Disposition on a Sickness.

I have come a long way in the health of my mental illness. The psychotropic medication that they have me on has balanced me out and most of the time I feel quite optimistic. Not as negative as before. The Wellbutrin XL and Topomax are working wonders with this diagnosis of Manic-depressive with schizophrenic tendencies. Or so the good doctor has claimed. This blog is for the world to see, but I kept a handwritten journal for my doctor to read and I was going over it. Can't believe I thought like this.

Example:

Thursday 11/2/05
Third night without sleep. Lie in my bed wracked in pain - loneliness - black sadness.
Around 3:30 am uncontrollable fit of crying - sobbing in great sadness - How did I allow myself to degenerate into this state? I am better than this - obviously not. Alone. Can't hold a job anymore - forced to live in this filthy shelter. I come to the conclusion that there is no reason to exist - this thought makes me cry even more. Perhaps Angela (My doctor) was right - my only way through this is to write my way out.

4:00 a.m - As I set pen to paper, sitting on this warped wooden bench in this filthy shower covered in slime, mold, and shit - Angela was right, this writing has calmed me somewhat. I don't feel like yelling obscenities at the top of my voice or committing random acts of mayhem. Back to my bunk I guess amid the snoring and farting and hacking and smell of sour feet, unwashed bodies and halitosis...when will it end?

4:35 a.m. - A resident hobo comes to take a shit and asks what am I writing. "Nothing", I say. But that is not true I am writing 'All is lost, All is lost' That is all I can ever write - truthfully.

All is lost.
All is Lost.
ALL IS LOST.