There is of course a lot of research about depression and there are many kinds but the three most common are Major Depression, Dysthymia, and Bipolar Disorder.
Major depression is a combination of symptoms that interfere with the ability to work, sleep, eat, or enjoy anything. Some people have a single episode of depression, but many have episodes that recur.
Dysthymia is a less severe type of depression that lasts a long time but involves less severe symptoms. A person with dysthymia will probably lead a normal life, but may not be functioning well or feeling good. People with dysthymia may also experience major depressive episodes.
Bipolar Disorder (also called manic-depression) is another. Bipolar disorder is thought to be less common than other depressive disorders. If you are bipolar you have cycling mood swings - usually severe highs (mania) and lows (depression). The mood swings are sometimes dramatic and rapid, but usually are more gradual. When in the depressed stage, a person can have any or all of the symptoms of a depressive disorder. When in the manic stage, the individual may be overactive, over talkative, and have a great deal of energy. Mania affects thinking, judgment, and social behaviour, sometimes in ways that cause serious problems and embarrassment. A person in a manic phase may feel elated, full of grand schemes that might range from unwise business decisions to romantic sprees. Mania, left untreated, may worsen to a psychotic state, where the person is out of touch with reality.
According to scientists there are three factors that may be the cause of depression, the factors are biological, genetic or environmental.
Biological - hormones for instance. Or it could be that one has an imbalance in the neurotransmitters serotonin or norepinephrine, these are natural substances that allow our brain cells to communicate with each other.
Genetic – difficult to point out what and why and how, but pi-polar disorder is one of the depressions that has a strong connection to heredity.
Environmental factors – normal but tough stuff that happens in life can cause depression, death, break-ups or stress are some of those things that can affect you.
For me these things, that I just told you about, were once important.
WHAT? WHY?
The “what” I refused to acknowledge until I spent a lot of time with a friend who was suffering from post-natal depression. To try to help her I found a book for about Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Since she was too “gone” to read, I read it for her.
The more I read the more I began to realise that the book was for me.
The list of symptoms was like a blue-print for my life, a description of my universe.
The “why” was imprinted in me, just look at my movies. Not only would I watch movies of things to come but I always watched movies about moments that had passed. Things that were no more and could have been done differently…
It doesn’t really help, you know, to think “I should have said this and that…” or "he hit me because I am not a likable person" it only makes matters worse.
But for me it was a simple reason to why I felt blue - I was a failure and therefore I should feel low.
Showing posts with label nuts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nuts. Show all posts
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Darkness - My Acquaintance
Ok, so let me finally breach this painful and difficult subject. I don’t really know how to go about it but here we go…
I didn’t always know that it was there, I used to think that I was meant to feel the way I felt. That “this was life” take it or leave it. It didn’t matter that I saw other people of other dispositions or another outlook on life, I for some reason, couldn’t see that my way was probably not alright.
It didn’t either matter that many people around me tried to tell me that “No you are not supposed to be accompanied by this darkness, you are young, this is the best time of your life – you are supposed to be happy!”
I don’t know what I thought on the many occasions I was told this, I do remember thinking that most of these people were idiots and I never wanted to see them again.
One was a very sweet doctor I used to see once a year to get “the pill” who every time for six years patiently listened and then booked a time with someone to “talk to”. I never showed up to those meetings - once I did get as far as the waiting room but when they called my name I didn’t respond and soon afterwards I left.
Another was a teacher at university, who gave me a business card and said “I am worried about you, call this person, she is expecting your call” The card was for a psychiatrist. I threw it away and never went back to class.
It is strange, the people who told me “to talk to someone” were always people who were not close to me. With my family and friends I hid the darkness or disguised it, I think or rather I hope…
My mother, sweet but self centred as she is, even if she would have seen my need she would NEVER have advised me “to talk to someone”, the prospect of her child being “insane” would be too much. Although just talking to someone doesn’t mean one is ”insane”. But if I did “talk to someone” I would automatically be qualified “mentally instable” in the books and records of the state. Big brother sees us and it would always be on my shoulders, I would never get a job or a man and probably no one would ever love me, I would never be rich and consequently of course never be happy…
(that’s her view)
And still when I speak to most friends about my depression, they will laugh a little and hit me on the shoulder and say “Oh you are exaggerating, ok, you might have been down but you’ve never been really bad, like suicidal…”
Even if I say “Yes I was or have been or am” they will still laugh it away.
And I don’t blame them. I don’t like to talk about it, I hide it and I do joke about it – a lot. I mean would you take a person seriously if when you met them and asked how they were they would answer with a shrug and a laugh “Oh, today I am just a little under the weather but yesterday I was nearly under a train”?
I didn’t always know that it was there, I used to think that I was meant to feel the way I felt. That “this was life” take it or leave it. It didn’t matter that I saw other people of other dispositions or another outlook on life, I for some reason, couldn’t see that my way was probably not alright.
It didn’t either matter that many people around me tried to tell me that “No you are not supposed to be accompanied by this darkness, you are young, this is the best time of your life – you are supposed to be happy!”
I don’t know what I thought on the many occasions I was told this, I do remember thinking that most of these people were idiots and I never wanted to see them again.
