I WASN'T REALLY IN THE MOOD FOR POSTING TONIGHT but I have internet time so why not. I don't know exactly why but all weekend I have been so depressed and feeling like I'm drowning.
I once read a book by a psychologist called Kay Redfield Jamison who suffered from severe bipolar disorder. In the depths of her illness, before she settled into a routine of lithium-taking she suffered a double bout of depression (that is, a depression that lifted very briefly only to return just as devastatingly as before)... this went on for 18 months.
Even in the very depths of despair, despite wishing for death, she said she has never regretted being born. Well that's more than I've done. When I was depressed it was, I would say, because I knew I should not have been born. And have had life foisted on me. Something I never asked for. A responsibility. That was the great appeal of heroin, a drug that could kill me in my sleep. And yet death eludes me.
That was how I felt when I was most depressed. And the worst depression went on for about two years. The psychiatrists I saw were useless. The counsellor I saw I suspected at the time and am pretty convinced now looked down on me for being too similar to how SHE had been before she sorted herself out. Only a dedicated GP who made for me weekly appointments made any difference.
When I was a bit nutty a couple of years ago I honestly started to believe I was immortal. Every conceivable method of suicide I was convinced would only end up in failure. I desperately wanted to detox so I would not die a junkie and spend all eternity in withdrawals.
According to a Muslim who was preaching outside the library last year, if you do commit suicide, whatever method you use you will repeatedly go through the motions of this through all eternity in hell yet never dying. For this reason I would most like to die injecting heroin.
I know I'm never going to die though. Especially not through heroin. The ONLY hope I have of dying is by taking my own life and as I said the more depressed I feel the more hopeless I am of ever succeeding with that. I watched the trains slicing along at 100mph Londonbound convinced that if I did venture in front it would only kick me out of the way like a football. And I'd bounce harmlessly into the bushes there to shiver eternally cold and damp in the morning dew.
I have been writing some of my book but it is very depressing. Writing a book is hardly the most difficult of life's tasks. Damns have been built. Bridges constructed. Undersea tunnels dug. Hundred storey skyscrapers erected in less time than this book seems to be taking and with a whole lot less fuss.
One thing I never expected (remember I'm the one so often accused of "thinking too much" yet my biggest flaw seems to be NOT thinking things through)... never expected from writing my book was that the pattern and flow of my own life would be held up close for me to puzzle over. I have never examined my own life's story in such detail before. Nor the way one consequence leads on to another.
It has been freezing cold this weekend here in London. Night temperatures have dropped to near freezing while yesterday was aparently only 4 degrees celcius.
I have been sleeping with the cooker hob on all night.
Baby Itchy roborovski escaped yesterday and was awol for a quarter of an hour until eventually she rambled blithely right into my waiting flytrap-style hands. She panicked bigstyle when I captured her and had a guilty look on her face. She has been banished to the teabox in disgrace.
Sorry for such a depressing post. I am not suicidal but I have to think about these things as I did at least twice attemptedly kill myself and must reason these events out. The first time I was so blitzed afterwards that I could not and did not even consider events. I just felt poisoned to the core of my being, because I had done a bottle of vodka and a bottle of tricyclic antidepressants. Most of the pills, as I've said, I sicked up so soon after swallowing they still had the coatings on them... The second time I woke up freezing cold in a bathful of clothes, planks of wood, housebricks etc etc having attempted to drown myself while unconscious. I woke into a hazy white space and at first, for one elated moment thought I really had managed it. Then the bleak chilly wetness impinged and I realized the white ethereal space in which I "floated" was merely my unfocused view of the bath's white side...
Well I had better go now.
On a more positive note I got a new mobile phone today for £15.
Take care everyone...
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Tagged on a "meme" thang!
Annie Bimbimbie from Queensland (Australia), whose name means "place of many birds" in a mysterious Aboriginal tongue ~ or to translate into my own kind of language "birdery" tagged me with this meme thing which is to explain my blogging name.
Well it is quite simple really.
Gledeber was the name of a dog we once had who looked like a seal.
Edward the Confessor was the last but one Saxon king in South England before William the Conkeror came over and defeated King Harrold.
My blog is quite confessional and I miss Gledeber to this day and hence the name "Gledwood"
The Vol 2 comes because originally my old blog was on another blog "hoster" thing. And not as good. Hence that was vol 1; this is vol 2...
And I tag:
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