On Thursday my medication ran out. I never meant for that to happen, but with a combination of me working a few extra hours and the whole stress surrounding Cliffords funeral I completely forgot to get a reknewal. Now I’m suffering through the weekend from hell.
Saturday 16th October 2016
It’s some time past 3am and the voices won’t stop. I’ve tried reading, I’ve tried watching a movie, playing computer games… even tried masturbating but couldn’t even concentrate on that.. Eventually I started cleaning my apartment but it’s too early to do anything that causes noise and the fact that it really badly needs hoovered has started to drive me nuts as well. Though not to the same extent as the voices.
Now I’m writing down my thoughts. Sometimes it’s all that keeps me sane. I can write sometimes. Maybe if Cliff had written down his thoughts he’d still be with us. Maybe he did? I used to take comfort in the fact that because he had the suffered this too he’d probably be awake. I could call him. Now I can’t. Clifford has gone and there is one less person in the world that I can confide in.
The medication keeps me alive. Keeps me sane, and millions like me. Millions of us with that certain DNA abnormality that leaves us prone to the voices. Like Cliff. Cliff wouldn’t take the medication. He didn’t want to deal with the side effects. He tried to blank them out instead. Meditation and exercise. He read that some people had dealt with it that way. It didn’t help him in the end. I used to know a guy who tried to kill the voices with deafening death metal. In the end he went deaf. In the end he just killed himself. Like Cliff. Like me?
No! I promised myself I wouldn’t have those thoughts. I feel dissapointed in me. Bad boy. It’s the nocturnal effect on the soul. The withdrawls from my medication and those damn voices. I don’t even hear what they say anymore. It’s never interesting. I read about people with schizophrenia who have voices that tell them they are worthless. That they should kill people. That they should kill themselves. Sounds interesting. Better than the inane shit we have to put up with.
Many people think it would be better for society to put more effort into stopping the source of the voices rather than feeding us cheap medication, but that’s the problem. Money. If you’ve got it you can live in an area where the voices are cancelled. I’m just low paid worker. Not worth the effort. People like me don’t pay enough tax to the government to justify them putting the expense into helping us. We can go to hell. We can all die. Many think that would be the best thing for society.
Shit. I’m letting myself feel like a victim again. Cliff often felt that way in his bad periods. I am a victim though. There are charities for people like me. If you have a charity you’ve got to be a victim of something. Having a charity that raises awaeness amongst the people who almost, but not quite, go as far as doing something to help me isn’t much comfort. It’s like being patronised officially.
Society shrugs and moves on. It’s terrible that people suffer like this but what can they really do? A lot you say? Ah, erm… well they are busy at the moment and… oh, is that their taxi..?
I’m sure the apathy is almost overwhelming.
And of couse we exaggerate our suffering to get sympathy and government money. I mean, how bad can it really be to have constant inane voices in your head?
Sometimes the bitterness I feel disgusts me.
Fuck this shit. I can’t even concentrate on what I’m writing. The voices never stop. I can’t sleep or relax or… anything. These incessant voices in my head…
-/ r u dissapointing ur girl?
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Christ… I wish I had my pills. Or some serious drugs. Or a gun. That would silence these endless adverts.
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Some people are making serious money from this shit. They’ve got to be. Someone must be able to do something about this. Block the signals? Find the sources… We can decimate the armies of dictators and mine the moon but we can’t shut down some seedy underground gangs with their cheap korean transmitters. Be a pliable little moronic consumer and maybe the voices won’t hurt so much. Maybe it’s one or the other? I can give in and become a brain-damaged idiot spending borrowed money on shit or I can end up like Cliff or… what was his name..? James? …all the rest that couldn’t deal with it.
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Maybe I have some tequila left in the kitchen. Tequila and asprin.
Telepathetic Brainspam driving u nuts?!
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Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?!
I’m not sure I can make it ’til monday…