One was a very sweet doctor I used to see once a year to get “the pill” who every time for six years patiently listened and then booked a time with someone to “talk to”. I never showed up to those meetings - once I did get as far as the waiting room but when they called my name I didn’t respond and soon afterwards I left.
Another was a teacher at university, who gave me a business card and said “I am worried about you, call this person, she is expecting your call” The card was for a psychiatrist. I threw it away and never went back to class.
It is strange, the people who told me “to talk to someone” were always people who were not close to me. With my family and friends I hid the darkness or disguised it, I think or rather I hope…
My mother, sweet but self centred as she is, even if she would have seen my need she would NEVER have advised me “to talk to someone”, the prospect of her child being “insane” would be too much. Although just talking to someone doesn’t mean one is ”insane”. But if I did “talk to someone” I would automatically be qualified “mentally instable” in the books and records of the state. Big brother sees us and it would always be on my shoulders, I would never get a job or a man and probably no one would ever love me, I would never be rich and consequently of course never be happy…
(that’s her view)
And still when I speak to most friends about my depression, they will laugh a little and hit me on the shoulder and say “Oh you are exaggerating, ok, you might have been down but you’ve never been really bad, like suicidal…”
Even if I say “Yes I was or have been or am” they will still laugh it away.
And I don’t blame them. I don’t like to talk about it, I hide it and I do joke about it – a lot. I mean would you take a person seriously if when you met them and asked how they were they would answer with a shrug and a laugh “Oh, today I am just a little under the weather but yesterday I was nearly under a train”?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Do You Really Want to Know How Insane I am?
Some days one wakes up feeling like shit or rather that the world is shit and since you are a part of it, you yourself is entirely made of shit too.
Today was one of those days.
I do not know if it had to do with falling asleep with a splitting head ache or if it had to do with the fact that the sun forgot to rise today.
But I woke up and the first thought in my head was “I am not good enough for him!”
Why this should be true I do not know. Since I am better looking than him, much smarter and overall nicer than the loved one. But even so, I woke up thinking “Nah, there must be someone better for him!”.
And from there on it starts, the stories I build up in my head.
I mean all of my free time and some of my un-free time goes to making stories or movies in my head. Many times I am actually "writing" in my head as the story progresses. I will go back and erase words or changes phrases. (Nuts!)
Every since I was a kid I would play the “worst case scenario” scenes over and over again like a mantra in my head. If we were in a car I would make movies about for instance the breaks failing on a downward hill and what would happen in the short span of time before impact into the deep ravine.
Every movie is different. Sometimes we would survive and other times we wouldn’t.
I would try to figure out in what way could we survive. Pulling the hand break? Swerving in a zig zag way till the car slowed down and came to a stop? What if there was a lot of meeting traffic? Maybe doing a sharp turn so that the car would point up wards or sideways over the road?
And then if this didn’t work, what happens after impact? Do I survive and nobody else? And in what way would I be hurt? What would the pain be like? When and how would I be rescued? How would it feel to lose the person sitting next to me?
But maybe I die and the others in the car would survive? Hmm? In this case I would probably find bliss in my heart, cause after death there is serenity. No more worries. Nothing to wonder or make movies about. If my movie ended with death for myself it would be good.
But the main movie of today was “He Met Someone Better!”. It was quite a good film.
First scene: How do I find out.
Do I catch them in the act? Maybe he tells me or maybe worse, a friend of his tells me?
And then what, what do I feel?
What is my first reaction, throw up? Getting that “ice cold pail of water falling on top of you”-feeling?
Second scene: What so I do next.
Do I coolly pack my stuff and leave?
Throw a tantrum and break a few glasses and plates over his head?
Third scene: Does he regret
Does he come begging for my return? And how do I react to that?
Usually I watch the movie over and over again, each time changing a setting or a phrase or an action and trying the different emotions out.
Its like testing to see how I feel about something that might happen but hasn’t yet. Like an emergency plan made up beforehand so that when the thing actually does happen I will know how to deal with it because I’ve done it or a version of it a hundred times before.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about my love or any love for that matter. This is what I do with every single event in my life. If I am to have dinner with a friend, I will beforehand make a movie about how the dinner will be. Tasty, disgusting, friendly, argumentative…
Every day will have at least ten different movies in various genres, today was a day full of negative energies so it is not a good day to give as an example, but here is todays repetoire:
Matinees:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Overdose and Die”
“The Gas Station is Leaking and all the Neighbourhood will Explode”
“My Best Friend Committed Suicide Last Night”
“My Mum and Aunt were in a Car Crash”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
Evening shows:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Turn into Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde from all the Drugs”
“Telling the Boss’s Boss that the Boss is Shit”
“New Work Site up North”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
“Death in a Car Crash”
“Headaches from a Brain Tumour”
“Wisdom Tooth – Goodbye!”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
and the last movie of the night will be “Arrgh! I hate the Soppy Comments to this Post”.
Now off to bed with head still splitting.
Today was one of those days.
I do not know if it had to do with falling asleep with a splitting head ache or if it had to do with the fact that the sun forgot to rise today.
But I woke up and the first thought in my head was “I am not good enough for him!”
