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Hit & Miss Quality

4 min read

This is a story about writing stuff that people want to read...

Cartoon Doggo

Firstly, let's start with an apology. What I wrote yesterday evening was total rushed junk. I shouldn't bother writing if I only have a tiny bit of time sandwiched in-between other commitments, or if I've got somebody peering over my shoulder. I really dislike what I write when I'm pressured.

I was tired and cranky yesterday. I had planned to spend the day on the sofa watching the Wimbledon men's tennis final and the Euro 2016 final, while getting drunk. Instead I was at a restaurant where you had to stand and queue to order your food and watch it be cooked in front of you. There was limited novelty, when I would really rather have been sat down with a waitress bringing drinks to me.

Anyway, I've got a bunch of topics that I want to write properly about. I want to write directly about my experiences, rather than these long ranty opinion pieces that would bore almost anybody to tears.

Upcoming topics include:

  • The Dark Web
  • The paradox: hard work vs. high wages
  • My ongoing experiments with abstinence from caffeine and alcohol
  • The trials & tribulations of being unmedicated for Type II Bipolar Disorder
  • Will this damn depression ever lift?
  • Am I going to go hypomanic again?

Writing serves the purpose of giving my life meaning in an uncaring world and while working a day job that consists of endless pointless IT projects. Writing is my means of having some kind of insurance policy, in case I decide to suddenly end my own life. Writing is my mechanism for trying to articulate my distress and invite people to engage with me once again. Writing means that I'm an open book, and you can dip in or tune out, as you please.

My purpose has been very confused. Am I writing to shame and embarrass my parents, in retaliation for everything they inflicted on me? Am I writing because I'm lonely, depressed, suicidal and I've run out of ideas for how to connect with the world? Am I writing to have a soapbox, in order to broadcast my opinions? Or, am I writing in order to share my colourful life experiences, in the hope that others who are going through tough times might benefit. Hopefully, it's the latter.

So, as I now start to think about the final couple of months of daily writing, to round off a complete year, I'm starting to figure out when is a good time of day to write, to fit with my work schedule and other commitments. I'm starting to figure out things that I'd like to write about, not because I've got an ulterior motive, but because I've got some interesting experiences to share.

I might have totally turned off a bunch of people whose opinion I value very highly, and made this piece of writing into an impenetrable rat's nest of deeply troubling psychological issues, but perhaps I can start to shape and hone things.

I've prematurely declared that I'm going to turn over a new leaf and bury the hatchet too many times, so I'm not going to make any more proclamations of that nature. However, I don't regret going on this extremely eccentric journey, and the incredibly personal things I have revealed about my twisted psyche.

This could all be summed up as writing therapy that has been done in the public domain. But isn't it so much more interesting and a little exciting, to let it all hang out in the breeze? How more publicly could I wear my heart on my sleeve?

"For God's sake, don't encourage him" I imagine people saying. This makes me chuckle, and spurs me on to dredge the depths of my deeply repressed painful memories. Where will it lead? I have no idea.

 

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101 days clean: Bankrupt to Bankrolled

6 min read

This is a story about bouncing a dead cat...

St James Park

How does one break an addiction to supercrack and benzodiazepines? How does one go from certain bankruptcy, destitution, madness... back to normal life, complete with 9 to 5, Monday to Friday office routine and all the outward appearance of having one's shit together?

Well, it's not through abstinence.

I tapered off the benzos, using a combination of, Zopiclone, Diazepam, Nitrazepam, Mirtazepine, Valerian and bucketloads of wine.

Getting off the supercrack meant simply hitting a brick wall of depression, lethargy and anhedonia. I could have used weaker stimulants to stop myself from going off a cliff edge, but I just sucked up the cognitive impairment, extreme exhaustion, and rebound depression.

Because I abstained from all stimulants for nearly 3 months, I've been able to re-addict myself to caffeine in the last couple of weeks, in order to limp myself through the difficult period of getting back into the working routine.

I now have a flat white coffee every morning, pre 10am, and I sometimes have wine in the evenings, although I have pretty much managed to cut out midweek drinking. Ideally, I'd just like to drink on a Wednesday night when I meet up with a friend at the pub, and on Friday & Saturday nights.

However, it's not adequate. I'm struggling to get up in the mornings, even though I addicted myself to coffee with the idea that it would be a 'treat' for getting up and going to work, and incorporating addiction into my routine would mean that I'm kinda addicting myself to work. But it hasn't worked.

In the evenings, I could easily polish off one, two bottles of wine. Bizarrely, I find it easier to get up in the morning with a stinking hangover than I do when I'm stone cold sober. However, alcohol is a horrendous drug for your health. I hope that perhaps my brain is still getting used to life without tranquillisers. Coming off benzos is the most horrible thing that can happen to anybody, ever. Imagine just feeling on edge, anxious, the whole frigging time.

I'm not sure what I can do to lift my mood. I've flipped my suicidal thoughts from being something I felt all day, when I was at work, to now being something that I feel as I repeatedly press the 'snooze' button and hide under the duvet, putting off the start of the day.

I literally feel in two minds whether I'm going to get up and have a shower, or get up, run a hot bath and go fetch a sharp knife in order to slit my veins.

