Nevermind

| (1)

You can't vote

please try after log in

click to vote: outdated

You can't vote

please try after log in

click to vote: misleading or not useful

You can't vote

please try after log in

click to vote: average

You can't vote

please try after log in

click to vote: good

You can't vote

please try after log in

click to vote: great

Hello, my name is Felicity Bloomfield, and I am not on drugs.

*Hello Felicity*

I have suffered with this condition (of not being on drugs) for most of this year, and I gotta tell you, I enjoyed it. What a fool I was!

*Tsk tsk*

See, I don't actually know what the truth is. The mental health professionals tell me I'm sick, that it's not my fault - it's a physical thing; a chemical imbalance in my brain. They say that there's no cure, but that drugs are the treatment. It's like my brain is a paint palette, and it's supposed to be purple but it got a bit too red, and the drugs are blue paint to mix in and make it better. I like that idea. I want to believe it.

*What DO you believe, Felicity?*

I do at least believe that I've changed; that this is not me. I feel frightened all the time - threatened. I worry when I'm driving about the invisible man - what if I hit him? And I know very well that's ridiculous. There are at least two of me in my head - one is mad as a hatter. She cries all the time, can't be trusted to drive, and feels responsible for everything from Mugabe to roadworks. The other me is increasingly annoyed at her. I'm sick of seeing her steal my money, my pleasure, and my friends.

I remember being on drugs last year and the year before - I remember that it helped.

*But. . . *

It irks me, taking a pill that changes who I am. Even if it's designed to change me BACK to what I really am. (Or so they say. . .) It's a big commitment, too. Last time it took a year to get off them. But. . . personality-altering drugs. It just seems like weird and wrong science fiction. Why don't I just get a lobotomy while I'm at it?

*You're being irrational, Felicity*

Oh, sod off.

*Fine. I will.*

I wanted to write a blog to say goodbye to the non-modulated Fel; to keep a record of my non-drugged self so I can remember that I'm the same person on drugs and off - that even drug-free I'm not a complete tool. Unfortunately any honest assessment of how I'm going is pretty miserable. I just wrote an email to a friend (feeling too awkward to have the conversation face to face) to let him know that I'd like to keep going to his place for dinner and TV, that I hope to work my way back up to conversation one day, and that I'm going so well that he's allowed to say no now (he wasn't before, because it was frankly hazardous not to accede to my demands. I've been getting bizarre and violent urges since cutting out chocolate for a month, and I called friends to make up a looking-after-Fel roster).

I have, just in the last few weeks, got a grip on both my eating and my money. Which is amazing! Wonderful! Sublime! But to put it in perspective, what it means is that I've only gained five kilos (instead of ten), and only lost $1500 (instead of $5000, like last year). THIS is the height of my year?

My pre-crazy Fel self would just work, and work, and work until I got out of this hole. But that ability to work obsessively has been taken away from me - probably forever. My will is as strong as ever, but all I'm able to use it on is being patient. Forcing myself to go slowly. And I'm doing amazingly well. Considering.

My social interaction is going to need something more - in a word, drugs.

I remember fairly distinctly what I used to be like - the impressive and the non-impressive bits. I can certainly see the beginnings of mental illness way, way back in my personality. But it's time to accept that I don't HAVE to fight my way through every friendly conversation - that drugs aren't cheating, but the obvious solution, and the noble thing to do.

This is Felicity Bloomfield, signing out.