Why this should be true I do not know. Since I am better looking than him, much smarter and overall nicer than the loved one. But even so, I woke up thinking “Nah, there must be someone better for him!”.
And from there on it starts, the stories I build up in my head.
I mean all of my free time and some of my un-free time goes to making stories or movies in my head. Many times I am actually "writing" in my head as the story progresses. I will go back and erase words or changes phrases. (Nuts!)
Every since I was a kid I would play the “worst case scenario” scenes over and over again like a mantra in my head. If we were in a car I would make movies about for instance the breaks failing on a downward hill and what would happen in the short span of time before impact into the deep ravine.
Every movie is different. Sometimes we would survive and other times we wouldn’t.
I would try to figure out in what way could we survive. Pulling the hand break? Swerving in a zig zag way till the car slowed down and came to a stop? What if there was a lot of meeting traffic? Maybe doing a sharp turn so that the car would point up wards or sideways over the road?
And then if this didn’t work, what happens after impact? Do I survive and nobody else? And in what way would I be hurt? What would the pain be like? When and how would I be rescued? How would it feel to lose the person sitting next to me?
But maybe I die and the others in the car would survive? Hmm? In this case I would probably find bliss in my heart, cause after death there is serenity. No more worries. Nothing to wonder or make movies about. If my movie ended with death for myself it would be good.
But the main movie of today was “He Met Someone Better!”. It was quite a good film.
First scene: How do I find out.
Do I catch them in the act? Maybe he tells me or maybe worse, a friend of his tells me?
And then what, what do I feel?
What is my first reaction, throw up? Getting that “ice cold pail of water falling on top of you”-feeling?
Second scene: What so I do next.
Do I coolly pack my stuff and leave?
Throw a tantrum and break a few glasses and plates over his head?
Third scene: Does he regret
Does he come begging for my return? And how do I react to that?
Usually I watch the movie over and over again, each time changing a setting or a phrase or an action and trying the different emotions out.
Its like testing to see how I feel about something that might happen but hasn’t yet. Like an emergency plan made up beforehand so that when the thing actually does happen I will know how to deal with it because I’ve done it or a version of it a hundred times before.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about my love or any love for that matter. This is what I do with every single event in my life. If I am to have dinner with a friend, I will beforehand make a movie about how the dinner will be. Tasty, disgusting, friendly, argumentative…
Every day will have at least ten different movies in various genres, today was a day full of negative energies so it is not a good day to give as an example, but here is todays repetoire:
Matinees:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Overdose and Die”
“The Gas Station is Leaking and all the Neighbourhood will Explode”
“My Best Friend Committed Suicide Last Night”
“My Mum and Aunt were in a Car Crash”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
Evening shows:
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Friend will Turn into Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde from all the Drugs”
“Telling the Boss’s Boss that the Boss is Shit”
“New Work Site up North”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
“My Dad is Sick”
“Death in a Car Crash”
“Headaches from a Brain Tumour”
“Wisdom Tooth – Goodbye!”
“He Has Met Someone Better”
and the last movie of the night will be “Arrgh! I hate the Soppy Comments to this Post”.
Now off to bed with head still splitting.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
"Foot In Mouth" Disease
My stupid bad behaviour didn't stop there yesterday. What started out as fun, turned sour. I think I’m too nice to be mean cause soon those little angels who like to give you bad conscious, crept forward and danced around, telling me “Hey, the guy is maybe actually nice! And maybe his friends whom you know were a bit upset by your harshness”
It is so hard you know, when it comes to a different culture, even though people from a country and culture which is very similar to ones own. There are always misunderstandings, body language, wording and phrasing can easily be misunderstood.
So I wrote to this mutual friend of ours and told him, sorry if I had unintentionally in the process of insulting his friend ended up insulted him as well. I also explained that I had been very provoked by the pictures of uniform and gun and that maybe some girls are turned on by this but for me I just felt disgusted and got an urge to run as far away as possible when I see a uniformed person with a huge gun.
Two hours later it suddenly hits me.
This friend whom I wrote to, is one of those army types who had a very important job in the army (and maybe still has) and is extremely proud of it. I suddenly recalled a very heated discussion between this friend and another who is a pacifist. And here I was declaring to him my disgust of guns and uniformed people!
OUCH! Not so smart when I will be seeing very much more of him and be living in his country and culture shortly.
Oh why can’t I just shut up!
But it is much harder than one can imagine culture difference and it doesn’t really hit or hurt you until much later.
Body language is one such a cool thing and also can be so easily missed.
Once in the beginning of our relationship I was sitting and reading the paper with my loved one. I started to talk to him as one does, about something I read. He did something with his hand and I just kept on talking. The loved one was reading something at the moment and he did the thing with the hand again. I kept on talking. Suddenly he looked up angrily and nearly shouted “Wait, I tell you. Let me finish the page!!” I was stunned…
A few days later I was reading a Lonelyplanet Hebrew phrasebook and I found this: “When asking someone to wait a moment, an Israeli might place the thumb, index and middle fingers together and squeeze, with the palm facing up.”
My mind rewound fast to the café and me talking whilst the loved was reading. His hand fling thing was exactly this! DONG! The revelation was like a sledgehammer hitting my head making a very hollow dong sound from the vibrations of my head.
