You know how some people yo-yo diet, right? That’s not a problem I have. I pretty much eat enough crap all consistently to stay, shall we say, plump. I also eat really well and exercise so I do OK ticking two of the fit, healthy and thin boxes. That’s not bad. Two out of three. I could be a lot worse. I could be ticking none of the boxes.
So, if I don’t yo-yo diet what do I do? I know you’re sitting there waiting for me to tell you because I kind of set you up for it. I’m getting to it. Already!
I’ve had to go back on the Prozac. The upshot is that I don’t get any migraines while I’m on it and it seems to lessen the anxiety and panic attacks. The downside of it is that while it flattens the emotions that bother me it also flattens everything else. You cannot possibly fall in love when you’re on SSRIs and they’re working. You cannot. Everything gets flat, usual, plain and smoother.
Everything gets flat, usual, plain and smoother. It gets boring which is why when you’re on SSRIs you want to get off them. When you go off them and the emotional shit hits your mind fan, well then you want to get on them again.
I would probably have done OK without the Prozac still had things not turned up the heat on me at work. I would probably still be off the Prozac. That’s not how life works though so I’m back on them.
I have but one wish for myself this year and that’s to find my happy. How it happens doesn’t really matter as long as I don’t take up serial killing to achieve it. It’s going to be about moving myself closer and closer to me, the real me. (I know, it’s so cliché but there, I said it anyway.)
In order to find my happy I have to remove a lot of fear. If I had to go through and remove every little fear I have I’d be out of time before I even got half way. I’m going to short cut the whole business and aim for the big, THE big one: fear of death. My ultimate fear is that I will cease existing. My nightmares aren’t made of monsters and gory things. My nightmares are made of finding myself in a complete void where I know that if I for one millisecond stop believing I exist I will truly cease to exist and will never have been. Death. Complete and utter death.
My first task is so stalk myself. I’ve been doing a fair bit of watching myself and my moods in the past few years, and the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on during that time. Stalking is a different thing. It involves dogged determination, patience and monitoring. It involves bringing me back into a state where I do better, feel better and am more detached. By the time I’m finished with me I’m going to be bloody immortal (in my own mind) and able to detach if I wish to do so.
So for now:
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
Bene Gesserit litany against fear
P.S. If there's one thing I hate about living in Australia it's that raw element of thinly disguised racism; a fear of "boat people" and how they all, apparently, are criminals. To me, a person who pays to go on a rickety boat by sea in the vain hope of reaching Australia and a better future is either completely demented or running from something really bad. I tend to bet on the bad being the reason. But it's also a little bit ironic, don't you think, consider how this red country of ours started... Brought to you by stupid rant by "friend" on Facebook.
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