to shame. This makes it harder to find the motivation to get back to work. So to ease the shame I eat. I don't just eat, I eat until I'm sick. I eat crap, as much crap as I can get in my mouth. This leads to awful shame, then I think about what I have done and I feel guilt. The cycle never ends. It feeds on it's self.

Now when I add in bad, interrupted, or no, sleep it starts escalating. I have slept more in the past 48 hours than I have in the last month. The nightmares are ever present but I think I am so tired that I can't wake up from them, or I have become numb to the horror. Now I have developed a headache which is eating me alive. A persistent, agonising pain behind my right eye that will not go away. Pain killers have no effect. I thought sleep might help but that has done nothing to dull the pain. The same headache for two weeks without stop. It's there when I wake up and still there when I try to go to sleep. The doctor said that it is a side effect of the anti-depressant medication I am now on, along with the sleep disturbances and the nightmares. And now the final insult, it turns out I am not on a strong enough dose to be effective so I have just begun double the previous dosage. The thinking is that at a higher dose I should start to experience some of the beneficial effects of the drug and that the unpleasant side effects should diminish or at least not get worse. I hope he is right. These side effects are stopping me from living. I can't work. I can't read. I can't play games or watch TV. There is no escape. It is quite literally draining my will to live.

So that leaves talking. Those who know me know that I never shut up, but it's fluff. Trivial, banal, light weight banter. Attempts to be funny. I have never faced having to talk like I must now. It feels like laying myself bare before the world and it is uncomfortable. It might seem strange that I am saying this in a blog, a public forum, and you would be right. I am talking about things in this blog that I have never discussed with anyone before.

Why?

Because in some way it helps. Writing helps crystallise what is happening to me in a way that talking doesn't. I can talk too quickly to think about what I really mean. Writing makes me pause and think about what it is I'm trying to say. By talking, I can end up in dark places. At my counselling session this week we tried a strategy to deal with the negative thoughts. I forget what the therapy is called but the idea is to acknowledge that I am having a thought without judging it. Didn't go so well. I was overcome by thoughts of guilt, shame, anger and fear. I had an anxiety attack right there in my session. Kay, my wonderful counsellor, was able to talk me off the ledge using a distraction technique called the alphabet game. You select a topic, then you have to name something associated with that topic beginning with each letter of the alphabet. It worked, at least partially. I am still dealing with overwhelming negative thoughts and feelings. The alphabet game distracts me, mindfulness meditation calms the anxiety but it sits there, waiting. A moment of weakness and it pours overs me like a tidal wave. The fear and panic are almost more than I can bear.

Sorry this has not been a more entertaining read. It hasn't been a bundle of laughs writing if that helps. I wanted to record how I feel in the hope that if someone else feels the same way they will know that they are not alone. I have no idea if that thought will help. All I can say is that if you do have feelings like I describe, talk to someone. Go see your doctor, talk to a friend or family member.

It really does help.

Don't wait, there is nothing to be gained by waiting.

Do it.

Now!

Quote of the Day

Wise men speak because they have something to say; Fools because they have to say something.^[1]

Sources
1: Plato

This is good for you!?!

Oh sweet mother of mercy, I have just got home after my first gym session.

I know I am unfit.

I know I have no one to blame but myself.

I know that without pain there can be no gain!

But MOTHER PUS BUCKET that hurts!

The lovely lady who runs the gym, or as I like to call her - the chief torturer, kept asking if I could feel the burn? I'm not sure if spontaneous human combustion counts but yes IT BURNS!... IT BURNS!!!

Quote of the Day

What does not kill me, makes me stronger.^[1]

Sources
1: Twilight of the Idols, 1888 - Friedrich Nietzsche

Meet In The Darkness

Sleep.

We all do it. We have to, without it we die^[1]

The body's time to recharge and repair, for the mind to wander and process the events of the day.