Things are supposed to get easier, aren't they? I keep waiting for my mood to lift, for the anxiety to dissipate, for the days to go quicker, for the routine to feel sustainable, for the demotivation and lack of enthusiasm to subside, for energy to return, to start enjoying things again. I'm still waiting.

I've tried to give myself some things to look forward to, to give me some light at the end of the tunnel, but perhaps I've been too ambitious in putting them way off in the future. My perception of time is totally warped. Weeks seem like months, years even.

I keep telling myself I gave my brain a hell of a beating, and it will recover in time. I'm so close to giving in and marching to the doctor for some happy pills, and some medically sanctioned tranquillisers, as opposed to just continuing to drink far too much alcohol.

This is the difference with this recovery: I've decided to do whatever works, and ignore the bad advice of people who've never been there, never done it, don't know what it's like. I'm ignoring all the failures - the pill-poppers and alcohol abusers - who hypocritically tell me that I'm doing it wrong, despite their own substance dependencies.

Complacency is a big danger, and I keep having scary moments where I become aware that addictions don't die easily, they just hide in your subconscious and try to tell you that life is terrible and you should just give up and relapse.

I found myself having dreams about using drugs, and thinking about how I could maybe employ strategies to use drugs in moderation, but I've been around the block enough times now to know that those are just addict's lies we tell ourselves, as we backslide into addiction.

It feels like cravings have well and truly gone, but what's left instead is a miserable life of quiet desperation, where I'm barely able to get through the day without thoughts of suicide or running away to Timbuktu.

It's all too much to bear, rebuilding your life. It takes so long. There are so many things you take for granted, in your ordered existence. Rehabilitation is just that: so many things are neglected, broken.

Something as simple as changing your address on all your post might seem simple to you, but when you've also got to get a job, a place to live, reconnect with friends, get back into a hobby/sport, fix broken stuff, replace lost stuff, get back into a routine... plus all the things that got neglected: the unpaid bills that piled up, the passport that needs renewing, the zillion and one little bits of admin that didn't get done, which include everything from a tax return to a request to tell some bureaucrat the name of my first pet, so that they can justify their pointless job.

One day at a time the idiots say. Fuck the hell off. I can extrapolate. If every day is going to be as hard, and it's going to take a zillion of them before I'm getting anywhere, how am I ever going to sustain it? Counting the days is so disheartening - not that I do it - when you think, jeez, I should be feeling a lot better than I do, after 101 days already.

Perhaps there's a simple desire for a time when I had abandoned all responsibility, and knew I was on a collision course with disaster, destitution. I enjoyed the fatalism of it. I enjoyed being relieved of the relentless struggle to get, where? Where did all that struggle get me anyway? What was the point in struggling, in stressing?

The current plan is to tidy up my affairs, and then leave this shitty lifestyle behind. Not the drug taking, but the wage slavery, the working to simply pay rent and consume crap, get fat and die of old age or stress/obesity-related illness.

It's strange, when your fantasies revolve around being destitute, homeless, penniless again.

 

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Workaholic

7 min read

This is a story about substance dependancy...

London panorama

The daily grind. How do you get through the working day? What is your routine?

150 million Americans drink coffee every day. That's roughly 50% of the entire population. No matter where you are in the world, you have some kind of vice to help you limp along.

Coca leaves, coffee and tobacco in the Americas. Tea and opium in Asia. Betel nut and Khat in Africa. Alcohol just about everywhere across the globe.

The workforce will literally down tools and be unable to work, without the substances that they're dependent on to pep them up and chill them out. The world functions through substance dependency.

Presently, I'm under pressure to addict myself to anti-depressants and tranquillisers in order to be able to work. My chemical-free life is unbearable. How am I supposed to cope with the relentless pressure without something to calm my jangled nerves? How am I supposed to cope with the futility of my existence without something to artificially raise my spirits?

Caffeine will alter my concentration span, so that I can feel productive even though my day is largely pointless and boring. Alcohol will shut my brain down and dull my senses, at the end of the day, when all there is to do is worry about having to do the same shitty stuff all over again tomorrow.

Yes, I could fill my life with kids, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, so that I'm too busy mopping up shit and snot to even notice that all I'm doing is perpetuating human misery. The opiate endorphins that are released during childrearing or caring for pets will make my life more bearable, at the expense of the poor unfortunates that I have spawned. Defining my existence by the fruit of my loins is merely handing on the problem to the next generation.

Doing sports merely floods my body with opiate endorphins, as my body tries to manage the pain of the muscle and joint damage that I have inflicted on my body. Yes, it's a 'natural' high, but it's every bit as natural as putting a synthetic opiate into your body, and a hell of a lot more likely to lead to arthritis and injury.

Pursuing adrenalin, through kitesurfing or skydiving, will give my brain a jolt of 'fight or flight' chemicals that I could get by fighting a tiger, or putting amphetamines into my body. The relief of having survived an encounter with a wild animal trying to kill me, will make me feel happy to be alive, but sooner or later you're going to get mauled to death. The pursuit of adrenalin knows no bounds : you will always have to push the envelope a little further each time.

I have a deep moral objection, to having to medicate myself to function in modern society. Just because everybody I know needs their morning cup of coffee, their cigarette breaks, the glass of wine when they get home from work... it doesn't mean that we are living our lives correctly.

