I HAVEN'T POSTED in a while because for weeks on end I have been feeling lousy. I've been feeling lousy for weeks on end. Only writing this stupid story has distracted me. But as soon as I stopped writing I was depressed again. Now that the book is written (in a wordprocessor-ready draft at least) I'm more miserable than ever. I'm on chapter 2 of the next story but have felt so low that I can barely continue. Also my head is too confused by alterations I have had to make in the text. The text is lousy, so I have to change it, but changing it (ending up with paragraphs lying all over the place) really does my head in. I've been doing art as well, but painting and drawing is making me see things. Severed fingers on the landing. Giant spiders. I am hearing voices murmuring. And I AM taking the antipsyco pills. This morning I opened the kitchen door and an enormous bright yellow spider ran away from me. (Am I going insane?) I don't believe in mental illness, except as a sort of religion, giving structure to our formless lives. In a push-button age of instant gratification and personal comfort our souls are in pain. Psychiatry means "care of the soul". In an irreligious era the psychiatrists are the high-priests of our spirit and we're all in pain. All in so much pain, because our lives are meaningless and worthless.
This is what I get when I google "mad doctor animated gif":~~~~~~~