But for me sleep is terrifying. It's a time when the darkness I feel during the day becomes manifest. I have nightmares. Terribly real, terribly violent, terribly persistent nightmares. My doctor tells me it is a side effect of the medication, abnormal dreams it's called. Abnormal is right, here is nothing normal about what happens in my head every night. I have had nightmares before, most are common^[2] like being chased while I can only run in slow motion. Being lost. Falling. These dreams are not like that. They are more real, more visceral and they don't go away. I wake up frightened out of my wits. Sweating. With my heart racing and a scream on my lips ready to burst out of me. It takes a long time to calm myself down, to try and convince myself that it didn't happen. Then, as I relax and get control again I start to drift back to sleep, and they are waiting for me. The dreams wait for me like I have paused a video. It starts from where I left off, or worse replays the last horrific scene over and over. It can be difficult to drag myself out of these dreams. I fight clawing, bumping, spinning, confused and scared back to consciousness. It is taking its toll. I now avoid sleep. I haven't slept properly in weeks and I know that I can't maintain it.

I am so tired.

I have been prescribed anti-anxiety medication, but it made no difference. I'm not anxious, I'm scared - there is a difference. Anxiousness usually has no focus, there is no lion to run away from, no bogey man under the bed to beat with the poker^[3]. My being scared has a focus and it is the darkness of my dreams. Sleeping pills have been suggested but I am reluctant to take more chemicals to try and counteract the effects of other chemicals that I'm taking to address a chemical imbalance in my brain. I'm not a bloody chemistry set! I watched my father struggle with depression and anxiety most of my life. When it became too much for him he was put on to a regime of drugs that kept him quiet and controllable and stable. All good things but I also watched as the person that was my dear, sweet, funny dad drifted away from us for a very long time. He had the courage to fight back, to come off the mediations, many of which were highly addictive. He paid a terrible price for that calm exterior and he paid a heavy price for coming out the other side. I never asked him which was the greater or whether the price was too high, but my dad was back and I think that's what he wanted. He suffered for not being on the drugs, but I wonder if he suffered more for being on them. This is the only time in my life where I do not want to follow in my father's footsteps.

As for sleep, I had a good night last night. Best in probably the last month. I got five or six hours but my average is less, maybe three or four hours. But it's interrupted sleep. Often interspersed with long periods of panic followed by the fearful waiting until the weariness overtakes me and I fall, once more, into the abyss. I nap in the weekends. For some reason the light of day seems to keep the monsters out of my head. Maybe it's because of the chemicals, still fresh from the morning dose, swirling through my veins keeping the darkness in it's cage or perhaps the monsters just don't like the light. But I can't do that forever, I need to function during the week. So I go to bed early, probably earlier than most children. Falling asleep is no problem. Staying asleep is the problem. It is consuming my life one night at a time. I cannot stay awake to keep my wife company of an evening. If television is rubbish - and let's face it when is it not? - I can't even enjoy reading before I go to sleep. Reading is one of the great joys of my life. I love books and I always have a book on my night stand. I start to read but either my mind starts to think about the upcoming battle or my eyes start to close under the weight of my sleep debt. And so it goes on night after night. For how much longer I cannot say. I had hoped to discuss it with my psychiatrist but my appointment was cancelled. Apparently I'm sane now that I'm out of the mental health unit. So now I wait to talk to my doctor. And then I try and talk him out of chemical warfare.

What are the alternatives?

Ideas?

Suggestions?

Granny's old secret recipe for a good nights kip?

Any help gratefully received. I can't guarantee I'll try them but I would like to go to the doctor with some viable alternatives to turning me into the walking dead.

Please keep in mind that I will stay on my anti-depressant medication, so don't suggest that I stop that just yet. Tired is one thing, dead by my own hand is another.

Oh and by the way, before you suggest exercise, I have signed up at my work gym and start in earnest on Monday. Not only might this help with the sleep but it's now a prescribed treatment for depression. As well as being all healthy and shit.

Quote of the Day

All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.^[4]

Sources
1: Sleep Deprivation
2: Common Nightmares
3: Susan Sto-Helit - Hogfather - Terry Pratchett
4:: Plutarch

Well that was unpleasant!

It seems for all our self aggrandisement the human race are not nearly as clever as we think. My recent experience of this involves the medical profession who continue to treat the symptoms without finding the root cause of the illness. They attempt to control the symptoms with chemicals that produce the horrific side effects but never once try to cure the patient, to remove the cause. To make the person well. It does not make good economic sense to cure sick people because then they don't need a constant supply of new medications. Each of these medicines, that cost billions of dollars to research, develop and test must be sold as fast as possible to recoup the huge investment before the companies patent runs out and others can produce the drug for much less and sell it at a price that more people could afford. By then the new wonder drug must be ready for market and teams of sale people convince medical practitioners that the old type is now obsolete and that their new offering is better.