Things have gotten even worse in modern life. Now people need anti-depressants and tranquillisers just to hold a job down and not have a nervous breakdown. People are popping pills from their doctor just to hang onto what they've got. "I'll lose my job if I don't have these pills to help me hide my crippling mental health problems" people say. Where is the cause and effect?

Work o clock

What if your mental health problems are a result of your job, your lifestyle, your life? What if your mental health problems are a symptom of having to do shitty work that you hate, and compete in the rat race?

We have been indoctrinated, at school, to prepare ourselves for a world of work, but it's not a real world. We are not supposed to be away from our families. We are not supposed to live with such insecurity, and in such uncaring environments.

From the very first day at school, we are being set up to compete with one another. Only a small number of the kids can get the "A" grades. Only a small number of students will get a first class degree. This prepares us for work, where only a small number of us will get the good jobs. It's a pyramid scheme, so most people are losing.

You've been set up to fail. Your rent is always going to be a significant proportion of your income. Your household expenses are always going to leave very little disposable income. The cost of childrearing will always leave you with less than you really need, to not feel anxious, afraid, insecure.

We are living in a world that has been completely shaped by market economics. The very design of our economy is designed to separate fools from their money, in the most efficient way. If you get a pay rise, the cost of goods and services will automatically rise to compensate. Prices are fluid, dynamic. Freedom is always going to be just out of reach.

Wouldn't you like it if only one parent had to work? Wouldn't you like to see more of your kids than just kissing them goodnight, and stealing a glance in the morning before you have to rush off to work? Wouldn't you like to be close to home, in case there's something you need to take care of, or just to see more of your loved ones? Why do you have to do a shitty commute that takes up hours of your day, and deprives you of time with your family? Why do you have to leave the village where you grew up, and go to the big polluted crowded city, in order to seek your fortune?

But don't worry about such existential questions. Just dope yourself up with tea, coffee, alcohol, antidepressants, tranquillisers. Don't worry about it, just zap your brain with enough chemicals to kill an elephant. Don't worry about it, just keep putting toxic stuff into your body, because you need that job, you need to stay in the rat race, you need to stay competitive.

Students are even taking Modafinil and Ritalin in order to stay awake and concentrate on their studies, because it's so important that they get good exam grades.

Doesn't all this sound like a terrible arms race to you? Doesn't it sound like our efforts to compete with one another are destroying our mental health? Doesn't it sound like we're sacrificing so much of our existence, to do more homework, study harder, work harder, work longer hours, deny our aching heart that cries out to be at home, cuddling our kids and hugging our loved ones.

Aren't we denying our very humanity, and using chemicals to mask problems that we label as mental illness? Wouldn't we all be more mentally healthy if modern society allowed us to be more human than just some worker-drone in an anonymous big city somewhere, with a cruel boss who only cares about productivity and timekeeping?

The lives we lead are collective madness. We are killing one another, not with guns, but with our relentless drive for good exam grades, pay rises and promotions.

I'm in favour of a general strike, because the madness has to stop.

Three Cranes

Let's get some new kind of society under construction, where we worship happiness, not money.

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Psychiatrists Hate This One Weird Trick

8 min read

This is a story about what happened next...

Shake your meds

Ordinary person discovers this one weird trick. When they saw what happened next, they were AMAZED!!!

So, I've been accused of being anti-psychiatry, but in fact I'm not. The discovery of chemicals that can cross the blood-brain barrier and affect your perception of the world, has been incredibly important for the understanding of neurological functions, as well as the pathology of mental illness. It's also true that pharmacological interventions are priceless during episodes that would otherwise be unmanageable.

For the record, my own diagnoses have included:

  • Clinical depression
  • Type II Bipolar Disorder
  • Anxiety
  • Stress
  • Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

I've been treated with:

  • Antidepressants
  • Antipsychotics
  • Mood stabilisers
  • Anxiolytics / hypnotic sedatives
  • Sleep aids

Then having read a meta-analysis of psychiatric treatment outcomes by Robert Whittaker in his books Mad in America and Anatomy of an Epidemic, I decided to embark upon an unethical study, with me as the test subject. I decided to go completely unmedicated.

The general public often associate unmedicated mental health patients with some wild-eyed looney, who has slipped their straightjacket, ducked the tackles of the hospital orderlies and legged it out of some mental health institution. There is an assumption that people with mental health problems are homicidal maniacs, and a danger to the public. I'm here to dispel that myth.

Going unmedicated is not something I would ever advocate. The withdrawal effects from psychiatric medication are likely to be severe and unpredictable. It's not something that should ever be done without consulting your doctor. However, I did it, and this is my account of what happened.

Firstly, coming off medication is hard. Really hard. I've had comedowns from drug abuse that haven't been as bad as coming off anxiety medications, for example. What goes up must come down, and there's no avoiding the fact that coming off a 'feel good' medication means that you are going to feel bad. Really bad.

Fundamentally, that's why many of us take medication, isn't it? To feel normal. To feel better than we would do without it. That's certainly how I got mixed up in the whole world of mental health in the first place... because I felt terrible. I was exhausted and suicidal and depressed and demotivated and I didn't enjoy anything. I needed happy pills, because all my happy had leaked away somewhere, and I was just spending 14 to 16 hours a day asleep, and the rest of it in bed hoping that the world would go away.