Other times it can be worse, life experience can be so different for two people of roughly the same age, and when you talk, party and have fun, it is something that can be easily forgotten.
Once we were talking to a wonderful person, having tea and just chatting. He had just burnt himself on a stove and he was talking about how disgusting his little scab was under the plaster. I started to tell the story of the Irish Red Lobster. A friend of mine who in Oz was so badly sunburnt on the back of his legs that when his friend accidentally kicked his shin under a table the skin of his shin peeled off as thick as an orange peel. Yes, it was very disgusting! But anyway after telling about this my friend - this wonderful person was very quiet for some time and soon after he left.
My loved one, then told me gently that maybe it wasn’t such a very good story to tell a guy who was inside a burning tank during a war recently and where most of his friends were burnt extremely bad or even killed.
Holy fuck! Did I run head first into a concrete wall?
I wanted to.Saturday, October 27, 2007
Facebook Frustration
It is dieing down a bit now, the Facebook mania that ravaged my life for a bit. Thank you God!
All kinds of stuff has been in the media about it, the amount of time and money all companies are losing now that their employees are Facebooking all day.
That all the pictures and texts that are published in the community can be sold i.e. we have signed over the rights for Facebook to do what ever they want with the pics.
There is also a huge conspiracy thing connected with Facebook which is quite fun: http://www.albumoftheday.com/facebook/
But I can’t be bothered anymore. I was sort of excited about Facebook for a while, as long as I was finding long lost friends with whom I hadn’t seen in 5, 10, 15 and even 20(!) years. That was great. But after the initial “WOW! How are you?! What are you doing?” things die down a bit.
Then I started to realise that people at work could actually see everything I wrote and did. Writing stuff like “Caroline is pretending to work” or “Caroline is trying to figure out an excuse so she can leave work early” in the status field might not be so smart of me, especially when I am already being completely shunned by my work mates and boss.
But then the hatred of Facebook started to seep into my heart. All the zombie, vampire, Super wall, X me, Aquarium, Film quizzes and other bullshit applications! What the fuck? Go away! Throw sheep and world wide travelling teddy bears at yourselves - if you think its so fun! Just leave me alone!
Just a few days ago I met a girl who told me she got weird guys wanting to add her just because she had big boobs. Now this has not happen to me yet (I can’t figure out why?!) but yesterday the first stranger tried to add me as his friend.
I got the request from a guy I didn’t know or had ever met. I was confused, thought for a moment that my memory was even worse than expected and that I actually had met him. He did know two other people I knew. So I had to ask “Do I know you?”.
The answer was: “No, but I saw that you knew two of my best friends so I thought I would add you too :)”
I had a look at this guys profile.
His profile picture was of him gobbling down whiskey or something like it directly from a bottle. Some other pictures of him depicted him posing in a police (?) uniform with a huge automatic weapon of some sort.
ARRGHH! (Sound effect of allergic reaction)
Ok, I know a lot of girls get turned on by uniforms and maybe I am strange cause it disgusts me. Police and military uniforms make me feel sick to the stomach and an urge to run as far away as possible hits my legs.
So I politely answered him:
“What's with the gun and drinking straight out of a bottle? Is it a description of the size of your dick and brain? In other words – tiny.
Your best friends are very nice people and maybe you are too, but so far I don't know. I have a thing about adding people I don't know so maybe you shall try your luck somewhere else. And if we happen to be introduced and you turn out to be a misunderstood nice guy, then I can add you later.
Sorry.”
Maybe a bit harsh.
But fun.
All kinds of stuff has been in the media about it, the amount of time and money all companies are losing now that their employees are Facebooking all day.
That all the pictures and texts that are published in the community can be sold i.e. we have signed over the rights for Facebook to do what ever they want with the pics.
There is also a huge conspiracy thing connected with Facebook which is quite fun: http://www.albumoftheday.com/facebook/
But I can’t be bothered anymore. I was sort of excited about Facebook for a while, as long as I was finding long lost friends with whom I hadn’t seen in 5, 10, 15 and even 20(!) years. That was great. But after the initial “WOW! How are you?! What are you doing?” things die down a bit.
Then I started to realise that people at work could actually see everything I wrote and did. Writing stuff like “Caroline is pretending to work” or “Caroline is trying to figure out an excuse so she can leave work early” in the status field might not be so smart of me, especially when I am already being completely shunned by my work mates and boss.
But then the hatred of Facebook started to seep into my heart. All the zombie, vampire, Super wall, X me, Aquarium, Film quizzes and other bullshit applications! What the fuck? Go away! Throw sheep and world wide travelling teddy bears at yourselves - if you think its so fun! Just leave me alone!
Just a few days ago I met a girl who told me she got weird guys wanting to add her just because she had big boobs. Now this has not happen to me yet (I can’t figure out why?!) but yesterday the first stranger tried to add me as his friend.
I got the request from a guy I didn’t know or had ever met. I was confused, thought for a moment that my memory was even worse than expected and that I actually had met him. He did know two other people I knew. So I had to ask “Do I know you?”.