This past week I have become intimately involved in this process. Since being diagnosed with depression in January of 2011 I have been on three different anti-depressant medications and recently an anti-psychotic as well. The reason for all the different pills, me being bat-shit crazy taken as a given, is that I have not tolerated the drugs well. That is doctor-speak for it made me worse, in the last case much worse. In fact it was not taking the drug that caused me to blow a foo foo valve, apparently I came off it too quickly which can just as bad, or in my case, worse. When I talk about these medications^[1][2] I want you to understand what they do, they mess with my brain chemistry. Now I don't know about you but I'm pretty sensitive about people conducting a science experiment inside my body. I sometimes visualise mad doctors in research labs cackling as only mad doctors can, rubbing their hands with glee and adding another dried frog pill^[3] into the pot just to see what will happen. For me, what happened was that I had an "episode". Such a benign little word to describe true horror. The exact cause of my episode is being attributed to either coming off one medication too quickly or starting another drug too soon or that Pluto's up Uranus and we are going to need a bigger bucket nurse.

So, what happened to me?

Buggered if I know:

I had a bad day at work, are there any other kind?
I worked a bit late but that happens plenty often in IT.
I had no lunch, again so what?
I had just weaned off one anti-depressant,started another and added an anti-psychotic for flavour.
I have a major depressive disorder <== BIG CLUE HERE!

The trigger seemed to be the interaction of some or all of these conditions with the slurping, sloshing alchemy experiment that was going on in my brain. It caused me to get angry. Now everyone gets angry from time to time, you should hear some of the rude words my wife says when a cyclist cuts her up. "Oh gosh oh darn oh deary me!" says she, or words to that affect. But this was different. The anger was unfocused. Sure I was angry about what had happened at work that day and I was venting to my wife when it changed from being "angry about..." to just angry. I tried to calm myself I tried to walk it off, only the walking became pacing and the anger continued to build. Now the pacing wasn't enough I was clenching my fists, grinding my teeth the pacing was more frantic. At some point anger turned to rage. I didn't know what the difference is between those two words^[4], but I know what it feels like now and it is very, very frightening. Of everything that happened to me this night, this is the one that scared me the most. I could have, probably would have hurt my wife had she been in my way. I wanted to punch holes in the walls, break windows, kick the furniture but deep deep inside me I had enough control to not do the unthinkable and lay a finger on my Rachel.

By all accounts I am not an aggressive person, I certainly don't think of myself that way, but that night I could have killed. In fact I planned on it. While this maelstrom of intense emotion was roiling around inside my head, a small, calm seemly rational bit of me started planning. The plan was to wait until Rachel, my beautiful, wonderful, brave, wife, phoned for help. I figured that with a potentially violent man roaring around the house smashing things the ambulance personnel would request police assistance. I had about a 50/50 chance that they would not have a taser available in a local squad car but could and would have to deploy firearms to protect themselves and the ambulance staff. My plan was to attempt to assault the ambulance officers as soon as they arrived and not give the Police any time to calmly assess the situation. I'm a big lad... no I mean BIG, I am 6ft 4" in old money and weigh in at an impressive 170 kg. With the rage in me that night I would be terrifying coming at someone, a police officer would have no recourse but to shoot.

I do not like that small calm bit of me very much.

As it turned out the rage quit, just melted away. What it left in it's place was grief, disgust, shame, horror and a terrible terrible sadness. I stopped pacing, I stopped everything and devoted myself to purging the pain through tears. There weren't enough tears.

I cried, sobbed is probably a better word for what felt like hours. All the time my sweet, wonderful Rachel was trying to console, to calm, to just be there. I don't know how long I stood there bawling but then the nausea came. I guess I was in such an incredible state of stress that it was inevitable. A word of advice, do not try and cry and vomit at the same time. Choking on your own vomit causes you to panic and try to breathe in deeper, dragging the horrid stuff further down your windpipe. Just friendly advise feel free to disregard, just thought it might be useful during your next psychotic break.