The thing is, the unnatural 'happy' pills destabilised me, and my mood then swung too happy, and entered a mood cycle of alternating periods of depression and hypomania. Enter the mood stabilisers. It's starting to sound like a story about the old woman who swallowed a fly, isn't it? For those who are unfamiliar with the story, she then swallowed a spider to catch the fly, and then something else to catch the spider and so on, until she swallowed something so large it killed her.

The problem with trying to treat human moods with medications is that the brain has evolved to be homeostatic. That is to say, the brain has evolved its own mechanisms to maintain stability, and anything you introduce artificially will quite naturally destabilise those systems.

Underpants on the head

The stability of your moods can also be destabilised by supposedly normal things. We are all supposed to be able to cope with the pressure of exams, work, domestic duties and so on, but for some of us, it will all become too much. Is this mental illness, or are these 'nervous breakdowns' actually something that threaten to blight the lives of every single person? Is it a lottery as to whether the stress will become overwhelming?

I self-medicated for stress for years, using copious amounts of alcohol. Of course, at work you then have to compensate for the foggy mind caused by a hangover, so you start to drink strong coffee. I was probably having the equivalent of about 12 shots of espresso every single day. The amount of caffeine contained in those shots was practically the same as being an amphetamine addict, and indeed my boss at the time - who got me into this destructive lifestyle - had the racing speech and fast jerky movements that you would associate with a speed freak.

When I moved onto harder stimulants, including a drug that would keep me awake for over a week at a time, I found that my mind was not as robust as I had assumed it would be. I managed to induce within myself, symptoms that were unmistakably schizophrenic.

Consumed with paranoid delusions, hearing and seeing things and with completely warped perceptions, I was very mentally unwell indeed. This divided medical opinion. Some professionals wanted to treat me as if I had permanently damaged my brain, and had now become a schizophreniac. Others could see that the symptoms were likely to abate, if I just got some sleep, had some food & drink and started to detox and let my frazzled brain recover. Thankfully, the latter was the correct opinion.

Does that mean that all schizophreniacs can recover and live normal unmedicated lives? No, sadly not. I've seen quite a lot of people who have been suffering acute episodes of mental illness as a result of circumstances or substance abuse, and these people have recovered as soon as they were removed from the situation that landed them in hospital. However, there are clearly some patients who are either too badly damaged, or have some other pathology that is driving their illness, and medication is necessary to control the psychosis & mania.

Hospital Note

For my own part, I have lived without caffeine for many years now, and I try to keep alcohol consumption to a minimum. I've been medication free for a few years, but I have dipped back into both sedatives, sleep aids as well as powerful stimulants, during times of crisis. It's been a few months since the last time I dabbled with anything psychoactive, and I'm still suffering rebound anxiety and depression.

Life is incredibly hard right now. I'm stalked by suicidal thoughts all the time, and stress is almost unbearable. I would dearly love the comforting embrace of a chemical security blanket. I long for intoxication. However, despite the hard, sharp edges of daily existence, at least my emotions aren't blunted and I feel like I have wonderful mental clarity.

Every day is a struggle, and my perception of time is completely warped. I feel like this depression is going to last forever, and I assume that everybody hates me and that I have nothing to offer the world, and I'm never going to be happy ever again. However, I'm able to be very rational, and I can see that my perceptions have merely been warped by my mood, which is partly because I'm still recovering from the abuse of sleeping pills, anxiety drugs and stimulants.

It would be easy to write off my tale as that of a drug addict, but that's not really the story. In actual fact, self medication with 'bad' chemicals was only very recently, and well after I was diagnosed with various mental health problems and had already been taking 'good' chemicals (i.e. medications). All psychoactive chemicals are inherently destabilising.

Self medication is a disastrous path to go down, but all attempts to force your moods to go one way or the other without changing the environment that you're in, will be doomed to failure. I wanted happy pills so that I could remain in the rat race, and maintain a standard of living that I had gotten used to. However, what I really needed was to escape that bullshit world.

Propping up my ailing mental health so that I could continue to work a job that I hated and that bored the shit out of me was a dumb choice. Mental health is too precious to fuck about with using pills and potions. If you're not feeling great, that's probably because you need to get out in green spaces more, eat healthier, get some new friends, ditch that mean abusive partner, disown those horrible parents who never congratulate you on your achievements and always give you a hard time, and quit trying so hard to impress people and be somebody you're not.

This is my prescription for life: be myself and tell everybody to shove their ill-informed opinions about my life up their arse. Nobody's an expert in my life and how to live it, and so many of the so-called experts are actually unhappy themselves, nor are they bringing happiness to the lives of the people they advise. Judge people on their results.

Fundamentally, there is an epidemic of mental health issues, and nobody is curing anyone, so trust nobody except for yourself, and do what feels right for you.

Discharged from hospital

I discharged myself, because I was in hospital voluntarily. I've had several 'section' assessments but never been sectioned under the Mental Health Act. However, I'm an unmedicated mental health patient on the loose, so look out!

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Thorn Tinted Glasses

11 min read

This is a story about viewing the world through the lens of a mood disorder...

