Nowhere in Bipolarland

Manic depression  Spike Milligan

The pain is too much

A thousand grim winters

    grow in my head

In my ears

    the sound of the

    coming dead.

All Seasons

All Sane

All Living

All Pain.

No opiate to lock still

     my senses

Only left,

     the body locked tenses

NO I DON'T FEEL that bad. I am sick and tired, that's all. And I have to see the ******g doctor tomorrow. I don't want to go. What will happen? It was originally a "gimme more quetiapine" appointment but Nurse Carol gave me more of that two weeks ago. I might as well hit doctor Strangelove with a request for more. I hope she doesn't put up the dose. And I don't want mood stabilizers. I had SIX MONTHS without even the faintest hint of mania or hypomania and they were the worst six months of my life. Apart from... well apart from most of the rest of my shit-for-brains existence. My worker had the gall to have a go at me for not attending group. Why? Am I really to say my true opinion: either give the junkies heroin or shoot them through the head. All junkies, all mental patients, depressives, bipolars and schizos in particular should be killed. Most of them long for death at some time. Often for many months on end stranded in lifetimes of desolation and waste and utter Vernichtung: utter psychiatric nuclear winter. Death is the only true happiness. I want all people to be happy.

I just could not handle the idea of visiting a mental unit today. My friend is on a 6-month section. Involuntary Commitment. The whole set-up, the nurses, the gone-out psychotic patients, it's all too much. They would be so much happier never to feel or think or remember or ever be remembered.


MUSIC:

ETTA JAMES: AT LAST

 

     *******