At some point, I don't remember when, we ended up in the kitchen. Somehow I must have babbled a coherent enough sentence asking Rachel to feed our dogs as it was late and they were fretting. I sat in a chair, still inconsolable, the small calm seemingly rational bit of me watched and waited and plotted. While Rachel was preparing the dogs dinner I would stand up take a single step across the kitchen to the knife block and pull out the biggest knife we had and plunge it through my own heart.

Well there must be another smaller calmer even more rational piece of me that was on watch that night because as I went to stand up I found I was completely paralysed. I could still feel all my extremities but I couldn't move a muscle. I screamed! I have never felt panic like it before and I hope to never experience anything like it again. Once more my wife saved my life. She called for an ambulance, she stayed at my side while talking calmly to the operator. I screamed and screamed until I was sick. A word of advice, do not try and scream and vomit at the same time, choking on your on vomit causes you to panic and try to breathe in deeper, dragging the horrid stuff further down your windpipe. Did I mention that I was paralysed? If you are paralysed from the neck down and can't tilt your head forward to clear your airway, you die. Rachel saved my life a number of times that night but never more directly than by clearing my airway and allowing me to breathe. If we live to be 120 year old, and lets's hope we do, I will never ever be able to repay her for what she did for me this one night. But I intend to try.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The ambulance arrived and assessed me. I didn't try to kill them I might add - remember I'm still paralysed at this point. Seemed to them that hospital might not be a bad idea - no shit Sherlock! But now the problem of moving 170kg of paralysed lunatic, this was going to be a challenge. The bloke, Bruce, was an able enough fella but his partner whose name I either didn't hear or have subsequently forgotten was about 5ft tall and would have to jump around in the shower to get wet. My dear, sweet Rachel was also there to help but with a bad back herself this was not to be treated lightly. See what I did there? Go back read it again, it's quite clever.

Anyway the great lift, roll, kick and prod plan was hatched to get me into the ambulance and while the others went off to do whatever it is that ambulance officers do in the back of a parked ambulance, Rachel started to put a warm jacket on me and something clicked or popped or the evil little bastard in my head gave up and I could move again. Then I wished that I hadn't. It hurt! I had been sitting in exactly the same position for over an hour without moving a single muscle, imagine pins and needles, cramp and having your nads dropped into a coffee bean grinder all happening simultaneously. Sorry ladies you'll have to think up your own metaphor, giving birth might be too extreme but passing just an arm could be close.

So I'm in hospital. Actually I'm waiting in hospital. And waiting... It took three hours for a doctor to see me, another hour to be seen by anyone who was qualified to diagnose me. In that four hours I was calm and rational, anxious, then panic struck. Rinse and repeat about every hour. Finally I was seen by the Psych registrar and no surprises she diagnosed that I was probably a danger to myself or others, which only leaves one option, I was going into the loony bin. It was 03:00 am when I was admitted into the psychiatric ward of Lower Hutt Hospital. Eight hours after the initial anger/pacing had started. In that time my wife never left my side. She physically saved my life from choking and yet she stayed calm and rational through the whole thing. How she coped and what she went through I will never know. How much is has cost her personally we will have to wait and see. I love her and I thank her and I will always be in awe of her.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank all the people who have wished me well. I really does help I promise you.

Finally a HUGE thank you to Kay, my counsellor, the doctors and nurses at the Te Whare Ahuru Mental Health Unit of Lower Hutt Hospital. But once again I want to thank my wife for not giving up on me long after I had. I Love You <3

Quote of the Day

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.^[5]

sources
1: SSRI - a type of anti-depressant
2: SNRI - a different type of anti-depressant
3: The Dean of Unseen University - Discworld - Terry Pratchett
4: Anger vs Rage
5: Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5) - William Shakespere

Beginnings

Who?

Who am I?

This question has been roaring through my mind like a tornado and has left obvious devastation in it's wake.
So for the moment let's leave that question aside.
My name is... well, call me Antz. It's obviously not my real name but it's what everyone calls me. The type of nickname that I really want is "Ace", "Duke" or "Old Iron Balls"^[1] but I haven't achieved the correct level of buy-in from anybody yet.

So back to the original question.
Come on, you knew it was coming.
It's the title of the blog people!
Don't act so surprised.
Who am I? Buggerd if I know. Really, no kidding I have no idea who I am. Not sure I ever have. I'm a bit like a Chameleon I am different things to different people in different circumstances. I don't think I'm unusual in this. I see family and friends behave differently in public than they do in private. The thing with me is that under all the layers, the masks and camoflage I'm not sure that I know if there is anything that is really, honestly, truely me.

