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This
Storyline starts here
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I don't know where my aversion to medications comes from. I have enough difficultly letting myself take common painkillers but face an actual dread of mind-altering substances including anti-depressants.
Some of the superficial stuff is easy to identify but not so easy to quantify.
- anti-depressants somehow means giving up. This isn't rational but it's really deeply rooted.
- not being "me" any more. But see below about losing myself anyway.
- perhaps more specifically "not being (able to be) the me that I want to be". This is a significant part of why I don't drink. I've been accused multiple times of "being afraid that I might have fun" but actually one of the things I'm afraid of is that my concept of "fun" will shift to include the stupid and obnoxious things I see intoxicated people doing. The others are that I will be an angry hurty drunk (aspects of my nature that I constantly override to be the person I want to be) and addiction - because I am susceptible and again I work hard to restrict my addictions to harmless activities.
There is an argument to be made that alcohol is actually a -more- serious mind-affecting substance than properly prescribed a-ds and the conceptual inversion of that relationship is actually simply ... cultural for lack of better term.
~~~
Over the past 12 months I've noticed that each time I crash and recover I've stopped caring about something. It might be something related to my work ethic. It might be something about how I relate to people. That's how I got the beard - after one crash I stopped caring about shaving. Fortunately I still care enough about a tidy appearance to trim.
It feels like my psyche is cannibalising tiny bits of itself to survive. This poses a problem because sooner or latter I'm going to stop caring about things that really matter (if I haven't already). Sooner or later I'm going to stop caring about being the person I want to be and just revert to being ... something else. Something/somebody that doesn't care.
~~~
I haven't been to the counsellor for a couple of months because Xmas, and he's been away. But it feels like somewhere in those couple of months I may have stopped caring about the pills so much. Maybe this year I'll try anti-depressants even though the thought make me want to break down. After all, what do I have to lose?
~~~
~~~
As an additionally poignant note the above comic was published on the first anniversary of my brother-in-law's suicide.
Storyline starts here
~~~
I don't know where my aversion to medications comes from. I have enough difficultly letting myself take common painkillers but face an actual dread of mind-altering substances including anti-depressants.
Some of the superficial stuff is easy to identify but not so easy to quantify.
- anti-depressants somehow means giving up. This isn't rational but it's really deeply rooted.
- not being "me" any more. But see below about losing myself anyway.
- perhaps more specifically "not being (able to be) the me that I want to be". This is a significant part of why I don't drink. I've been accused multiple times of "being afraid that I might have fun" but actually one of the things I'm afraid of is that my concept of "fun" will shift to include the stupid and obnoxious things I see intoxicated people doing. The others are that I will be an angry hurty drunk (aspects of my nature that I constantly override to be the person I want to be) and addiction - because I am susceptible and again I work hard to restrict my addictions to harmless activities.
There is an argument to be made that alcohol is actually a -more- serious mind-affecting substance than properly prescribed a-ds and the conceptual inversion of that relationship is actually simply ... cultural for lack of better term.
~~~
Over the past 12 months I've noticed that each time I crash and recover I've stopped caring about something. It might be something related to my work ethic. It might be something about how I relate to people. That's how I got the beard - after one crash I stopped caring about shaving. Fortunately I still care enough about a tidy appearance to trim.
It feels like my psyche is cannibalising tiny bits of itself to survive. This poses a problem because sooner or latter I'm going to stop caring about things that really matter (if I haven't already). Sooner or later I'm going to stop caring about being the person I want to be and just revert to being ... something else. Something/somebody that doesn't care.
~~~
I haven't been to the counsellor for a couple of months because Xmas, and he's been away. But it feels like somewhere in those couple of months I may have stopped caring about the pills so much. Maybe this year I'll try anti-depressants even though the thought make me want to break down. After all, what do I have to lose?
~~~
~~~
As an additionally poignant note the above comic was published on the first anniversary of my brother-in-law's suicide.
