Category: depression

11th April 2018

Not a bad day today.  The new album by The Dead Daisies arrived.  It’s really rather good.  I wrote a review for it and put it up on my other website.  No.  I’m not going to tell you what that website is because I’m trying to keep these things as separate as I can.

Another thing that I bought today that fits into the “do something that makes you happy” bit of treating your own depression is the new Eighth Doctor box set from Big Finish.  It’s called Ravenous, and carries on from Doom Coalition.

If you’re not a fan of Doctor Who, this will mean absolutely nothing to you.  Same goes if you think it started in 2005 and the first Doctor was Christopher Ecclestone.

He wasn’t.  He was the Ninth.

I’m really looking forward to wrapping my ears around this one, at least partly because of the carryover villain from Doom CoalitionThe Eleven.  He’s a Time Lord whose previous regenerations didn’t really go all the way, so he has all his previous personalities rattling around in his head, like a Gallifreyan version of multiple personality disorder.

Mark Bonnar manages to create all eleven personalities and give them all life, making him a pretty damned sinister character, especially when ten of those personalities are varying levels of evil, with one “good” one trapped in the middle.

OK then.  Time for bed.

If I can get my brain going in the right direction, I might even start doing a bit of writing again.


7th April 2018

Wasn’t really feeling it again this morning.  Since the Mother-In-Law, Sister-In-Law and nephew were due from the north east of Scotland, The Mrs had made me and The Boy work on tidying the house and generally cleaning up.

OK, I will admit it was needed.  The house can become a tip with an 8 year old, one adult with depression and another on with acute fatigue syndrome.  And two cats.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t get stressed and start to dive a little.

So I did.

You know what helped?  Being dragged out of the house for a couple of hours.  We went into town, dropped something at the post office, called in at Boots and then went to Burger King (I had the Angus Burger – probably the most expensive thing on the menu, but it actually tastes of something, unlike the sort of thing you get at Maccy D’s, washed down with Dr Pepper).

When we got home, I was feeling less down.  Got sat down and relaxed… and started to dive again.

Took The Boy for his swimming lesson (so got me out of the house again), and in that hour, having read a couple of issues of X-Men: Gold whilst he was in the water, I’d pretty much recovered my equilibrium, despite the impending arrival.

It’s pretty much bedtime now, and I’m feeling OK.  Not brilliant, but somewhat relieved that everything went OK in the end.  Amazing what a difference just getting out of the house and having something to do makes.

*Rolls eyes*

I’m told that one of the biggest causes of depression is bottling everything up.  I’d go along with that.  I tend to bottle things up, and I always have done, which is probably a good part of the reason I get pretty nasty when I’m off the medication for any reason (or it’s starting to run out, and I have to eek a few more days out of what I’ve got).

So I thought it was time I had something of a rant.

You know that feeling when you really can’t be bothered anymore?

No, I don’t mean THAT.  What I mean is when you reach the moment when you reach faecal saturation.  When you are sick of someone’s shit.  I’ve reached that point again with a now former Facebook “friend”.

So I just unfriended.

Simple.  He probably won’t even notice I’ve gone, and I’ve got one less vegan banging on and on and on about how farming is cruel and we’re murderers.


We’re not murderers.  We’re the apex predator.  Our species has got so good at killing other animals for food that we don’t really even need to hunt them anymore.  Anyway, as anyone with any knowledge of Biology knows, we kill to survive.  OK, the vegan doesn’t kill animals, but what about the plants?  They’re alive (they fulfil all the seven criteria used by biologists to denote life) and recent research suggests they feel pain.  It’s been known for a while that plants secrete alarm signals when they come under attack, so it’s logical that they must be able to sense that attack, therefore they feel pain.

Every time you wash your hands, or any other part of your body, your clothes or your food, you are (by your own standards) committing murder.  The same goes when you uproot the plants you’re going to eat.  Not only do you kill the plant, but you damage the ecosystem it has formed around itself.  Millions of micro-organisms go to their end in your pan of boiling water.

