Remembering Lily

Before our relationship trod on a banana skin, and in fact even after, Lily and I were having quite a creative time together. She drew me a picture of me in an Allegro for my Facebook page, was a saucy interviewer interviewing me for my book (sadly deleted by her the first time we broke up) and we wrote and rehearsed an innuendo-filled Krankies sketch together, except we had turned it around so that I was playing the mother and she was my daughter. We also made a couple of pseudo jokey porn movies with particular emphasis on the introductory phoney story bit that comes before the sex.  I was watching them last night and remembering the fun side of her again and hoping that she finds someone she can be happy with.

The power of honesty

Three months have passed, you may have noticed. Well well well. Where to start? The funny thing about the Sertraline, which I have been off for 2 months is, it kicked in without me realising and I immediately had two flings that practically overlapped each other. Then I came off it and everything immediately starting going wrong. Coincidence? I don't know.

I think the medication made me more upbeat and fun to be around without me realising. In fact, with Lily (fling 2) I was particularly manic, planning all manner of weird things with her, including a Krankies tribute act and a day out picking up rubbish in motorway verges, to name just two of the many unorthodox things that was on our hit list. And I laughed- I laughed as I have never done before with Lily- and then there was none left. We tried to rekindle what had been but it was completely dead and buried. The last time I saw her was the day before my 41st birthday. She bought me a fish and chip meal, we went to a shitty arcade, played football on the beach with her son and she gave me a birthday card that said, 'Thanks for the laughs.'

For a month or so she'd wanted the old James back (I ended the relationship but it was very much mutual) but I had no idea where he was either. I honestly didn't think I had changed much but I had reverted to the mean spirited, overly serious and negative person I am only just discovering that I must come across to others. (I don't know why I'm so sad, it wearies me, you say it wearies you).

It was only with hindsight that I pieced it all together. I came off the Sertraline because it had sawed my libido in half and I had qualms about it damaging my brain and it's cheating but actually makes things worse in the long run etc, and I'm glad I did but it was a wild ride.

Fling 1. An old friend I had once lusted after and was back in touch with. It as hard for me to tell her but I was up front and said I didn't see us having a future together and rather than scaring her off it simplified things. Things went really well when she came to mine. They started to fall apart when I went to hers (I'd been off the drugs for a a couple of days by then).

Fling 2. Lily. Met her on POF. Seemed boring on text chat but liked her a lot when I met her face to face. I was wearing Sertraline goggles by then, though. When I came off it we started arguing. I told her to be patient because I'd just come off my meds. She said, I was stupid going cold turkey like that, when she came off her meds she wanted to kill people. I said, you're on meds too?? She said yeah, don't make out it's something strange, everyone is. On Oct 2nd, the last day I saw her she was irritable, which she had been for a while. I asked her if she was still on her anti-depressants. She said no, she didn't need them. I reminded her what she had said to be me about it being unwise to come off them and wanting to kill people when she wasn't on them. She replied that it wasn't the meds that were the problem it was everyone being arse holes. (Lily wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. I may never meet anyone again who doesn't know the word 'subsidise'. But when she was at her best she was wonderful and quite lovely in her own way).

Fling 3. This almost happened but I cancelled it. I had arranged a date with a woman in Colchester.

So just think. In two and a half years of being back in the UK I manage one girlfriend, then I take some Sertraline and...maybe that's not the whole story.

It's possible shit was going to hit the fan anyway but without seeing the alternative timeline I can't say.

A word about the title, the power of honesty. Fling 1 and fling 2 were informed right from the start that I had two dates on my plate and were okay with it because I'd been upfront from the start. So it wasn't really a case of one relationship going wrong, then another starting. They both started right and went wrong about the same time with the death knell of the platonic aspect of the relationship being rung about the same time. However, in terms of actual sex I jiggled it so I wasn't actually sleeping with them at the same time.

Tailspin

I spoke too soon. That same evening of my last post I descended back into apathy and since then I've been playing Combat 42 on my phone and watching back to back episodes of Air Crash documentaries on YouTube. Last night my subconscious was working hard as it could to figure out a solution but I woke up still feeling the situation is hopeless.

