Talking of drugs, I've found out how many Calories are allegedly in a half litre can of 7.5% ABV cyder. A website alledges 225, but with 7 Calories per gram of alcohol and 8 grams in a unit (10ml), the 3.75 units in a half litre amount to 210 Calories from alcohol alone. This ignores the amount of sugar in the drink. The lemonade I buy is 200 Calories per litre, so if you add that on and add a bit more for luck, you get 350 per half litre and that's the figure I'm using.
I found the name of an atypical antipsychotic that doesn't make you tubby (and most do) ARIPIPRAZOLE (Abilify). There's another called ZIPRASIDONE (Geodon) but that's supposedly not available in the UK.
I need to find a medication that works for me without causing ridiculous side-effects. I haven't found one so far. The schizophrenia book says aripiprazole /Abilify causes anxiety and insomnia, so I probably WON'T be going near that one...
I've been looking through a schizophrenia book to see whether I do or don't have it. To be schizoaffective in Europe, you must meet the full diagnostic criteria for mania (or depression) and schizophrenia concurrently. Unfortunately I do seem to meet the schizophrenia ones because I've heard voices summarizing my thoughts and I find it very difficult to motivate myself ~ no matter what mood I'm in. (Amongst many other things.) But those 2 are considered hallmark features of schizophrenia. As for mania, I've very easily fulfilled the diagnostic criteria for that, on many occasions. So maybe I am "schizoaffective" after all. I always considered myself a manic-depressive because other people (always with first-hand knowledge, worryingly enough) had been hinting and telling me I had it for years before I really thought that was the truth. Only when I started hearing voices loudly (in 2010) did I consider myself truly "ill" ~
The only true news of today is that I saw the lovebirds again. Squarking merrily away. The shop-owner keeps them in a tiny cage. If I had little birdies I would let them fly free. Or build them a miniature aviary. No birds were born to live their lives in prison. Especially when they've just been born and are too young even to have pecked someone!
Well I've got to go. I've had over 1000 Calories since 3am. Why I am so hungry I have no idea...
11 comments:
Making a commitment to stop ... hmm ... I always struggle with the finality of that. When I came out of rehab I made it very clear to my family that I was trying hard not to drink, it was not my intention to drink at that moment but there was no way I could promise to not drink in the future. I think they struggled with that but accepted it - the condition by which I continue to live in the family home is simple, if I drink again I will leave, hopefully voluntary - i.e. I'll just not go home once I start. The front door to my house will only open in one direction to an alcoholic me - as an exit.
Very well put. I always thought the consequences of taking heroin were so awful, there would be no point making any future promises, the breaking of which would make the consequences even worse...
... also I do believe in NA and AA's maxim "just for today". It's much easier to make a one-day decision than a lifetime one... and that system seems to work well for those who abide by it.
Since U like the birdies theres a poem you might like - I relate to it as its what been an addict feels like (trapped) Its called 'I know why the caged bird sings'
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare screams
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
By
Maya Angelou
Sorry if u aint into poetry jst wi ya likin the birds thought u might like this :-)
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