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.
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