I should have done this ten years ago

Today I had my first inkling that the drug might have started working. If I didn't know I was on medication I might not have noticed it, I might simply have thought I was experiencing an upbeat mood but on top of that I felt more human than I have done in a long while and things seemed less of a chore. I'd been ignoring a kiwi and a pot of natural yoghurt at the back of the fridge that were going mouldy but today it seemed like no trouble at all to bend down and do something about them. I also didn't feel like time was running away from me.

If this is the medication working then perhaps I should have taken it ten, maybe even twenty years ago. It's too early to say because I do have good days. 

Less of a wanker

My doctor didn't mention the side effects of Setraline but I realized on Sunday that I hadn't had a wank in three days whereas I often wank three times a day (or more). I tested my equipment last night and though I came within a fairly normal timeframe it wasn't as enjoyable as normal. I guess it was a bit like the second or third ejaculation during sex. Normally after three days I'd be feeling very horny. So when I woke up in the morning I had another go and it took me about half an hour although I did produce a lot of sperm. So I went online and discovered that this is a common problem, with many horror stories about it posted in forums. It seems there are three ways it could go. I will have a diminished or no libido until I come off Setraline. My libido will recover as my body adjusts to the medication. My libido will always be diminished or non-existent, even if I come off the medication. Given the risks involved my lovely (and now leaving, just like my last lovely trainee doctor did) doctor probably should have said something or maybe she just credited me with the sense to do the research. I guess being less of a wanker may not be such a bad thing, though.

A cloudy Sunday

The sertraline hasn't kicked in yet and it's hard to think that it ever will bring me sunshine. I find it hard to muster the energy to do anything. Life can change if you keep faith and keep pressing but it's so hard to believe that at times like these with no money and no company. I got up late but I still went to sleep on the sofa in the afternoon.

Ghost story

My mother could find her way into an online shopping basket blindfolded but other types of internet navigation are difficult for her, due to her MS. It affects her co-ordination, her sight, and her thinking as well as giving her constant pain and frequent dizziness, so everything is a struggle.
I have ghostwritten the first chapter of her life story and entered it into a competition for her. As part of the competition rules she has to mark three other entries, which is easier said than done. She managed to read the first one and I entered the marks she suggested over the phone but after that finding the other two entries, even with my help, was beyond her so I marked them myself imitating her style, to a degree.

That was my good deed for the day or would have been if I hadn't been irritable with mum. The only other thing of note occurred just past midnight-i.e first thing this morning soon after I posted. I sent different messages to the ten women, almost all of which were based on something on their profile but I asked one if she'd ever seen a ghost. The dialogue continued:

Actually I have, and lots of ghostly experienced about 12 years ago

Why 12 years ago? Were you living somewhere haunted?

Yeah place had a weird feel to it

And how about the ghost you saw? You saw a ghost or heard/felt? Thanks for replying to me, BTW.

I was about 13/14 there were about 10 of us on the beach we all saw same thing. And np. Shame your in Kent otherwise I'd of said lets meet for a costa lol

It is a shame. I don't mean to impose on you but is there anything more you could tell me about the ghost you saw? Otherwise thank you anyway.

They're hard to explain about 8/10 of them sort of floating across the sand they were in long black cloaks with pointed hoods but like the pics/films I've seen the kkk wearing. Was really scary tbh

Intriguing. Was it at night? Where was this?

It was summer about 9ish I guess not quite dark

Cereal killer

Beth said I needed to find my everything which seems like a pretty cruel thing to say to someone with my options. I've just expanded my online presence by joining Plenty of Fish and had a rough time ever since. It doesn't take long to discover that whatever it is a guy needs to attract women I haven't got it. Of course, that's not really true-surely?- but somehow I am in some very strange category that most women label as 'no thanks' though it's really called 'rare man with extraordinary gifts.' I wish I was joking but I'm not. Out of around ten carefully selected women I've messaged I got one message back, which was to put my photos and profile down. She liked my story, though. Here's my message to her:

'Good luck finding someone well travelled in Margate. That's all I wanted to say but a longer message is required so...um.. Once upon a time there was a cornflake called Gerald. One morning he woke up to find some of his friends had been eaten. It kind of put things in perspective. The moral of the story is there's always a cornflake worse off than you.'

