This section was scribbled down on the evening of November 3rd after a long day ...

I didn't record all the thoughts that cascaded through my mind as I once again descended into a blind, black rage ... which incidentally the Olanzapine is supposed to PREVENT from occuring ... hmmm ...

I suppose the gist of it was that I am thorughly sick & fed-up with trying to pretend I'm okay when I'm not. People like me should be put to sleep if we had a halfway sensible society. (Once again, I was reminded of that Monty Python sketch about Happy Valley - include a link?)

No thoughts of harming others but you would have to say there is a very real chance somebody like me who as endured 19 plus years of a very unsatisfactory existence, there has to be a chance that frustration might explode one day into violence which goes beyond the mere verbal. I mean how many human beings have entertained the kind of sick, twisted thoughts that have invaded my mind over the past two decades ...

So, society should play it safe - pills are not enough - especially when they ADD to my frustration by making me feel lethargic and half-alive ... but not sedated enough to prevent this fury erupting in a moment of high frustration. Lobotomise me at the very least. Pills are nowhere near enough.

I've already endured more pain & frustration than anyone should ever endure. Maybe that has to warp your mind. Maybe I have survived only by twisting my mind into a very weird shape and there's no road back. Not that I regard normality as any picnic. Most normal people look very unsati=sfied as well, which complicates matters. Personally, I agree with King Otto & put all the miserable people to death. Would mean a LOT of empty houses and a lot more graves would need 2 be dug. Unless you vaporise them all in the middle of the Sahara desert.

Anyway, back to MY situation ... yes, however you slice it, I am a defective individual and you people don't know how to fix me, so the merciful thing is to put me to sleep. We put dogs & pussy cats to sleep for far less suffering. But then a dog or a cat can't suffer the kind of psychic pain that a human being can. Maybe the dull people I so often have ridiculed are actually better adapted to survival ...

Many of these early thoughts were scribbled down in the back of a car being driven by my father and I was in the back seat. We had just been to a birthday party for one of my nieces. As always, I felt highly uncomfortable having to try & pretend to be interested in their tedious conversations and fake some enthusiasm for the proceedings as a whole.

Then when I think about how much violence (& unrest) already exists in this world, I realise I'm just ONE more fucked-up member of a very fucked-up species & I feel so unspeakably forlorn it's lucky our family doesn't have guns or anything like that.

Maybe you should prescribe a much stronger dose of these pills. Or a short course of cyanide maybe. People like me should be put to sleep ... just in case we do explode one day ...

I mean let's get real here for a second ... you shrinks don't really understand schizophrenia or depression very well (even though simple folks like my Mum desperately want to believe that you are experts in your field and really can fix people up rather than just sedating them) ...

And that's about all you can do, now that actual lobotomies as past history. You just sedate people like me and cross your little fingers and hope that we don't cause too much bother. If you want to be really, really sure, you should put us to sleep. I mean the number of people who truly recover from severe schizophrenia are a tiny, tiny percentage. And nobody really knows why. Doesn't inspire much comfort or confidence when it's desperately needed ...

A couple of hours later my mood lifts marginally, as often happens, lulling me into a false sense of security. Then I'm walking along the beach and like a bolt of lightning, I fly instantly back into the pit of rage and in a moment of sheer madness, I fling my digital camera into the ocean. It's worth $200 and not 15 mins previously, I had taken some snaps of my parents gnomes in their front garden. What the **** is going on when I can flick between such extremes so quickly. Was I right about alien telepathy controlling one's thoughts & emotions? If so, there's not a damn thing the shrinks or anyone else can do. Horrifying thought ... unspeakably awful ... put me to sleep right NOW ...

