I wish I hadn't said all that stuff about antidepressants yesterday because someone like Anna Grace will think I want a psychotic episode. This is not what I was saying. I only ever want to be manic when I'm down because that is the only sort of "happiness" I can conceive of. I do not, by the way, and never will, accept feeling run-down, pissed off and mildly depressed and constant low-grade sickness as any kind of "normality" because it is NOT NORMAL AT ALL.
The ONLY time I have ever felt truly "normal" in the past two years or so has been in the immediate aftermath of short hypomanic episodes. And they do have to be mild and short. I didn't feel at all normal following true mania. I felt really confused. Couldn't remember things like appointment times. And I remember thinking at the time that this was worse than concussion ~ and I say that advisedly, as I was once hit on the head by a truck and kept losing track of where I was and what I was doing for days afterwards. No fewer than THREE people took advantage of me when I was recovering from that breakdown ~ always other addicts and always in connection with drugs. I just thought You wait. Just wait until the Vehemence hits me again and I'll open my mouth and blow the full force of the whirlwind right at you and you'll never know what hit you.
As for dying: the lower down I go the less I believe I will ever die. Thoughts of suicide become ever more torturous as I am obsessed by the horrific possibility that suicide may fail. All I have ever wanted is 100% certainty of death, and that cuts down the number of possible avenues considerably. I knew two people who managed to top themselves in spring 2010. One jumped in front of a tube train. The other took every bit of psychiatric medication and methadone she had. Neither of these methods bears a chance of death anything like high enough for me. To die on modern antipsychotics and SSRI antidepressants you have to be really, really freakishly lucky. And a person with longstanding, heavy opiate addiction could easily take several hundred milligrams of methadone and feel nothing more than heavily stoned. Tube trains enter the stations very slowly (they only seem to rush in so rapidly because you're close to the train in a confined space) ~ plus there's a whacking great trench under the live rail, meaning a massive chance that you'll fall down there and live, but probably get clothing, hair and limbs tangled in the wheels ~ a recipe for a complete medical mess. A Muslim once told me that if you stab yourself you will spend eternity in hell stabbing yourself over and over. Which narrows methods of suicide down to only one: deliberate opiate overdose. I can think of better ways of spending eternity. But shooting up gear for ever and ever would be a good compromise. The gear now is so weak, it wouldn't surprise me if I coudln't take a half-ounce all at once and live. That's another reason I want to be OFF methadone as quick as possible. It has nothing to do with wanting to live clean and everything to do with wanting to die clean. I have always known I would never be lucky enough to overdose myself accidentally; have always known I was going to have to make it through right to the bitter end. I don't want to live, but I know I have to.
Well there is nothing else to talk about. Crap weekend, crap week: same shit, different day.
Illustrated: Oromorph and suicide ~ I seriously doubt this method would work. You have to shoot straight through at least one brain hemisphere and that shot is way too low to assure death
ANYTHING to get off the subject of death. Here are 2 tunes. I'm afraid the first is technically funeral music Mozart's Requiem: Lacrimosa. But it doesn't sound funereal to me. The non-techno versions are all crap. Nowhere near loud enough.
I'm not Roman Catholic but I like the tune...