Back And Forth Is Good For The Soul

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My psychiatrist and I decided to drop the Deprakote, which made me feel a million times better.

But I had to go back onto the Wellbutrin, because without it I was on the floor in moments. I mean sleeping all day long. Dr. G thought differently. She thought that maybe my need for sleep was based on the fact that I have been sleep deprived for the better part of a month and this was my body's opportunity to catch up, so to speak, on my sleep deficit.

This made a great deal a sense. But to me, I think I am most worried about depression, which is the bane of my existence. Since I am Bi-polar, the single most worst place to be in your entire life is depressed. That shit is the living pits. And when you are so low on the totem pole of society, you have to admit, you're fucked pretty badly as it is. There is nothing to really feel excited or even good about. You don't have a pretty young thing knocking on your door for sex and a cup of sugar, you don't have that obscenely fat check in the mail saying Hobobob on the pay to line. You don't have that cupboard and refrigerator stocked with groceries, you don't have that lucrative book contract, television contract, radio contract, contract contract just waiting for your signature, you don't have your slim, trim, superhero body that you used to enjoy, you don't have the good, lean looks or even a big fat ten inch cock, not that you would be able to use it in any event, but fun to have just to wave around.

You don't have anything really great to be happy about, and then the downside of it all is that any and all bad news is just more straw on the back of the weakened camel. There is nothing that hurts more than bad news when you are already in the dumps. That's why people watch Manic/depressives so closely, because in a heartbeat they can fool you and tear their heads off their shoulders right after cracking the funniest joke you have ever heard. Not this this post is a cry for help. I'm so bitter with the world that I wouldn't give it the satisfaction of writing a suicide note or cry for help. I'd much rather end this shit with the biggest bang I can think of, like pulling the pin on a grenade and stuffing it in my mouth. Now that would be a suicide hell bent for me! Until I can think of something like that, you can just forget it. I'm not going any fucking where.

I won't say shit, I won't let you know, I wont write a stupid assed letter apologizing for how I feel or what I've done, I'm not shedding a tear, I'm not going to loved ones for one 'last goodbye'...I'm just going to get up on the best day I feel good on, and do it. A sunny day, with the birds chirping and nice warm breezes, and then it's done. That's what to look for. If none of the above exist, then it's not going to happen.

The food van is downstairs tonight, the woman is walking down the corridor, she knocks on my door today. Mine. What about my door is it that says knock on me? Ring my bell? I don't want nasty soup and a piece of bread tonight. I have good soup and Thomas' English Muffins tonight. I think I'll pass. Besides, it's a fucking skeksie ride down and a fucking skeksie ride back up. Who needs that shit for a cup of soup? When all of the tennants of the building come down and go back up, you're talking about a big fucking log jam in this motherfucker. I can do without that.

I sit in my room, typing and thinking of what I want to do in the future. I need a plan, a good plan, a fast plan. I need something to work on more and more. Because I' am completely caught up with everything else I have to do...for now.

Hobobob