Scrape the Mould off the Cheddar

in trouble again, just an endless line of self-bait and switch. Now I'm binge watching, I mean I'm still bingeing, tv shows. what a waste of time, what others wouldn't give to have the precious left to them, time I squander endlessly, 10-12 hours then to bed, ill sleep, rise, repeat.

I guess this is me choosing the easy thing, poor impulse control sure, how about don't get hurt? I'll spin it that way. I'm full to brimming with hurt, and haven't been releasing it. Except in ill-chosen bursts fuelled by the catch basin of anger. Filling my days with some small brights spots, walking the dog, without said dog I would be in bed or sitting 24/7.  I guess this is depression, I guess this is being on meds that keep me safe.

I want to be safe and I understand why that it, yet I am lifeless and dull. Not showering as much. Drinking more. Yes, that's right because I don't have the consequence of instant brutal headache as with previous meds. sigh.

Writing to reach into my feelings , ease them into the air. Typing instead of picking, jabbing, cutting, tearing. It's all the same source, all the same driver. It's like seeking out the correct printer driver. I can feel them there, beneath my skin, swarming, vibrating, seeking and exit, now I've disturbed the hornet's nest.

I could just start walking and it would be the same source. Numbing. the great ebb and flow. sines waves of feelings, of activities and utter stillness.

where is the drive that others have seen?commented on? admired even?  it's blanketed , it's in sedimentary layers of protection.

deep in my head I lurk, waiting for the danger to pass. danger lurks within too. it seems I must enter into this great ecosystem or die. It will kill me, we all will die, yet this current choice of the slow death is outside the growing forces of the universe. I am instead the unnatural scum, the dust settling, the mole to be scraped away. "Scrape the mould off the cheddar Manuel".

Time to shower then walk my dog.

peace out, or rather in, for a change.

Please don't thank me for my service.

Whine time.

Another remembrance day come and gone. People saying thank you for your service. Some kindness is nice, always. Yet I begin to understand when I had heard/read other vets saying they don't feel comfortable about being told"thank you" and I was feeling that yesterday and today. Hence crabby.

I think what  would help me more is someone calling me and asking how I am and further being willing to hear the ugliness that ensues. Because I do not feel very proud of the mistakes I have made and while I can say there were times i did feel I actually helped people, most of the time I felt a failure, thus I cannot authentically accept the thank you(s). I sent my family a link to an article written by a combat vet, different from me, but one which resonated. In retrospect, that feels like a mistake as I could see it being a request for the ever reviled "attention".

I feel alone, unworthy, angry, abandoned, ashamed, cowardly, ad nauseum.

If you care, just call and just be willing to listen. There is NOTHING anyone can say to me. Yet, a willing ear, that would be a gift.

Trying not to Recede

i feel shitty

my memory is untrustworthy and I just finished arguing with someone I love about something I thought I was 100% right about - nope, wasn't, not even close.

Fuck.

Now recriminations and this sick feeling - once again I have hurt another person and I just keep doing it.

Trying to grow, not recede.  A human hairline.

Trying to have faith that kindness and love will eventually win out. Wishing I was more of both.

Yet here I am, making things, trying.

Let us all try.

Swiss ArmyTherapy: Interventions that Resonate.

Cymbalta raised again to 90 enroute to 120. It's been 4 days. And taking melatonin at night to help with sleep. Sleep's improved I would say, with lots of very detailed, brilliant dreams and nightmares.

Art ideas. Walking the dog.

New psychiatrist is very keen, had some interesting points and was open to me disagreeing with suggested assessment modes aka that doesn't resonate with me. So I will see her again. why not?
Treatment should come with a tool akin to a swiss army knife: a Swiss Army Intervention. Another good art project.

usual fucking stupid existential questions

So discouraged and tired of feeling this way. disconnected feeling so alone full of poison rotting pointless, wondering all those usual fucking stupid existential questions.

don't feel i can talk to anyone, i think the new meds have helped but when i spiral down like this it's scary for me and i hurt. surrounded by sadness, loneliness, injustice i have no filters. and no outlet i feel able to use, trying to eat better, exercise more and i am but again, when the spiral grasps me in  it's cruel claws, i can only hold on and i guess do this until it lets me go.

why give me the obsession to help others then make me suck at it, that's cruel too. i'm here, why not help me use whatever skills and passions I have in good ways. too many times late for this fucking dance. wasting, but still with a large waist. fuck indeed

Apple Therapy

need to talk and cry.  Apple therapy. no one to talk to that it won't hurt, hate this trapped feeling. Just reading about Bruce Jenner and also about the honest obit a family wrote about their daughter who died of a heroin overdose. I wish we lived in a world that was honest but without cruelty, we can tell the truth with compassion, it's just harder to do, it takes work and practice too I guess. I haven't talked for a while, i did see a psychiatrist in YVR a few weeks back but it's limited although he is a caring person.I miss my old therapist.I would yell and scream and I think speak from as close to my true self as possible. Draining but healing, like draining an abscess I imagine.
Tears on my keyboard, good but could fry the whole unit, oh well.
Many dreams of late, new med and new , higher dosage, better than effexor for sure. The dreams are very vibrant again, some are disturbing as well, some are so beautiful in the colours and fabrics and actions and forms of life that abound.

Sent a risky email to someone I love, probably will cause her some tears, I hope it is helpful.

Damn my sketchy editing.

Overall I am better, suicide is a much less frequent visitor, so thank you meds.

Chipping away at artwork. Burning bridges. People don't expect the truth and I need more practice telling it. To myself as well.

Please world be a kinder place. It would be really wonderful if kindness would spring out of a desire for it rather than be an afterthought inspired by the risky and life-threatening - or fatal - acts of others.

New Meds - here goes something

new meds, cymbalta, seem to be helping - certainly the edge is further away, and I have laughed a little bit in the past week. so that is cautiously encouraging.

sleep would be nice, but I'll work at one thing at a time I guess. yeehaw