70s sunglasses day

MY brown sunglasses have come through. Everything looks like it's in the 1970s. The moment I walk outside they start brewing up. Darker and darker. They're like the old Reactolite lenses, except these ones really do go clear indoors. When they're dark, I look Italian with them on.

I just got back from the horrible drugs clinic I have to go to. The dr asked when I had last had a suicidal thought. I said 2 weeks ago. Then I told my dr about my mind-wobble last week. I felt OK by the next evening, mood-wise. Not depressed at all. That's because my mood had spiked up in a very mixed up way. But my head is still unfocused. I try and think of something and think of something else. But I'm OK. For the last couple of days I've woken up feeling horrible, but I'm still not really depressed so that is good.

I couldn't think of much to say about Amy Winehouse because her death came as little surprise. Strange to think of the months and years I spent wishing for nothing but death by overdose or some other accident (not suicide) ~ and yet I survived! I always thought I had some reason for living; I just never knew what it was.

Now I have to go and purchase Mexican chili beef think crust pizza and cheese coleslaw. (It has to be cheese flavour). Not that I'm modern and fussy or anything.

There's a really good book in the library called Doctoring The Mind: why psychiatric treatments fail by Richard Bentall I think he's one of these people who believe mad people aren't really mad. Which, strangely enough, is what most mad people believe. Not that I'm casting nasturtiums or anything...

Illustrated: brown sunglasses (not mine, Calvin Klein's); nasturtiums