The answer was: “No, but I saw that you knew two of my best friends so I thought I would add you too :)”
I had a look at this guys profile.
His profile picture was of him gobbling down whiskey or something like it directly from a bottle. Some other pictures of him depicted him posing in a police (?) uniform with a huge automatic weapon of some sort.
ARRGHH! (Sound effect of allergic reaction)
Ok, I know a lot of girls get turned on by uniforms and maybe I am strange cause it disgusts me. Police and military uniforms make me feel sick to the stomach and an urge to run as far away as possible hits my legs.
So I politely answered him:
“What's with the gun and drinking straight out of a bottle? Is it a description of the size of your dick and brain? In other words – tiny.
Your best friends are very nice people and maybe you are too, but so far I don't know. I have a thing about adding people I don't know so maybe you shall try your luck somewhere else. And if we happen to be introduced and you turn out to be a misunderstood nice guy, then I can add you later.
Sorry.”
Maybe a bit harsh.
But fun.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Funny Farm
One of my best friends has a Bipolar disorder, another friend of mine has some Borderline disorder and three years ago I was diagnosed for having suffered from Dysthymia since the age of eleven.
I know quite a number of people who take a Happy pill every day and some others who take Ritalin for an ADHD-disorder. I have friends who suffer from anxiety attacks, panic attacks and OCD. Still others who abuse alcohol in large amounts or are drug addicts. I know many who go and see a “person to talk to”, some who go on “silent retreats” and others who try every New Age ritual in the world to find their "true inner being". They meditate, drink herbs and use hot stones to drive bad energies away. Some people look to the stars for guidance and others use tarot cards or religion to answer the questions of life.
All of these friends of mine, have one thing in common which is - all of them are completely “normal” for anyone who doesn’t know what diagnose they have or what pills/herbs/drugs they pop.
When travelling or talking to friends from abroad the subject of Sweden being notorious for suicides and a high rate of depression, always comes up. I’ve heard the notion that in “other countries” there aren’t as many mentally "sick" people.
This I think is totally absurd, maybe we have higher statistics and more people are diagnosed here, but couldn’t this be because there is a greater understanding of depression and other mental health issues here? Also, since media writes about these things everyday it lessens the negative stigma and people become more open about it.
In countries with corruption, wars and/or other social miseries, media concentrates on those news topics instead. The mental health matters are not talked about and therefore the negative stamp and ignorance is still strong.
But then what is a mental health problem?
What is the difference between people who take sleeping pills prescribed by a doctor against insomnia, and people who self medicate them selves with a ‘spliff’ before bedtime to help them sleep?
Why is a person who takes a drink to calm his nerves every day more “normal” than a person who takes a prescribed Ritalin pill to focus?
Is a person who goes on ‘silent meditation retreats’, drink St Johns Wort tea (against depression) and visits a tarot card reader so much dissimilar from a person who talks to a psychiatrist and gets a prescription for Prozac?
Why is it more shameful to have a 2 week psychosis caused by a hereditary disorder than a psychosis caused by smoking too much hashish?
Is one of them saner than the other? And who decides what sanity is? And when is a person so insane that he/she should be institutionalised?
Too many questions.
All I know is that if someone wants to institutionalise me and all my friends – because I am sure every single one will fall under some category of insanity if one looks closely enough - on a beautiful tropical island because we might be a danger to ourselves or society, then I will welcome them.
But hang on a minute, maybe Sweden (which on the map looks like a big dick) already is a big loony bin or funny farm for people who worship phallic symbols (the midsummer pole) and copulate like mad men in every bush?
I know quite a number of people who take a Happy pill every day and some others who take Ritalin for an ADHD-disorder. I have friends who suffer from anxiety attacks, panic attacks and OCD. Still others who abuse alcohol in large amounts or are drug addicts. I know many who go and see a “person to talk to”, some who go on “silent retreats” and others who try every New Age ritual in the world to find their "true inner being". They meditate, drink herbs and use hot stones to drive bad energies away. Some people look to the stars for guidance and others use tarot cards or religion to answer the questions of life.
All of these friends of mine, have one thing in common which is - all of them are completely “normal” for anyone who doesn’t know what diagnose they have or what pills/herbs/drugs they pop.
When travelling or talking to friends from abroad the subject of Sweden being notorious for suicides and a high rate of depression, always comes up. I’ve heard the notion that in “other countries” there aren’t as many mentally "sick" people.
This I think is totally absurd, maybe we have higher statistics and more people are diagnosed here, but couldn’t this be because there is a greater understanding of depression and other mental health issues here? Also, since media writes about these things everyday it lessens the negative stigma and people become more open about it.
In countries with corruption, wars and/or other social miseries, media concentrates on those news topics instead. The mental health matters are not talked about and therefore the negative stamp and ignorance is still strong.
But then what is a mental health problem?
What is the difference between people who take sleeping pills prescribed by a doctor against insomnia, and people who self medicate them selves with a ‘spliff’ before bedtime to help them sleep?
Why is a person who takes a drink to calm his nerves every day more “normal” than a person who takes a prescribed Ritalin pill to focus?
Is a person who goes on ‘silent meditation retreats’, drink St Johns Wort tea (against depression) and visits a tarot card reader so much dissimilar from a person who talks to a psychiatrist and gets a prescription for Prozac?
