Category: health

hoping for better depression

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So, I suffer from depression. I don’t take drugs for it. I don’t go to therapy. I’m sure that would probably help, but the drugs I’ve tried have always made me feel worse, rather than better, and well, who the fuck has the time and money for therapy?

The thing is, I refuse to let it define me. It can run me, and it’s a struggle and fight every single day. Some days are worse than others. But I will not be labelled as the guy with depression.

I see it a lot now, and perhaps it’s a generational thing, where people label themselves with whatever damage they’ve got, physical or otherwise, and then that becomes their identity. It’s not a bone that needs to heal; it’s a bone that needs to stay broken, because it’s who they are.

It defines them.

But we’re so much more than that. Melancholy (aka depression) was just a piece of Abraham Lincoln. One could hardly say it was the primary fact of this life.

It was only part of it.

The generations behind me (and I blame my own shoegazing generation for starting this shit) seem to think it’s the only definition of themselves that matters.

I have anxiety, therefore, I am anxiety.

I have ADHD, therefore all I am is a lack of focus.

Man, fuck that. Treat yourself, do the things you have to do to get better or at least, function better within the restrictions you’ve got, but shit – it ain’t you.

Depression is not an identity; it’s just a thing that happens.

Depression is not the core of your self; it’s a chemical imbalance, or the sum total of some disparate thoughts or shitty life events.

It is NOT you.

That’s important. Remember that. You are not your depression; you are you.

And you have control over that.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1102 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 9-12
Music: Whip-Smart, Liz Phair

the things that come up

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You know, it’s really tough to write a scene-ending line about the possibility of a prostate massage.

Technically, an objection to it, a total horrifying of the moral senses.

(Except, you know, get your prostate checked. That shit’s important, fellas, both in a medical sense, and a what’s good for the goose sense.)

Polyps is no joke, kids.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1483 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde (prostates, you say?)
Comics: Brigade v3 1, Youngblood Bloodsport 1, Youngblood Genesis 1-2
Music: Whatever Happened To P.J. Soles?, Local H (quite possible the most underrated one hit wonder ever)

you know what would be cool?

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If there were like, only a few million people on earth. Enough so you’d have someone to talk to, and stuff to trade, but otherwise, you’re mostly left alone to do the things you want or need to do.

Also, if they could all be cool, that’d be great.

It is an issue, though, this overpopulation. We’re breeding ourselves out, and we’re ignoring it completely.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2672 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Dog Who Wouldn't Be, Farley Mowat
Comics: Bloodstrike 18, New Men 10, Brigade v2 16, Team Youngblood 17
Music: Ween Essentials, Ween (ween ourselves right out)

dot dot dot

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I’ve been thinking about corpses all day and it’s something I’d rather not.

It hasn’t left me with a lot to say.

I’ve seen too many, and too far gone. Death is a part of life; if you believe the anti-immortals, it’s what gives meaning to life; mostly, I think it adds time pressure, an urgency we don’t always feel.

So many of us don’t feel it at all, do we?

What a waste, man. What a waste.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 961 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Magician's Gambit, David Eddings
Comics: Troll: Once A Hero 1, Youngblood Strikefile 5, Badrock And Company 1, Bloodstrike 14
Music: We Built This City, Closet Monster

blood tests

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I finally found her.

I finally found the person that can’t hit my veins.

This, from the guy who once made a joke to a nurse, “I would have made one hell of a junkie.”

Goals, people.

Goals.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1661 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Last American Vampire, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Bloodstrike 1-2, Youngblood Battlezone 1, Youngblood Strikefile 1
Music: Warped Tour (Ashbury Park, NY), Sublime

feelin’ a bit better today

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No more nausea, and the Imodium I took ended the diarrhea, but as it so often does, bound me right the fuck up, which will be worse in a day or two.

Drugs.

Can’t live with ’em, can’t just enjoy being high.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1080 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Last American Vampire, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Brigade 2-3, Youngblood 0, 4
Music: Warped, Red Hot Chili Peppers

ugh, gas

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I’m now at my fourth (?) doctor telling me it’s just gas.

But really, when the pain is so severe, it doubles me over, or the distended belly comes out so far, I start getting lightheaded and threatening to pass out, is it really?

Why I can’t convince any one of these motherfuckers to get me some kind of test – ultrasound, scope, X-Ray, CAT, PET, MRI, I don’t even know which is best, but damn it.

Something.

Assholes.

Healthcare is fucked, and I’ll be honest, walking around like this?

There are points in the day where it’s so persistent and so severe that I’d rather not be walking around at all.

A little fucking help, guys.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1632 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Last American Vampire, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Tomb Raider: Survivor's Crusade 3-4, Tomb Raider: Inferno 1-2
Music: Warning (CD Single), Green Day (as opposed to the album)

sunshine and puppies

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And beer. The local Barks ‘n’ Brew, always for a good cause, and a good time.

Beats yardwork, which is all I did this morning, after editing. I could use the break.

Every day seems more than a marathon. It’s a car chase, a manic Daniel Radcliffe running around with guns taped to his hands, a sprint with obstacles that goes the full half-circuit.

I’m way too out of shape for it.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1347 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: SNAFU, Ed Helms
Comics: Tomb Raider v2 2-5
Music: Walk Among Us, The Misfits

i mean, like, it’s getting there

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I’ve got one scene left to revise in my third draft, and despite all my great notes with their wonderful additions and new directions and ideas and such, I’m not sure they all fit, or could fit, without monster rewrites and possible storyline changes, at this point.

Still, it’s a good start, and I will endeavour in the new round to go through all those notes and take whatever will really work, will add to the story and make it better than it is, and put it in.

That’s going to be a major task, I’m sure, and I’m starting to worry my end of year deadline isn’t going to be one I can reach.

I finished The Mungk on time last year; it was a novella.

This is much more ambitious and has taken up considerably more time and effort.

I imagine the next will be that again.

A book a year; maybe I’ll have all my work done before I’m eighty. Or even ninety. Ninety-one, perhaps.

I’ll retire on my ninety-first birthday. How’s that?

And then I’ll fucking die.

If I make it there first.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2869 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Captain Paul, Alexandre Dumas
Comics: Tomb Raider: Sphere Of Influence 1, Tomb Raider: Takeover 1, Tomb Raider 37-38
Music: Exposure - The Best Of Gary Numan, Gary Numan (Gary who?)