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Pills and Soap
Aug. 2nd, 2008 06:48 pmA couple of days in, and have I been troubled by a flattened affect, trouser-area bother or my brains leaking out of my ears?
No.
I'm not yet convinced about the claim that 'just having them there' can help, but the absence of fear is... Really very pleasant.
And also strangely horrible because it's obvious that I've been coping with low-level anxiety for a Very Long Time indeed and that's just rubbish. As if one were working somewhere shite and having to put up with allegedly 'popular' music on the wireless. You may imagine that I've just panelled the bloody thing flat, have a lump-hammer and a slighly manic glint in my eye and the people I work with are grinning nerviously and backing for the exit.
Only I don't work there.
Yesterday, for instance, I pottered (carefully, though it was grey, it was still too bright for my medicated eyeballs and I couldn't focus to read, um, anything) from the eye hospital toward Baldwin street. Ordinarily I'd have made a beeline for the bus and that would be an end to it. This time I stopped and looked at the old city gates, wandered round the back of the Guildhall because there was an interesting alley and was just calmly and cheerfully interacting with the world, rather than it being slightly forced.
It was pretty much like that post-counselling, so it seems to me that it's not a terrible and flattened headspace to be in. I shall trust that it all works in the same manner of 'throwing yourself at the ground and missing'.
(You'll note that my entries get longer when I'm better able to cope with the world.)
Two things spring to mind. One is that despite the NHSeses best effort to give me a migraine, apparently I only have ocular hypertension and they don't want to see (haw!) me again for a twelvemonth. Which explains the medicated eyeballs. I mean, the last time I was that saucer-eyed it had cost me a fiver.
You know, the entire experience would have been a lot more fun if one had been able to swap the relevant drugs.
Anyway. The 'slightly forced' thing sounds a bit odd when I think about it. I mean, I can only be me, right? Well, perhaps not.
There's the 'me' that gets talked about on the internet, which has about as much to do with reality as I do. This is pretty normal. We've all got one of those.
There's also this other 'me' that I sometimes remember how to get right.
It struck me this morning that it feels a lot like playing GTn, but being unable to keep up with the ghost car. Of course that ghost car is only yourself having managed a far better lap, but you just can't remember what you did to make that lap special.
Or something a lot like that.
No.
I'm not yet convinced about the claim that 'just having them there' can help, but the absence of fear is... Really very pleasant.
And also strangely horrible because it's obvious that I've been coping with low-level anxiety for a Very Long Time indeed and that's just rubbish. As if one were working somewhere shite and having to put up with allegedly 'popular' music on the wireless. You may imagine that I've just panelled the bloody thing flat, have a lump-hammer and a slighly manic glint in my eye and the people I work with are grinning nerviously and backing for the exit.
Only I don't work there.
Yesterday, for instance, I pottered (carefully, though it was grey, it was still too bright for my medicated eyeballs and I couldn't focus to read, um, anything) from the eye hospital toward Baldwin street. Ordinarily I'd have made a beeline for the bus and that would be an end to it. This time I stopped and looked at the old city gates, wandered round the back of the Guildhall because there was an interesting alley and was just calmly and cheerfully interacting with the world, rather than it being slightly forced.
It was pretty much like that post-counselling, so it seems to me that it's not a terrible and flattened headspace to be in. I shall trust that it all works in the same manner of 'throwing yourself at the ground and missing'.
(You'll note that my entries get longer when I'm better able to cope with the world.)
Two things spring to mind. One is that despite the NHSeses best effort to give me a migraine, apparently I only have ocular hypertension and they don't want to see (haw!) me again for a twelvemonth. Which explains the medicated eyeballs. I mean, the last time I was that saucer-eyed it had cost me a fiver.
You know, the entire experience would have been a lot more fun if one had been able to swap the relevant drugs.
Anyway. The 'slightly forced' thing sounds a bit odd when I think about it. I mean, I can only be me, right? Well, perhaps not.
There's the 'me' that gets talked about on the internet, which has about as much to do with reality as I do. This is pretty normal. We've all got one of those.
There's also this other 'me' that I sometimes remember how to get right.
It struck me this morning that it feels a lot like playing GTn, but being unable to keep up with the ghost car. Of course that ghost car is only yourself having managed a far better lap, but you just can't remember what you did to make that lap special.
Or something a lot like that.