Why is it more shameful to have a 2 week psychosis caused by a hereditary disorder than a psychosis caused by smoking too much hashish?
Is one of them saner than the other? And who decides what sanity is? And when is a person so insane that he/she should be institutionalised?
Too many questions.
All I know is that if someone wants to institutionalise me and all my friends – because I am sure every single one will fall under some category of insanity if one looks closely enough - on a beautiful tropical island because we might be a danger to ourselves or society, then I will welcome them.
But hang on a minute, maybe Sweden (which on the map looks like a big dick) already is a big loony bin or funny farm for people who worship phallic symbols (the midsummer pole) and copulate like mad men in every bush?
Monday, October 30, 2006
A Fairytale - Beginning with Jealousy and Ending in Murder
Once upon a time there was a boy. He was a blond, big-muscled boy who lived in a small town in the middle of Sweden. The boy’s main interest was naked girls and since he was a shy person with problems getting to know people in real life, he spent most of his time online finding pictures of nude girls and chatting to girls who would agree to undress for him on a webcam. Not an unusual hobby, completely normal.
The boys biggest dream was to find THE girl – a nice girl with a perfect body and a good appetite for sex, create a family with her and maybe even buy a house in the country.
And finally one warm spring evening he found her and fell in love. It was all very sweet and after six months of sparkle and bliss the boy and girl decided to share a home.
This is where the story really begins for only a couple of weeks before they had a chance to try the “happily ever after”-ending of fairytales, there was a twist.
The pretty perfect girl had been hiding a secret and the secret was her own extremely low self-esteem.
Little questions started to pop up in their conversations and the girl investigated the boy’s every move. Looking suspiciously for any one near or far who could be a threat to their perfect couple heaven.
It was all very sad really but the boy thought it was cute. It was a token of her deep true love he thought to himself and smiled at her demands. These were: No more nude pictures; No more online chatting with other girls and; Do not talk to other girls even though they are just colleagues at work.
But it was cute – right?
One day the boy came home from work and found the girl by his computer, she was so engrossed in her actions that she didn’t hear him as he stood behind her admiring the nice shape of her back. The girl was busy going through the history of Explorer and visiting all sites that he had used. She then proceeded to hungrily look through his computer files searching for nude pictures or other incriminating documents. This is when the boy awoke to the startling realisation that it was not cute any more.
Things got worse. Not only had the girl checked all sites that he’d been on but she had also become a member of dating and porn sites that he had used just to see if he was online or if he still was out “hunting”. Oh dear.
Now if this true story had a good ending - because it is a true story - it would have been something like: The girl realises she has a problem and gets professional help, the boy supports her and they lived happily ever after…
But alas, the boy who had been hurt to the core of his heart decided to take a precaution, one could say get an “insurance”:
One warm autumn evening after sharing a bottle of wine the boy lovingly persuaded the girl to be photographed by him in the nude. After the pictures had been taken he told her that if she ever started checking on him again or if she ever lied to him about anything - he would spread the nude pictures of her on the internet.
This is the end so far of the true story about the big-muscled, timid boy, in the small town in the middle of Sweden.
If this exciting story would continue, my guess is that the following dialogue would be:
The girl: “If you spread the pictures on the web then I will trash your beloved car”
The boy: “If you trash my car then I’ll throw acid in your face - scarring you for life”
The girl: “If you throw acid in my face, I will castrate you with a fork!”
The boy: “If you castrate me with a fork then I will bury you alive under the floorboards of the cellar and let you be eaten by rats!”
And then silence.
And the moral of this story would be: Doing an immoral act can justify another immoral act.
The boys biggest dream was to find THE girl – a nice girl with a perfect body and a good appetite for sex, create a family with her and maybe even buy a house in the country.
And finally one warm spring evening he found her and fell in love. It was all very sweet and after six months of sparkle and bliss the boy and girl decided to share a home.
This is where the story really begins for only a couple of weeks before they had a chance to try the “happily ever after”-ending of fairytales, there was a twist.
The pretty perfect girl had been hiding a secret and the secret was her own extremely low self-esteem.
Little questions started to pop up in their conversations and the girl investigated the boy’s every move. Looking suspiciously for any one near or far who could be a threat to their perfect couple heaven.
It was all very sad really but the boy thought it was cute. It was a token of her deep true love he thought to himself and smiled at her demands. These were: No more nude pictures; No more online chatting with other girls and; Do not talk to other girls even though they are just colleagues at work.
But it was cute – right?
One day the boy came home from work and found the girl by his computer, she was so engrossed in her actions that she didn’t hear him as he stood behind her admiring the nice shape of her back. The girl was busy going through the history of Explorer and visiting all sites that he had used. She then proceeded to hungrily look through his computer files searching for nude pictures or other incriminating documents. This is when the boy awoke to the startling realisation that it was not cute any more.
Things got worse. Not only had the girl checked all sites that he’d been on but she had also become a member of dating and porn sites that he had used just to see if he was online or if he still was out “hunting”. Oh dear.