Sertraline in a bag

So this is a stark period in my life. The rent has just gone up. There are mice running around my flat. I have no prospects. Nobody wants me.
There are also people lying on beds in hospitals in Syria with limbs missing and no morphine. I know that. My mother has MS and has had a life of despair and disappointment. Know that too.
Still, if I don't get my head in the right space I'm not going to be much use to anybody. My mother has been telling to see a doctor about anti-depressants for years, by which I mean oh, at least fifteen. She swears by them though they don't seem have ever stopped her continually lamenting the state of her relationship with her daughter. I've never really agreed with them even though I'm not above the odd day trip from reality with a recreational drug of choice.
The thing is I believe optimal decisions in life will feedback into your mental wellbeing. A good diet, a good social life, good deeds. I never wanted to cheat. I wanted to slowly improve how I felt by exercising, meditating, eating properly, earning properly, behaving properly. The brain, surely, rewards us when we take the trouble to do the right thing. We shouldn't feel happy because we just popped a pill but because overtime we've been looking after ourselves and those around us. We've said hello to neighbors, hoovered the house or filled out a job application form. We've made a difficult phone call.  We've put a shift in. And because we have we've got the the sense of achievement or overcoming difficulty that will stay with us and we've learnt something. If something isn't difficult what do you learn? Say you fear something but do it anyway then you'll know that you can push yourself past fear. You'll know how it feels. I could go on all day about this.
And then there's the fact that I like the different textures of mood I get. I get natural highs that I enjoy exploring and though when I'm low life seems like a computer game that I've lost big time I also get swings where I dance around the house. What is this stuff going to do? Is it going to make my mind taste like a cracker? Will the glorious variety of moods I get be flattened out into a subdued cotton wooly numbness?
So I've been here many times before. Toying with the idea of antidepressants and saying no. It surely doesn't make sense that the government bans recreational drugs on the one hand and legalizes happy pills on the other. Surely anything that unbalances your brain's natural chemistry is going to want pay back and the costs might not be worth it? Haven't scientists admitted that they don't know how antidepressants work? And what about the side effects? What about the fact that they don't work? Only 50-65% of people notice a difference and nearly half of those are placebo.
But then, as I said to my doctor this morning, perhaps a limited course of antidepressants can help me change my life and with an improved life I can take the stabilizers off. It might feel a bit like cheating but it could also be called not being too proud to use what help is available (or too dumb not to). The tax payer pays most of my rent. I say thank you very much tax payer. I get working tax credits. I say thank you whoever pays those. If the NHS has a drug that stops you feeling miserable that you have no friends and no sex life is that to be sniffed at? The idea is, it's just to help me sort myself out and when I'm a successful writer I'll be more than happy to pay it all back and then some.
Trouble is, benefits can make one a bit dopey.  Any drug, be it the welfare state or crystal meth or Las Vegas surely is a fool's paradise? Oh, it wasn't an easy decision but reader, today I got a prescription pretty easily and popped across to the pharmacy with my HC2. Whilst I was waiting I followed up my doctor's suggestion to go the adult learning centre. I'd forgotten about that and it's a no brainer. They do ballroom dancing and Chinese Mandarin and stain glass window blowing and much more besides. I'll be able to persuade my mum to help out with costs on a course or two and soon I'll be happy as Larry. Ohhhhh, man. Do I really need drugs? The sacred ayahuasca reacts so badly with antidepressants it will kill you if you're got them in your system. And here's another thing.
Last week my mother's partner went up north and I went over to look after her. I was very mean and snappy, okay she can be difficult but I just had no sympathy. I was a complete asshole. Do I want to pop a pill and become Mr Love? No. I want to grow up. I want to pull myself together and say I did it for myself.
At least I can say what I have done for myself without it. I've just self-published my first book (An Insider's Guide to Culture Shock) and I've come third in a major competition. I've written many other stories besides, one of which is currently a 25,000 word novella.
You know what, I think I'm doing it because I'm curious. I've always been a bit of a psychonaut.  And if I might return to the idea of this being a temporary thing I'd like to think of it as a temporary loan. As with a credit card there might be some interest to pay but it's strategic. A temporary loan of happiness with my shit situation whilst I busy myself changing it.
You know, I think it was around November or December 2014 when I bought some Modafanil from Singapore, sadly no longer available. It only worked the first couple of times and they my brain seemed to say, nah. Can't be bothered, I'm going back to being lazy again. But the first two times, wow. My whole day is mainly spent avoiding doing things I don't want to do, which makes my life extremely unproductive. But on Modafanil I was on the ball. I wasn't a shrinking violet anymore. I was the living embodiment of the Nike swoosh logo. I was just doing what I needed to. Imagine where I'd be today if I was still taking them and they genuinely worked?
You know, if I was on Modafanil I probably wouldn't be procrastinating. I'd probably be saying whatever you decided to do just do it.

