Heading for Midnight

It's 2355 and I can't get to sleep, so here I am again, fellow insomniacs and blog readers.  I thought I was dropping off, but the wicked sleep denying imp leapt into action and gave me the finger.  So it's back to the ashtray and a cup of coffee (unleaded).  It's so annoying because I am really tired after today's experiences and I'd like to be horizontal.

Two thank you's - first to Marion, who left a lovely message for me, and second to Estie for my Red Cross parcel.  Both were very inspirational.  I can't write to Marion - no email address - but I'll write to you, Estie.

At this time of the evening, the Black Dog sits mournfully by the door, begging to be let in.  In the mornings, he's right up against my side.  Churchill knew how to describe depression, alright.  In the first episode of this blog, I describe how it is for me - I won't repeat it, but newbies should look there.  It's an ending of life, so one is grieving for the loss of self and soul; I think that grief is why sufferers cry initially and say they are sad.  And it's an all pervasive sadness, because one is trying to make sense of that loss, trying to use the tools that one has lost.  I also see depression as the beginning of the end - falling down that mineshaft can lead to death, particularly for bipolar people.  One hopes to stop falling before the final landing.

Depression is absence, a void, a vacuum.  And bad things fill that vacuum - in my case, voices and evil thoughts.  For others it can be feeling that you are dead, or dying; or believing that you have caused dreadful weather, or killed someone.  I knew someone who killed himself because he kept thinking he'd pushed people under trains, and he couldn't stand it.  Another person I knew hanged themselves because their care plan had been changed and they were no longer allowed day treatment.

I'm going to talk about suicide next.