{NO WORDS OF MINE CAN EVER CONVEY WHAT THIS IS LIKE, SO WHY BOTHER. IF THE SHRINKS COULD EVER BE MADE TO EXPEREINCE HOW TRULY GHASTLY THESE 'EPISODES' ARE, THEY WOULD INSTANTLY AGREE THAT EUTHENASIA IS ABSOLUTELY AND UTTERLY JUSTIFIED}

It's at moments like these that all the so-called spiritual wisdom I have read over the past three years or so just flies out the window. For instance, On the same scrap of paper that I scribbled all this down, there was a quote that I had read in the newspaper earlier that day. Namely: "Deep within my being there is an infinite well of love". I wrote it down so I could look it up next time I was online. Well, as I now entered this indescribably black mood, I put a pen through the quote and wrote underneath it "What utter bullshit". Remind me to scan the scrap of paper at some stage. In the past I have even been known to rip up spiritual books or scribble angrily in them ...

Oh yes, as I flung the camera away, I felt an incredibly strong impulse to do FAR worse ... such as smashing some windows at my parents house, or smash their laptop, which they have generously lent to me, obviously with no real appreciation of the violent impulses I experience at moments like this ...

{I have in the past had incredibly vivid dreams about smashing windows and even tossing people out of those windows, some of which are on the twentieth floor of a tall building. Analyse THAT for a dream.}

As well as the smashing, I felt like cursing my parents as well ... and wishing there was SOME way to MAKE them suffer as horribly as I have suffered over the years. No words can ever fully describe the blackness of a mood like this. People use words like depression or anger or rage, but how many people have experienced a fury as black as this ...

This MUST be how psycopaths feel before they go on a homicidal rampage and I feel like doing just that. To make some futile statement to God or whoever is responsible for humanity to tell them ... to SHOW them just what a fucking joke the human race is & how DESPERATELY I wish I could kill all the ridiculous bullshit artists with my bare hands.

No point writing anything else at all.

(I even wrote myself a note in large, capital letters reminding me to SMASH THE LAPTOP & then refuse all contact with such arseholes, i.e. my parents)

It really is quite ASTOUNDING thast I haven't killed anyone (in this lifetime) because I have had countless moods like that, which descend upon me with little or no warning and then they vanish as mysteriously as they arrived. And even though I know intellectually that they won't last very long, whilst I am in the MOST intense and angry phase, I cannot imagine ever feeling any better. It's as if I have literally taken leave of my senses. Literally.

When I am at that intense phase, I don't give a FUCK about anyone or anything and the world seems so fucking pointless & ridiculous that I really do start to seriously question whether this might all be some strange & stupid nightmare that I am having and that none of the people around me are actually real, so I should start killing them just to see if they are.

This is just a tiny sample of the kind of thoughts that absolutely rampage through my mind when I am feeling like that. (All my so-called meditation & mind-control techniques fall apart completely) Nobody who experiences such rage should be allowed to walk around in society. But this society is so fucked-up that nobody would seriously consider my request to be put to sleep. So, if I do in fact become a psycopath, it's poetic justice really. People create their own monsters by their own ridiculous behaviour.

Then I took my Olanzapine a couple of hours early and went to bed with these thoughts still churning away inside me. God only knows what I might have done if I hadn't the pills with me. I slept over 12 hours and seemed significantly better the next morning, having to interact with my folks. If they'd seen me the previous evening on that beach, they would probably have been terrified - especially as I am on pills that are supposed to at least reduce the intensity of such insane experiences ...

I also tried to 'reinforce' the improved mood by reading some stuff from Dan Millman -

www.soultospirit.com/practice/book_excerpts/spiritual/inspiration/millman/everyday1.asp

Plus some gorgeous images at the webshots site - www.webshots.com

Oh yes, I also read a bit more from 'Once & Future King' as follows -

'They complain about his being inhuman.'

Lancelot considered his cup.

'He is inhuman,' he said at last, 'But why should he be human? Are angels supposed to be human?'

'I don't quite follow.'

'Do you think that if the Archangel Michael were to come here this minute, he would say: "What charming weather we are having today! Won't you have a glass of whisky?"'

'I suppose not.'