Blue light filtering glasses

When I'm hypomanic, nothing seems impossible. Hypomania brings big ideas and grand ambitions, and the only thing standing in my way is the stupidity and myopia of other people. Nobody seems to have the guts to go for the glory, and nobody seems to be able to keep up with me. I get frustrated at a sense of dragging other people along in my wake, having to dumb things down and spoon-feed people at a painfully slow pace.

Obviously, when I'm hypomanic, I over-estimate my abilities and I'm rather rude and obnoxious about other people. Not exactly a team player. I tend to be pretty disrespectful of other people's opinions, believing that they've had their chance, and have failed to make any significant impact. Why should I listen to such gutless wimps? Why should I listen to anybody not firing on all cylinders, like I am, when I'm riding that hypomanic high?

Another thing that I overestimate when hypomanic is my stamina. I assume that I can continue at breakneck pace indefinitely. I feel like the enthusiasm and passion that I'm feeling will carry me along, despite the huge amount of energy that is being expended. I don't walk, I run. I don't speak, I shout. I don't discuss, I decide and act. It's a blur of activity, in single-minded pursuit of a goal, to the exclusion of everything else. There's no balance. There's no downtime. There isn't a second to spare: rush! rush! rush!

But, I'm not stupid. I've been through enough episodes of hypomania now to know what's happening. So why don't I modify my behaviour? Well, part of the big rush is the fact that I know that I'll hit a wall, and almost overnight, I'll hate everything and everybody, and I'll just want to curl up and die. I will have run out of energy, and suddenly be overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead, and with no gas left in the tank, I'll realise there's no way I can continue without sleeping off the work binge and catching up on those lost hours of rest.

Instead of trying to work at a steady pace that could last for years, instead I try to pack work into frantic periods of rushed and hectic activity, before I run out of steam and depression hits me like a sledgehammer. Instead of being discouraged from milking hypomania for all its creativity and productivity, I feel encouraged to try to achieve Herculean tasks.

When I'm in one of these moods, lots of stuff gets done, but there's lots of wastage. Instead of planning ahead or hesitating for a single moment, I'll just do whatever I can to minimise downtime and delays. If I unexpectedly need to work through the night, I'll do that and go out and buy a fresh shirt for the following day. If I need to get some rest, I'll book whichever hotel is quickest and easiest to book. If the project I'm working on needs something, I'll buy whatever I need, whatever the price, on the assumption that it would be a waste of time trying to penny pinch.

Step Count

Can you spot the pattern in my activity? Can you see any trend that would suggest ups & downs? This is actual movement data that has been gathered over a whole year. I would never have thought my mood fluctuations would look this obvious, with hard data.

I used to keep a mood diary, but of course, when you're hypomanic you can't be bothered with the faff of it, and besides, you're not sick when you're hypomanic... at least you're convinced that you're not anyway.

I'm not sure whether I'm mostly suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) or whether my Type II Bipolar Disorder has simply become aligned to the seasons. It's virtually impossible to unpick cause and effect anyway. There are so many seasonal factors, such as the stress of Christmas and the fact that nothing much gets done at work during the holiday season between late December and mid-January.

Anyway, I'm locked into this cycle, where I start to emerge from hibernation around March/April time. In May I start to begin to do normal things again, rather than just being completely decimated by a sense of malaise, exhaustion, demotivation and feelings of being totally overwhelmed by mundane trivial shit. By June time, I'm about ready to work again, but in danger of tipping into hypomania at any moment.

At the moment, I struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I have a feeling of dread throughout the working day. The continuous anxiety is matched only by crushing boredom and an inability to concentrate. I flit between looking at my phone and making trips to the toilet to look at Facebook and message my friends. I read documents, but the words don't sink into my head. The phrase "what the fuck am I doing here?" is on repeat in my head. I'm struck with regular impulses to commit suicide and end the relentless monotony and unending pursuit of a seemingly impossibly distant goal of my next potential holiday.

By contrast to my hypomanic state, I assume that something is going to go wrong, and I'm going to be plunged back into the stress and pressure of looking for some more work, while the bills pile up and imminent deadlines to pay my taxes and deal with debts that have built up during my winter depression. Everything looks impossible, and boring, and pointless.

When I'm depressed, I'm absolutely convinced that my skills and abilities and experience count for nothing, and that I'm only good for the scrap heap. Even when I get a job, I feel like a fraud and that I'm going to be found out. When I make a mistake, I beat myself up about it for days, weeks even. I grimace and groan at my desk as I replay something stupid I said, over and over and over again.

I sit at my desk, watching the clock, wishing I was busy, wishing I felt useful, wishing that the feeling that life was completely pointless would go away, and feeling like death wouldn't be so bad, because there's no way I'll be able to put up with months and years of just turning the pedals, over and over and over again. The same commute, the same routine, the same colleagues, the same game, the same formula.

Bipolar memory

How on earth am I going to cope with feeling so bored and unchallenged, and so uninspired and so lacking in passion and like such a fraud and like I'm wasting away, and like there's no way I can stand even the next few minutes, let alone the next few hours, let alone the whole day, let alone the whole week, let alone the whole project and the whole contract, and the whole career? How the hell am I supposed to keep doing what I do?

I could drink coffee, which aids my concentration and motivation, but as soon as I do that I'll start getting big ideas and getting really bossy and overconfident, and before you know it, I'll be hypomanic again. Coffee always stokes my hypomania up. Also coffee stops me from sleeping, so I start drinking alcohol to get to sleep... and before you know it I'm knocking back copious amounts of both caffeine and alcohol to get through the shitty work.

