verDerbt

...who's still reading this, and thanks for hanging around.

Who would have thought reinventing oneself is so much work. It's just when the alternative sucks so much it might end up rivaling gravity itself that the necessary energies look to be able to maybe stand up to entropy.

Also, recent reconstruction work has unearthed the remains of a sixpack under the ruins of the era that will most likely become known as the Years of Sloth. We shall see what further definition of these outlines will say about the possibility of a rebuild. These old foundations continue to astound me in their resilience, though.

There is so much left unfinished, and so many interesting things yet to try.

Tell me, people, whether you have something to add to the list

Also, please call me Paul.

He wasn't well for a long time, and he hated it. Hated hospitals (he was a doctor, so he knew why) and he hated being weak, and dependent. His heart had stopped two times already, but they always brought him back. He hated that, too, but the word of the sick counts for nothing in a hospital. Liability is a bitch.

So the crafty old fox let them take him for dialysis, and while they were trundling his bed through the corridors, he quietly left. Timed it so no one noticed till the bed with his body arrived and they found him gone. Of course, they tried to bring him back again ...but this time, the old fox got away clean.

Good one, dad. Glad you made it.

You know hat they say about cycling... apparently, drawing occupies the same regions of my brain.
Possibly because I haven't cycled since they stole my latest bike. And I don't remember cycling being that satisfying. Or that delightfully evil.

There appeared, from various snatches of inspiration, a boy named Stephane, walking alone through a dark and cold night. The right music was found, and things started coming together. They'll be... very ...firmly together.

Those of you who draw, is music as important to you? Do you select the musical theme for the drawing or the other way round?

...give up...




...trying to battle it alone.

And get help.

After eight years of increasing discomfort, feeling ever more like an unlucky outsider in a blathering, bleating crowd of awfully, execrably happy people, feeling like a stranger in my own skin (the last three years were a constant uphill struggle against rising disgust, later mounting despair, fear of the future - and the ever-present lure of the rope, I not kid ye) I did what I have always viewed as... yeah, I have... losing my fight and giving in to medication. For three weeks now, I've been taking anti-depressants.

I should have taken the stuff eight years ago. And fuck the fight.

Yes, I suffer from side-effects. Stuff makes me quite sleepy, so I sink caffeinated beverages like a hole drilled into the ground of the Gobi desert. Stuff also makes my mouth feel dry all the time, but that's not so apparent as the next coffee, tea or can of Red Bull is always in the coming. I had a phase of wild mood swings, which was awkward for people around me (not so much for me, because every mood - no matter how inappropriate - felt entirely justified). And... sorry for too much information, but this is a soul-baring, and the naked truth, so... for nigh on two weeks my sexual urges were dead as door nails, the concept of erection as foreign as Martian poetry.

Apart from the sleepiness and dry mouth, all side effects were gone by the end of week two, just as my psychiatrist prophesied.

Now I just feel like I regained control over my life.

If I had to take the stuff to the end of my days (which I don't) I would nevertheless sing the praise of the pharmaceutical wizards who magicked up that stuff. It's not a price that I pay. It's a fuel to run my machine on. And run it does. I've rediscovered motivation, and I think you need to have been where I was to appreciate the meaning of this seemingly little fact.

So, if you know what I mean by the lure of the rope... believe me, you're not alone. You're not condemned to live, or rather linger, like this. You have an illness, and that illness can be cured. Like pox. Just don't try to medicate on your own. Stuff needs to be tailored to your needs by a professional.

If you like, I'm there to talk to you.

-verDerbt out.