Tuesday, 17 May 2011

Infinite monkey cage

The last couple of months I’ve been developing a strong interest in science. I’m not really sure how it came about; it’s just been steadily growing. I’ve been dissociating a lot, there’s always this big lingering feeling that reality isn’t really reality or that I’m not connected to anything else or that the edges of my body aren’t there, or that the time I’ve been zoned out has somehow been stolen. My biggest ‘thought’ is that my life is a movie that’s going to end at any minute or a dream that I’m going to wake up from. There are some times that I’m afraid to move in case I somehow cause everything to collapse. There are times when I can rationalise the rapes because I tell myself that it was just a scene with actors and therefore not real.

I think I turned to science as a comfort, as something that would help me make sense of these things, to rationalise it or somehow prove my own existence and therefore kill all the doubts I have about it.

It’s backfired horribly on me.

I’ve been to a conversation with Science type event, which was fine, but then it turned into a pharmaceutical debate with a genuine (well known and respected) doctor and the fact that the majority of drug trials are fixed, faked or hidden. He talked about psych drugs, especially Risperidone which is something I used to take and the side-effects were hushed up to make the brand appear better than the generic.

My head is just fucked to shit. I got my prescription refilled earlier today and all I want to do is flush it down the toilet. I’m convinced that this real not real/here not here panic attack inducing mess is down to all the meds I’ve ever been on.

The weirdest thing is that it was dissociation that caused me to be put on Risperidone in the first place a few years back and it’s just another thing that’s fucking with my head because that has to be more than a coincidence right?

I feel so fucking childish having these kinds of thoughts, especially the whole ‘nothing ever happened to me, it wasn’t real’ thing, I wish I could talk myself out of it but I only ever end up going round in circles., or getting more anxious about it which just makes it worse.

I can’t help but think of self-harming and the knowledge that the sight of blood would really make me feel real and connected. The closest I get is pinching or biting myself really hard but it’s beginning to not work as well...

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