Now if this true story had a good ending - because it is a true story - it would have been something like: The girl realises she has a problem and gets professional help, the boy supports her and they lived happily ever after…
But alas, the boy who had been hurt to the core of his heart decided to take a precaution, one could say get an “insurance”:
One warm autumn evening after sharing a bottle of wine the boy lovingly persuaded the girl to be photographed by him in the nude. After the pictures had been taken he told her that if she ever started checking on him again or if she ever lied to him about anything - he would spread the nude pictures of her on the internet.
This is the end so far of the true story about the big-muscled, timid boy, in the small town in the middle of Sweden.
If this exciting story would continue, my guess is that the following dialogue would be:
The girl: “If you spread the pictures on the web then I will trash your beloved car”
The boy: “If you trash my car then I’ll throw acid in your face - scarring you for life”
The girl: “If you throw acid in my face, I will castrate you with a fork!”
The boy: “If you castrate me with a fork then I will bury you alive under the floorboards of the cellar and let you be eaten by rats!”
And then silence.
And the moral of this story would be: Doing an immoral act can justify another immoral act.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Dreamed Kaleidoscopic Reality
I have a fuzzy feeling that reality is not real anymore; or maybe it is that dreams no longer are dreams?
When I get a quiet moment with myself, images like short cuts of film show up in my head - pictures of me doing something, saying something or interacting with somebody. The problem is I don’t know if I really have done or said these things; or even met the people.
My mind has become haphazard.
At work my colleagues are beginning to whisper and tread softly around me, I’ve had too many “Little Miss Bitch episodes” - sudden outbursts of verbal abuse, just to 5 minutes later become the kindest “Chubby Cherub” and not know a thing about what just happened.
And the amount of times I’ve responded with “I don’t know, I don’t remember…” in a bug-eyed dazed kind of way has become ridiculous.
My friends whisper the names of people I’ve forgotten when at a party and I’ve started to introduce myself by saying: “Hey! I think you seem like a great person but I will not remember your name in 2 seconds even if I repeat it 10 times and please don’t take offence if I see you on the bus tomorrow and don’t say hello - because I won’t remember who you are even supposing we speak for 4 hours tonight”
Twice in the last few months I have not recognized very close friends of mine:
Once I told a friend that her seat in a bar was taken when she got back from the toilette – it took about one minute for the jigsaw piece with her face on it fit with the rest of the puzzle in my head and I recognized her!
Another time this stranger waved to me from across the room, I stared angrily back and thought: ”Who the fuck is he?!” Just moments after, when I looked back to see if the bastard was still waving, reality shifted around me and I saw that it was my best friend’s boyfriend, a person I meet everyday - a guy I actually had been speaking to just 10 minutes before!
A kaleidoscope - that’s what my mind feels like these days - you know one of those tubes with sparkling colourful pieces of glass inside. Each time you twist the tube the pieces reveal a different pattern. It’s a perfect description – time, place and colour shift constantly and there is no way of knowing which the correct pattern of perception is.
Anyway, my bosses have booked a doctors appointment for me now - they are concerned…
I was told it is a specialist in a nice hospital with rooms of pink cushioned walls and floors; and a trendy kind of white jacket for me to wear.
Or was that also a dream?
When I get a quiet moment with myself, images like short cuts of film show up in my head - pictures of me doing something, saying something or interacting with somebody. The problem is I don’t know if I really have done or said these things; or even met the people.
My mind has become haphazard.
At work my colleagues are beginning to whisper and tread softly around me, I’ve had too many “Little Miss Bitch episodes” - sudden outbursts of verbal abuse, just to 5 minutes later become the kindest “Chubby Cherub” and not know a thing about what just happened.
And the amount of times I’ve responded with “I don’t know, I don’t remember…” in a bug-eyed dazed kind of way has become ridiculous.
My friends whisper the names of people I’ve forgotten when at a party and I’ve started to introduce myself by saying: “Hey! I think you seem like a great person but I will not remember your name in 2 seconds even if I repeat it 10 times and please don’t take offence if I see you on the bus tomorrow and don’t say hello - because I won’t remember who you are even supposing we speak for 4 hours tonight”
Twice in the last few months I have not recognized very close friends of mine:
Once I told a friend that her seat in a bar was taken when she got back from the toilette – it took about one minute for the jigsaw piece with her face on it fit with the rest of the puzzle in my head and I recognized her!
Another time this stranger waved to me from across the room, I stared angrily back and thought: ”Who the fuck is he?!” Just moments after, when I looked back to see if the bastard was still waving, reality shifted around me and I saw that it was my best friend’s boyfriend, a person I meet everyday - a guy I actually had been speaking to just 10 minutes before!
A kaleidoscope - that’s what my mind feels like these days - you know one of those tubes with sparkling colourful pieces of glass inside. Each time you twist the tube the pieces reveal a different pattern. It’s a perfect description – time, place and colour shift constantly and there is no way of knowing which the correct pattern of perception is.
Anyway, my bosses have booked a doctors appointment for me now - they are concerned…
I was told it is a specialist in a nice hospital with rooms of pink cushioned walls and floors; and a trendy kind of white jacket for me to wear.
Or was that also a dream?
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
“So what?! You complain that your head is hurting but you keep hitting your head with a hammer? Why don’t you quit your job?"