I am like the sea

I had a dream about Beth last night. She bought me one of those frames you put photos in and her boyfriend was in the front yard of the beach house next to mine. I was picking clothes up in my front yard, which was untidy.
Later, I decoded the dream. The gift of the picture frame with holes for photos was Beth giving me the memories of our time together. I'm free to hang them on the wall but she doesn't want to dwell on them. Her boyfriend was late forties, about five seven with black hair and a white shirt. This symbolized him being maturer and a clean slate. Maybe a better person. His lower height symbolized his not being ideal superficially (she is five nine and doesn't want someone shorter) but her being willing to make a concession. The rubbish in my yard symbolized not having sorted my life out and/or having baggage or issues. The juxtaposition of the beach houses simply shows the juxtaposition of the relationships in linear time.
I sent the dream and interpretation to Beth on WhatsApp. She said that he probably was more mature in some ways (mortgage, full time job, car, joint custody of kids) but she took issue with him not being superficially ideal. Okay, so he's ideal. I don't know, the dream was entirely based on my own suppositions, as I didn't even know his name before today.
At this point if you are curious about anything it may be to know why Beth and I parted ways. It was a strange relationship. We went out for almost exactly three months and from day one to the last day it went very well. We saw each other twice a week but were in touch all the time. She'd come round mine, I'd go round her, she'd come round mine. We'd snuggle up in bed and watch old VHS movies, we had tons of sex, we made plans for the future. See, I've always been into the paranormal and though Beth has no interest in that side of things she's always had that gift since a small child. I saw it in action. Even on the day Beth ended it we had been exchanging messages happily, as we normally did. But something I said had been bugging her and suddenly she couldn't suppress its significance.
When we first got together I warned Beth that I was planning to go to uni at some point and she said she was fine with that, she'd take each day as it came. Shortly after I decided to postpone uni for a year but this still gave me the conundrum of what to do a year down the line. Two months in I warned her that I still had to make that decision. She said she was fine with that but it turns out she wasn't fine with it. When we broke up she said I had given her a way out and she was taking it. She didn't want to be a 'stop gap' and a 'warm body'. She also said she loved me and I didn't love her and she had to pull out to protect her feelings before she got in deeper.
Well she had me tied to the wall, she was right. Though I was trying to protect her feelings I didn't think fully about how my warning might play out. The fact was, I had decided to go to a local university but Beth didn't know that. She said I should have told her, maybe she should have told me what she was thinking. As it was, I was dumped on the phone and the job was finished on Facebook. To this day I've never seen Beth again. I never got the chance to hug her one last time and she never saw the tears that were running down my face when she ended things.
Of course, we're not at that age where relationships can just tick along nicely without going anywhere. (Not that I ever had one of those). She is 42, I am 40. She has two young twins and, a twelve year old and two that are more or less out the nest. She don't be having time to mess with guys like me.
But then, who does? See, I am 40 and I don't have much going for me on paper. I'm on working tax credits, which is a fancy way of saying I do some work but get less money than someone on income support. At the moment I spend three pounds a day on food, am overweight and look worse than I ever have. I am too arty and articulate and weird for the average working class woman who I would otherwise have a cat in hell's chance with on OKCupid or Plenty of Fish yet too poor to attract other arty and articulate girls who don't consider themselves as materialistic. And so in my two and a half years of online dating since I returned from China I only managed two dates and one of those was converted into a three month probation period, which I failed.
Of course, there's no way I could have held onto Beth. She would have found me out sooner or later. I don't think she really loved me. She got over the break up in about two days flat whereas I am like the sea. Slow to warm and slow to cool.