'Arthur, you mustn't feel that I am rude when I say this. You must remember that I have been away in strange and desert places, sometimes quite alone, sometimes in a boat with nothing but God and the whistling sea. Do you know, since I have been back with people, I have felt I was going mad? Not from the sea, but from the people. All my gains are slipping away, with the people round me. A lot of the things which you and Jenny say seem to me to be needless: strange noises, empty. You know what I mean. "How are you?" - "Do sit down." - "What nice weather we are having!" What does it matter? People talk far too much. Where I have been, and where Galahad is, it is a waste of time to have "manners". Manners are only needed between people, to keep their empty affairs in working order. Manners makyth man, you know, not God. So you can understand how Galahad may have seemed inhuman, and mannerless, and so on, to the people who were buzzing and clacking about him. He was far away in his spirit, living on desert islands, in silence, with eternity.'

'I see.'

'Please don't think me rude to say these things. I am trying to explain a feeling. If you had even been to Patrick's Purgatory, you would know what I mean. People seem ridiculous when you come out.'

Then a few days later, the day BEFORE seeing Dr Das over at the centre and by this stage I am absolutely dead against showing him this document and dead against agreeing to any increase in sedation. Yet the fury returns - much, much briefer this time. Only half an hour actually. But quite intense and with similar sentiments as expressed earlier. Here's some of the stuff I scribbled down -

Today's mantra: "Why do people tolerate all the crap they tolerate ... because they're dickheads ... and they should ALL be stabbed ..."

"You should count yourself VERY lucky ... but don't push your luck because I have strange telepathic powers and I can make your brain cells explode if you annoy me TOO much"

"You can't cure me. I am the cure. YOU are the disease."

"I spent half the morning rinsing my chocolates."

"I think psychiatrists are such arseholes, they should DEFINITELY all be killed."

"Normal people are such putrid idiots. They have no right to exist."

I did in fact have a strong visualisation (NOT a hallucination as such) about being hospitalised for a prolonged period and demonstrating the intensity of my fury by choking any shrink that interviewed me ... and wondering if they would respond 2 this by injecting me with Haloperidol which has in the past given me horrendous side-effects. Hmmm ... and maybe I SHOULD be locked away ...

And yet, as I sit here on November 8th, having just printed these pages out and read over them quite dispassionately, it really is bizarre because it's almost like I'm reading about someone else's life and I feel strangely confident that I can keep those black moods at bay even though anyone looking at my history & my patterns would say that's being absurdly optimistic. So, if anyone reads this - if ever anyone else DOES read these words of mine - I don't blame you one iota if your reaction is to throw your hands in the air and say that you have no idea what to make of all this and no idea what should be done with a case like mine.

{There's part of me that wonders if this is my ego-trip. Different people have different ego-trips. Maybe this is mine - to experience such 180 degree flip-flops in mood and not go completely crazy or ever act on any of the violent, insane impulses I experience. Hmmm ...}

www.jungcircle.com/Australia.html

www.stone-dead.asn.au/albums-cds/sketches/monty-pythons-previous-record/fairy-tale.html

Then I go along to meet Dr Das and he's pretty much like every other shrink I've ever had to deal with. As much imagination & originality as a wet sock. No point even talking to a pipsqueak like that. How I long 4 the day when a visiting race of aliens exterminates every pipsqueak like him from the planet. His handshake has all the grip of a wet sock. It would be so easy to choke him to death once the aliens arrive ...

Hey Geoff, hold on just a sec ... if the aliens DID wipe out all the putrid, gutless pipsqueaks, society would grind to a halt. Because there are so many essential jobs that can only be done by the dull ... hmmm ... I guess that's why they always say be careful what you wish for ...

But I'm glad I never took the printout of these pages along with me ... or am I ... I mean why would I ever listen to the opinions of those lame-brains who've never experienced anything outside the pathetic confines of normality ... their opinions are nothing but wild guesses ... they are completely & utterly incapable of even beginning to imagine what the best & worst of my experiences have been ... and thus they respond with a mixture of fear & jealousy because they hate for anyone to make them confront the limitations they so meekly accept ... like rats in a cage ... Geoof, there's no point to this train of thought ... what's the line from that Don McLean song? ... 'They would not listen. They did not know how' ... very apt ...

www.lyricsxp.com/lyrics/v/vincent_don_mclean.html

Then a little surfing later ... came across this interesting page ...

www.buddhanet.net/mind.htm

http://www.creativegrowth.com/qquotes.htm#Native_American_Wisdom