My job - a thing I complain about constantly, something that I’ve blamed for not being fulfilling enough and running me down. I try not to talk about it but it is very hard in Sweden where it is of great importance to know what everybody is doing with their lives. Are you a fucking failure or are you not? That is the essential question.
I work for a company that provides other big companies with facility services, i.e. everything from janitors, receptionists, restaurants to property administration. I’m the only employee of 3000 who works as a sort of consultant on longer or shorter projects in different departments and companies. The projects are reorganising or changing work routines within groups making them more efficient and also teaching people about being more service minded.
In real life this means:
I tell people they need to be on time for work (and I can’t wake up in the morning);
I tell they need to dress “appropriately” (I HATE dressing “appropriately”);
I tell people to look nice and neat (oh, dear I haven’t brushed my hair in a month or worn make-up in three);
I talk about the importance of sometimes acting a part to be able to always smile and be professional (but I LOVE telling people off and being rudely honest?!);
I also teach people how to make their days more efficient and fill them maximally (and I can’t even make my personal life tick, spending most weekends in bed, staring at the dust balls in the corners of my room);
I draw plans on creating ergonomic workspaces and solve logistic problems by having practical things built. (But solving my own logistical problems - not having a driving license - is practically impossible);
I tell the staff it’s important to exercise, have a healthy lunch and real breaks. (And here I am getting an ulcer from not eating lunch and working overtime);
It is a surprise to me that I am as good at my job as I am - somehow I am a success, I seduce them, I impress people and the bosses lick my toes; and I couldn’t figure out how or why I coped with it - until just now.
What I just realised was that it is all a play for me - an act at the theatre.
I grew up in the theatre - backstage working with props, as a stage technician and later a stage manager. Its 8 years since I did a play and I miss it terribly - there is a special smell of burnt dust backstage that I dream about and the tense silence the second before curtain goes up is magic… (Can you hear the violins?)
So what I’ve done instead, is make my own little theatre in the office environment I hate so much. The office has become my stage; the staff is the stage crew and the audience is the customer.
And theatre reality is:
One needs to be on time for the opening curtain;
It is easier to tell the audience you are a dog - if your make-up and dress is that of a dog;
You need good routines to keep the show going;
One needs to build a good set and be efficient for the best and safest possible stage environment;
And if you are a success the audience will lick your toes or at least applaud.
So back to the question a friend put to me last night, after I complained of the worst head ache in ten years - which was “Why don’t you quit?!” He is entirely right of course - I am bludgeoning myself with a sledgehammer - but at the moment, the job I have, is the closest thing to doing what was my dream.
And I am great at it - so I am not a fucking failure.
I work for a company that provides other big companies with facility services, i.e. everything from janitors, receptionists, restaurants to property administration. I’m the only employee of 3000 who works as a sort of consultant on longer or shorter projects in different departments and companies. The projects are reorganising or changing work routines within groups making them more efficient and also teaching people about being more service minded.
In real life this means:
I tell people they need to be on time for work (and I can’t wake up in the morning);
I tell they need to dress “appropriately” (I HATE dressing “appropriately”);
I tell people to look nice and neat (oh, dear I haven’t brushed my hair in a month or worn make-up in three);
I talk about the importance of sometimes acting a part to be able to always smile and be professional (but I LOVE telling people off and being rudely honest?!);
I also teach people how to make their days more efficient and fill them maximally (and I can’t even make my personal life tick, spending most weekends in bed, staring at the dust balls in the corners of my room);
I draw plans on creating ergonomic workspaces and solve logistic problems by having practical things built. (But solving my own logistical problems - not having a driving license - is practically impossible);
I tell the staff it’s important to exercise, have a healthy lunch and real breaks. (And here I am getting an ulcer from not eating lunch and working overtime);
It is a surprise to me that I am as good at my job as I am - somehow I am a success, I seduce them, I impress people and the bosses lick my toes; and I couldn’t figure out how or why I coped with it - until just now.
What I just realised was that it is all a play for me - an act at the theatre.
I grew up in the theatre - backstage working with props, as a stage technician and later a stage manager. Its 8 years since I did a play and I miss it terribly - there is a special smell of burnt dust backstage that I dream about and the tense silence the second before curtain goes up is magic… (Can you hear the violins?)
So what I’ve done instead, is make my own little theatre in the office environment I hate so much. The office has become my stage; the staff is the stage crew and the audience is the customer.
And theatre reality is:
One needs to be on time for the opening curtain;
It is easier to tell the audience you are a dog - if your make-up and dress is that of a dog;
You need good routines to keep the show going;
One needs to build a good set and be efficient for the best and safest possible stage environment;
And if you are a success the audience will lick your toes or at least applaud.
So back to the question a friend put to me last night, after I complained of the worst head ache in ten years - which was “Why don’t you quit?!” He is entirely right of course - I am bludgeoning myself with a sledgehammer - but at the moment, the job I have, is the closest thing to doing what was my dream.
And I am great at it - so I am not a fucking failure.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Limbo (as a colloquialism) – waiting room of Dr. Death
I need to sell my soul for shitloads of money to finance my dreams.
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