What?

• I am the son of fantastic parents
• Husband to a beautiful, intelligent, funny, sexy wife
• Brother, uncle, cousin, brother in law to various members of my family
• Friend to my friends - well Duh!
• Colleague to my co-workers, many of whom I also consider friends
• Bane of my employer
• Computer programmer
• Lover of science fiction and science fact
• Dog fancier - Not that sort of fancy, it means I like them, get your mind above your belt.
• Gaming addict - Star Wars: The Old Republic FTW
• Atheist
• Maker of lists - you might have noticed
• Mental patient
• Buggerer of sheep - No! Wait! That's not right! I'm not Australian.
• I am a leaf on the wind ^[2]

Am I the sum of all these parts?
I thought I was more.
I am I suppose but I'm just not sure what yet.

Where?

At last a question I can answer properly.
Well, answer anyway.
OK write some meaningless shit about.
I live with my beautiful wife and two Newfoundland dogs in a small village of a small suburb of a small satallite city of the small capital of a small country on the bottom half of a small blue green planet orbiting an insignificant star in the western spiral arm of the Milky Way galaxy somewhere in the universe.
Look me up on Google Universe ^TM sometime.

It doesn't matter where I am, where I exist is in my mind. At least that's what I thought until the darkness came. Now I'm not even sure I'm in here anymore. I'm currently taking medication, and I hate taking medication, that is trying very hard to keep me alive. I'm not sure if the cure is worse than the disease but the side effects of both are that I don't remember, can't remember good things anymore, only bad things. I can't concentrate anymore except on bad things, dark, evil things. And finally I feel awful. The kind of awful where you don't get out of bed because you simply can't find the willpower. The kind of awful that leads you to think that you are useless, pathetic, a waste of useful resources. The kind of awful that leads to eating until you are sick. The kind of awful that make you feel shame, embarrasement, anxiety and fear. It's awful and I am lost in here somewhere. I've been lost for a very long time. Now I just hope I can find my way back.

When?

Now
Today
Right now
This very second
No not that one
This one
Oh do try and keep up!

I have existed in the physical form of Antz for some fourty four of your Earth years. But the stuff that I'm made of was born in the heart of a star eons ago. No, not my Mum, I mean a real honest to goodness blazing ball of extremely hot fusing hydrogen. Stars exploded into supernovae throwing their atoms out into the universe to coalesce into the thing that is me.
Bet that was a disappointment to their parents.
A favorite quote of mine from my scifi nerdage is "We are starstuff. We are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out."^[3] so I hope that I can figure out my tiny part in it.
What's the square root of purple again? Bugger, forgot to carry the London Philharmonic Orchestra, now divide by pineapple... We are doomed people, I keep getting an Out of Cheese Error ^[4]

Why?

Why me?
Why not?
Someone has to be me right?
It might as well be me.
Are you as confused as me?
Oh, I see, why am I writing this blog?
To record who I am if that is possible. See I have been diagnosed with a major depressive disorder, good old fashioned depression. Recently it has become worse, much worse, the sort of worse that you don't survive without help. I have been seeing doctors, councellers, crisis assessment teams and phyciatrists. However the one person I haven't visited is me. Oooooh that sounds all new age and shit! Been there, done that, got the harmonic crystal and spirit guide to prove it. What I really mean is that I don't know who I am.
So I am setting out to learn what, if anything, is me and I thought I would record the journey.

Why?

Because I am terrified that I am losing my mind. Hopefully this blog will capture some of what's left or at least be a bit of a laugh as I spiral into non-existence.

Quote of the Day

This quote got very real for me last week, still is.

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; ^[5]

Final Thoughts

I leave you, dear reader, with this final thought, Who are you?
Leave your answers in the comments, I'd love to hear from you.
Edit: Yes. I know the "Post Comments" section is missing. I'm working on finding a solution.

Sources
1: Arnold Judas Rimmer - Red Dwarf
1: Hoban "Wash" Washburne - Serenity
3: Ambassador Delenn - A Distant Star - Babylon 5
4: Hex - Interesting Times - Discworld Series - Terry Pratchett
5: Hamlet - Act III: The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare