Marginally Less Parasitical

I thought about jumping from the top storey. I told my doctor about my impulses. Hospital was mentioned but I resisted. In the end I emerged from the doctor's with extra meds. Doctor S has perused The Mail on Sunday article and had been as disturbed by it as I was. 'For what it's worth, I think Daily Mail journalists are only marginally less parasitical than the drug addicts and the alcoholics the newspaper is targeting.' His words, not mine. Make of that what you will.

The Insomniac - Writing About Myself in the Third Person

She could stay awake all night if she had to. The darkness enveloped her, suffocated her. A black gloved hand over her face. She gazed out of the window into the blueblack sky. The stars were on vacation. Her heartbeat sounded like the Gods pounding on some huge drum. She could feel her own body as it slowly decomposed. This was death in the midst of life. Something or someone more powerful than her had taken control, had seized her autonomy away from her. She was afraid that if she fell asleep she would never wake up. She felt exposed, her innards visible to some great God. Her bones rattled. She was disintegrating. Delusions fought with one another in her head. Oblivion had never been so far away.

Edit: Finally, some good news. A parcel just arrived containing a novel I have been after for ages. Le Sang Des Autres (The Blood of Others) by Simone de Beauvoir. I read it years ago before it went out of print. Watch out for a review if I can be bothered.

Somebody Save Me...

I'm drowning.

Then learn to swim.

I can't.  I can't.

You can. You can.

Because the Night...

Night triumphs over day and I close my eyes against the chaos. I seek refuge in panoramic dreams. But I do not retain them. By morning they have metamorphosed into vague, hazy images, misted over memories. No Earthly good to anyone but myself. But they follow me though the day, manifesting themselves in feelings rather than visions. There are few words spoken in these dreams that invade my sleep. A silent film, devoid of dialogue. And these faces in my dreams are shadowy. There is no one I recognise and I never get to see my own reflection.

When morning comes and I awaken I sometimes feel as though I am still stumbling through sleep. My nocturnal visions bleed almost imperceptibly into real life. That is where my false sense of security comes from. No one can hurt you in dreams. Not really.

Insomnia

I am awake because I am afraid to sleep.  And the drugs that used to work are useless now

They call this 'rebound insomnia'.

My cat is a sweet, sleeping semi-circle at the bottom of my bed. I envy her. I wish we could swap places like a feline Freaky Friday.  I wonder what she dreams about.  I'll never know.  I don't speak miaow.

Can someone translate?

Random

I know more about abuse than you could ever dream of. My mother says she only wants me to be happy. Is this an entirely realistic expectation? It grabs hold of my mind and it won't let go. Surely contentment is the best we can hope for. Happiness is supposed to be a fleeting emotion. That's why we relish it. Been doing something dumb - eating alka selzers like sweets. They expand in my stomach and the relentless hunger dissipates.

A Response to Anon@5.34

(See Dancing on Someone's Grave is One Thing..)
(See Comments section)
To Anonymous at 5:34:
(Because the first was rather curt)

FWIW I have a lot of respect for some of JHL's views. I wholeheartedly agree with him when he asserts that 'We (ex-prisoners) are as human as our victims.' I just find it odd that he extends the right to be viewed as 'human' to every single prisoner and ex-prisoner except Felicity Jane Lowde and (maybe in time) The McCanns.

You ask why I am on this woman's 'side'. I don't regard this as a matter of sides. It's not a game. It's not a George Bush post 9.11 'With us or Against us' kind of situation. Felicity Jane Lowde certainly wouldn't think I'm on her side. I believe she has a serious mental illness and needs urgent help. I've been in and out of hospital a fair bit and I've seen this kind of situation. I even remember someone with very similar delusions to Felicity Jane Lowde - secret services, connections to government figures - all delusions of grandeur. IIRC one of the newer neuroleptics took the edge off her fear. But I could still see the anguish on her face. Her terror terrorised me. I firmly believe that this woman was genuinely afraid - that her inner world had turned into an inner hell. And it's kind of hard to escape from yourself. But that doesn't mean I can't feel sympathy for the victims. After all, it didn't matter to Rochester whether The First Mrs Rochester was mad or bad. The consequences for Jane Eyre and Rochester were still the same. Mad or bad, she was still dangerous.

I've more to write but this is kind of draining.)>

In Case..

you didn't know.

Into my thirties I go. My cat is growing old. She is dying. My father is growing old. He is dying. I am growing old. I am not dying. But the future is this great, terrifying, black abyss and I have no desire to step into it.

A nameless fear, a menacing fear. Its cause cannot be identified. I guess that's why they call it free-floating anxiety.

Mad Neighbours

I awoke to the sound of rain falling...inside my flat. The people upstairs had let their bath overflow, again. They did this yesterday. I rang the council to complain (after having approached my Neighbours From Hell) but to no avail although I was told I would be compensated for any damage caused. They are now playing their music at such a volume that I'd be surprised if the citizens of Australia cannot hear them. I am competing with mine - Suede's first self titled album - let's see how they enjoy that!

It looks like I have yet another Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopath™ on my hands. Doug came over and told me that the woman upstairs (who frequently makes enough noise to wake the dead) had gone nuts a few weeks ago and flooded the launderette. She had been taken away in an ambulance - to the ward I am usually admitted to, I presume. lucky thing! Last year she fell asleep in her bedroom, leaving a candle burning. My ex-boyfriend burst in and rescued her. I was at my desktop in the sitting room, listening to music through my earphones and so I didn't hear a thing. Apparently, as this woman was being led into the ambulance a guy leaned out of his window and yelled out to Doug, 'It's all kicking off round here, en't it. Don't need the telly with all this going on!'

Such sensitive neighbours!

I know I should feel sorry for her, I know I should empathise. But I don't.

Not after the ten Valium I've had to take because of her today.