Once I start drinking alcohol, I start having days where I wake up massively hungover, but weirdly I can get up and go to work. I find it easier to get up with a massive hangover, and easier to sit quietly at my desk getting on with my work, when I'm just about holding down my breakfast and I've got a pounding headache.

I think that drinking lots of alcohol regularly means that I've always got booze in my system, and it works like a kind of anti-anxiety drug. I feel super sick and stuff, but it gets rid of that sense of dread. By the afternoons, I start to sober up and my hangover goes, and I'm really happy and productive. When I get home, then I start to get the sense of dread about going to work again the next day, so I start boozing all over again, and end up going to bed pissed again. The whole cycle repeats itself.

Alcohol and work seem to go hand in hand for me, and it seems to stop me from being such an obnoxious prick and pissing everybody off before finally chucking in the towel on a perfectly good job. I've gotten used to using alcohol to bring my hypomania and anxiety under control. It's a massive crutch for me, and the temptation to use it is massive, when there's such pressure on me to perform and earn money and not fuck up yet another job.

I know that I could quite easily return to a tried-and-trusted form of mood stabilisation, using caffeine to get me moving when I'm deep in an exhausted depression, and alcohol to bring my hypomania under control when my brain is starting to get a bit over-excited, or anxiety and boredom are threatening to make life unliveable. However, these things led me to a massive breakdown eventually, which I'm sure was caused in part by massive amounts of these two innocuous chemicals.

When you're drinking 12 espresso shots during the day and two bottles of wine at night, everybody's chuffed to bits with your work, but surely you're just screwing your body up for the sake of making some money while you're young enough to cope with that kind of beating.

I value my liver and my mental health now, not that I have much of the latter. I'm struggling virtually all year round with a mind that tends towards either suicidal depression or self-sabotaging and career-wrecking hypomania. I've trashed my financial security, meaning I now have extra added stress and hassle that I could really do without, but I don't think resorting to self-medication will be good in the long run.

So, I remain caffeine free and I'm trying to wean myself off alcohol. Today is my 3rd consecutive day without booze. It might not sound like much, but you probably can't imagine the kind of pressure I'm under, with life very much hanging by a slender thread.

My days pretty much start with deciding whether to kill myself or not, and they don't improve much from there. The evenings and weekends are good, when I can see friends, but possibly it's also been the excuse to drink that's also played a part.

I need to get a handle on booze, but I also want my moods to be manageable. However, I also need to earn money and be able to cope with work. It's a Catch 22.

My gut feel is that I'm just going to stick with my harsh regimen of zero caffeine and very moderate booze consumption - ideally no booze at all except on a Friday & Saturday night.

Coffee

Clearly, I'm just emerging from under the cloud of a very severe depression, especially as I slashed my own arm with a kitchen knife because the sense of hopelessness and relentless anxiety in the face of overwhelming odds stacked against me, was just so unbearable. Things look a little brighter, but now I'm starting to worry that hypomania will suddenly rear its ugly head, and I'll sabotage everything, like usual.

However, I do still refuse to medicate myself, merely to cope with the bullshit life that we're expected to live. I'll play the game as best as I can, but my brain is not for sale. Hopefully one day, I'll be able to better align my needs and my values with my work, but for now, I have to do some stuff that's pretty incompatible with good mental health.

One big thing I've learned from this rollercoaster ride, is to not expect change to happen quickly. Thinking things will change overnight has led to frustration and disappointment, which has either triggered further depression or has spurred me into regrettable actions. Thinking that I can use the blunt instruments of medication, drugs, legal highs, caffeine and alcohol to force my moods to bend to my will, has been very hard on my body and mind, and has only achieved very temporary effects, for horrific long-term costs.

Unfortunately, returning to stable mental health, a sense of wellbeing, comfort, happiness, security and an acceptable standard of living, has always required more luck, more time, more favourable conditions than I've ever been granted. I'm not complaining - we all face the same harsh and uncaring world, after all - but I recognise that modern society does little to allow people who get sick to ever re-enter the game.

Stop the world, I want to get off.

 

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Chemical Hooks

10 min read

This is a story about addictive personalities...

Snorting Coffee

We all know what the root cause of addiction is, don't we? It's taking drugs. It's the chemicals that cause addiction, by getting their 'hooks' into us. We get hooked by these chemicals, and we're then going to be a filthy addict, until the day we die, right? Wrong.

Nobody would think that a sex addict injects prostitutes and pornographic DVDs. Nobody would think that a gambling addict would inject a pack of cards or casino chips. Nobody would think that an 'adrenalin junkie' would inject a snowboard or a mountain bike. Clearly, there's something else that's going on, apart from the chemicals that we put into our bodies.

In fact, none of us can survive without a whole chemical cocktail, of vitamins, minerals, amino acids and proteins. We put myriad chemicals into our bodies every day, and if we don't we are in some way deficient. I don't just mean in our diet that we consider 'food'.

Your morning cup of coffee is not food. If you were to have it black, with no milk or creamer, without any sugar, then you would find it very bitter. Espressos are very small. There is probably negligible calorific value in black coffee, so why would you drink it?