My own personal theory as to why some people go vegan: being vegetarian isn’t “special” enough.  You don’t really get to wallow in your own sense of superiority and rub it in other people’s faces if you’re “just” a vegetarian.  There are LOADS of vegetarians out there.  They’re not special.  They’re mainstream.

Vegans, on the other hand, are going that one step further.  They’re “special” because they believe themselves to be morally superior to all the carnivores because they don’t cause the deaths of animals to feed and clothe themselves.


Bollocks to all that.  I’m not biting anymore.  I’m just hitting “unfriend”, and in extreme cases “block”.  My mental health is more important to me than that, and it’s about time I prioritized.

So there.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

This is just a bit of a catch-up, really.

If I have ANY regular readers, please let me know.  It’s a bit lonely in here, and for someone fighting depression, like my good self, it’s heartening to know that there’s someone out there.

So if there is, please leave a comment or something.  That way, when I do take a spiral down (which will happen at some point), I can hold onto the evidence that someone does actually give a shit.

Anyway.  Not been too bad recently.  The job bumps along.  Looks like a colleague is well and truly fucked off (and I can’t really blame him, based on what’s been happening and the changes of circumstances he’s been through recently), and is planning to resign in February.  I’ll miss him.  His truly (deliberately) awful jokes and puns really did help lighten the mood.

The experiment into dropping my dose of sertraline to 100mg per day seems to be working.  Although I’ve got less resistance built in to spirals, I do feel somewhat more in control and a bit more present.  So that’s a good thing.

Really do need to start going to the gym again, though.  I managed regular visits for nearly a month, but a few days of feeling crap have lead to me not going for something like a fortnight now.

I need to do something about that.  The workouts help the brain chemistry and therefore help the depression (and also help with the inevitable weight increases caused by the drugs), so this is something I really do need.

Something I also need to do is get back into writing.  I was somewhat (pleasantly) shocked to actually get a few quid from my novella, Wild Caught Are Always Better (available from many good ebook retailers… and probably a few dodgy ones, too – click on the link if you have a Kindle or use Kindle software).  It seems to be heading off into cyberpunk, which is interesting, not least for me as I watch it develop as I write it.

Might try and write a couple more paragraphs at least before I go to bed tonight.

Friday 20th July 2017

Friday 20th July 2017

Chester Bennington hanged himself.

His depression finally managed to get past his last defences and managed to do the same thing to him that it had done to Chris Cornell, Robin Williams and hundreds of other people across the world.  It’s tragedy.

But you know what’s worse?  Especially for those of us who are, right at this moment, very much aware that one day, that could be us?  The whole “he was selfish” narrative.

No.  Let’s just end that here.  No.  Definitely not.  No matter what they say, these people have never, ever had even an hour of REAL depression in their lives.  For which they should be eternally grateful.

Depression is that constant companion whispering in your ear so it gets into your subconscious.  It tells you that you’re not worth it.  That your friends aren’t really your friends, they’re just taking pity on you.  You don’t really matter to them at all.  It will also attempt to convince you that your family would be better off it you weren’t there anymore.  They’d be better still if you were dead.  Then they wouldn’t have to worry about you coming back and fucking up their lives yet again.

Another thing I get sick of hearing is “why didn’t they get help?”

Part of going really deep into depression is that you believe that there is no help for you.  It doesn’t even occur to you to try and get it because you don’t actually think there’s anything wrong with you.  Looking back, before I started getting treatment, I said and did some awful things to various people for literally just being somewhere I didn’t want them to be.

We need to have friends who will stick by us.  People who will be there to drag us out of the house and just be there to make sure we don’t do anything stupid in the guise of making everyone’s life better.  We won’t ask for help.  You’ll never know how badly a person with depression is because we’re experts at hiding it from the outside world.  We don’t want to burden anyone else with our problems.

Sorry friends and loved ones.  It’s down to you.  You’ll have to push us to get help.  Don’t stop until the treatment is underway and keep pushing.  We may not think we’re worth the hassle, but so long as there’s someone there to care enough, we might just get through this.