Similarly with tea, which is an infusion, very little nutritional value has passed from the tea leaves into the hot water. There is some value in drinking the water, but you'd be more hydrated if you just had it in unadulterated form.

Why do we put milk, creamer and sugar in our tea & coffee? To make it taste nicer. Why would you want to drink something that doesn't have any nutritional value, is less hydrating than water, doesn't taste very nice and needs something in it to mask the taste? Answer: because you have been habituated into drinking it.

Habituation is not the same as addiction.

I gave up all caffeine, and it was an incredibly hard thing to do. Once I had gotten over the headaches, I then had to suffer cognitive impairment, sluggishness, and tiredness. Then came the cravings. I used to fantasise about having hot drinks or an ice-cold Coca-Cola.

The combination of caffeine and sugar is certainly a nice thing to get habituated to, unlike cigarette smoking, and the chemical hooks definitely play a part in both - nicotine and caffeine - but it's the habituation that is the hard thing to break.

Are you bored? Have a cup of tea or coffee, or smoke a cigarette. Are you anxious? Have a cup of tea or coffee, or smoke a cigarette. Are you waiting around for somebody? Have a cup of tea or coffee, or smoke a cigarette. Are you trying to concentrate on some work? Have a cup of tea or coffee, or smoke a cigarette. Are you travelling somewhere? Have a cup of tea or coffee, or smoke a cigarette.

The habit-forming things that we do become the punctuation in our life. Our dirty little habits become a measure of time. We get through our days with a remarkably similar amount of cups of tea or coffee, diet cokes and cigarettes. We know we've had a super stressful day when we've ripped through a packet of smokes. We know we've had a super boring day when our bladder is full of tea. We know we were super exhausted, when we load up on coffee.

Beer in the sun

What about downers, sedatives, relaxants? Well, we need those to calm down from all those stimulants that get us through the day. If you've loaded up on caffeine - which is identical to amphetamine in the brain - then you're going to be full of nervous energy, and could even potentially suffer from insomnia if you've been having it late in the day.

Eventually though, you'll become tolerant of both your chosen uppers and your chosen downers. These habit-forming things will be woven seamlessly into your daily routine. Coffee with breakfast, tea breaks throughout the day, can of cola with your lunch, and wine, beer and spirits to relax after work.

All these things cost money and have either negligible nutritional value, or are actually bad for your health, so why don't you just quit? Well, you'll find it very hard to do if you try. You might think to yourself "there was that one time where I didn't have any coffee, so I can give up anytime I want" but actually, caffeine is everywhere in your life, and you're unwittingly topping yourself up, at least every couple of days. You probably didn't count the coffee you had after dinner at that restaurant at the weekend, or the can of cola that you had when you were out shopping.

Gamblers are notoriously bad at only remembering their wins, and forgetting about their losses. If you ask a gambler whether they've made money or lost money, over the course of the years they've been betting, they'll probably tell you they're "up" overall. This is nonsense. The more you play, the more you're down: it's a statistical inevitability. In much the same way, people just aren't able to admit to themselves how many cups of tea and coffee, cans of cola and cigarettes they consume. They have no idea how habituated they are.

But, is this addiction? No, it is not.

Addiction is the point where something becomes detrimental to your life but you're unable to stop. It's true that 50% of smokers will die as a result of complications associated with their habit, but at any one time, only a small percentage of smokers will actually be in immediate danger of dying of cancer, heart disease and other smoking-related diseases. It's easy - in the short term - to say that the bad stuff hasn't yet happened.

Most smokers, drinkers and consumers of caffeinated beverages, don't steal to support their habits. They are holding down jobs and providing for their families, even if they're spending a proportion of their income on their poisons. In this way, they're not actually addicts.

When we look at 'adrenalin junkies', many of them actually have toned and athletic physiques from a healthy outdoors lifestyle. What could be further from the life of a heroin junkie, who is pale and emaciated, than a surfer with their tanned and muscular body? A surfer wants to look after their body, because it provides the power to catch waves. An injecting heroin addict's body is ravaged by abscesses and collapsed veins, as the suffering individual places higher importance on intoxication, than on preserving their health.

So, language is failing to capture what exactly addiction really is. Loving your family or your pet is not an addiction. Enjoying sex is not an addiction. Playing poker is not an addiction. Being passionate about a hobby is not an addiction. Even drinking tea, coffee and smoking cigarettes is hard to call an addiction, until you develop a problem where you can't afford your habit or you have actually developed a disease.

I was once asked in rehab, where I was recovering from a binge on benzodiazepines and stimulants - whether I thought I was an addict. I replied that I didn't think I was an addict. I was going cold turkey from a horrible cocktail of about 5 different drugs, all of which I had paid for with money I had earned in my job. I had paid for the rehab out of money which I had saved up. When I got cleaned up, I went back to work as if nothing had happened. No lasting health damage. Nothing to suggest I had ever come off the rails.

Java house

It's stigma and ostracisation that creates 'addicts' in the conventional sense. For most people who struggle with drug addiction and alcoholism, we label them and make life extra hard for them to get ahead, get back on their feet. We put extra stresses and strains on them that other people don't have to face. We demonise and scapegoat them.

We are always asking how to free people from the chemicals; how to release them from the 'hooks', but we're asking the wrong questions. We should be asking what's so awful about a person's life that theft, prosititution and terrible health consequences are a preferable fate to whatever crappy alternative is seemingly offered.

Are there alternatives? We say that people should clean up, get a job, and live like 'normal' people. You mean the 'normal' people who drink poisonous bitter liquids in order to quench their thirst for something with no nutritious value? You mean the 'normal' people who inhale toxic smoke? You mean the 'normal' people who imbibe fermented fruit and grains in order to become intoxicated? Who the hell are these people to judge others who are merely less fortunate than them?

Would you employ an addict? Would you let them look after your kids, your money? No, I didn't think so. You've been indoctrinated into this culture of demonisation, where we're looking for convenient scapegoats, whether it's immigrants, blacks, Jews, the poor, the mentally ill, the sick or the needy. It's playground politics, where we pick on the weakest members of society, nothing more, nothing less.

My employers would shit a brick if they found out that I'd recently had my struggles with substance abuse, despite 30+ years of squeaky clean living. It doesn't seem to matter that I don't smoke, I don't take drugs, I quit boozing for the best part of 4 months. It doesn't seem to matter that I can start and stop at will. Nobody seems to take the blindest bit of notice of the obvious difference between me and a 'filthy junkie': it's the fact that I have opportunities that meant I was able to quit cold turkey and resume my normal life.

If I was to become labelled, and hamstrung by stigma, then I would without doubt just give up and while away my days in an intoxicated state. What would you do if you weren't able to get a job because you were no fixed abode, and the truthful answer to the question "what have you been doing with yourself recently?" was "getting ridiculously fucked up"? Try saying that at a job interview and see how it goes down.

I'm risking my entire career, my prospects, my future, by writing this so publicly, but why should I continue to prosper from my advantages when so many people are crushed underfoot for no more reason than because they're more honest and less fortunate?

What have I learned from my little trip to the bottom? I learned this: we're all the same under the skin. We all respond the same to stress, misfortune and every external circumstance that is beyond our control. Do people choose to get addicted to drugs? Only as much as they choose the colour of their skin, or the wealth and privilege of the family they're born into.

Take the red pill take the yellow pill

You'd probably choke on this giant pill. You wouldn't die because of the chemicals.

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Addiction and Libido

13 min read

This is a story about an unholy trinity...

Foe Pawn

At a hotel I was given a voucher to connect to the internet. As you can see, it was foe pawn. I'm not sure if I used it foe pawn, but I possibly used it for porn, amongst my other general internet browsing.

Let me tell you about something that's a fairly irresistible combination: drugs, pornography and masturbation. Drugs and sex - i.e. chemsex - are bad enough, but there's a limitless supply of pornography out there on the internet, and given a limitless supply of drugs, you can get seriously messed up.

People who are dealing with the chemsex crisis talk about an unholy trinity of drugs: GBL/GHB, Crystal Meth and Meow Meow (M-CAT). These drugs are endemic amongst a group of promiscuous homosexual men, seeking to reach unimaginable highs from drug-fuelled sexual congress.

What happens when the secret is out? What happens when the wider, mostly heterosexual community finds out that having sex on drugs is many, many times more enjoyable than sex or drugs on their own?

Let me tell you, from bittersweet experience, that once you have tried chemsex, your ideas about pleasure and sexual ecstasy will be irreversibly corrupted. You can't un-experience things like that. You can't forget what you know. You can't un-feel what you felt.

Of course, 99% of people know that drugs are bad, and dangerous and will kill you just from looking at them, right? Well, unfortunately, people are discovering that the hard-line propaganda just isn't true, and the warning message is somewhat lost in the prohibitionist bullshit. So every cautionary tale is regarded with suspicion, or completely disregarded altogether.

In actual fact, there is so much taboo around drugs, sex, homosexuality, masturbation, fetishes... even just feeling horny is something we don't talk about openly. We are almost stuck in the Dark Ages when it comes to feeling guilty about our sexual desires, and the fact that we are inescapably driven to satisfy them.

At the end of the day, you can't fight hunger, you can't fight thirst, and you can't fight your libido. Those are the 3 things that ensure the survival of humanity as a species of animals. I know a small handful of us try to rise above the level of beasts, and act a little less like animals by using our higher brain functions, but we'll still die if we don't eat and drink, and we will actually devolve if the intelligent members of humanity don't reproduce.

Masturbation and drugs are the ultimate ways to thwart nature though. Once an animal has found something it prefers to eating, drinking and fucking, it's pretty screwed in terms of its survival prospects, and the likelihood of it passing on its genes. You could see this as a good thing: eventually addicts and wankers will die out. However, evolution is ridiculously slow, and chemistry is ridiculously fast. Checkmate, humans.

Meth TV Advert

The above picture is an advertising campaign, suggesting that people don't try Crystal Meth "even once". The advice is quite reasonable. Meth is highly addictive, and the best way to not become addicted to drugs is to never take them in the first place.

By the same token, beating addiction sounds fairly simple. Just don't take drugs "even once" and hey presto, your addiction is cured. But things aren't that simple, unfortunately.

The brain is amazing at making connections between things. I would hope that everybody is familiar with Pavlov's dog, that started to salivate whenever a bell was rung, because it knew it was going to get fed. The brain had connected the sound of a bell ringing with getting food, and something that is normally completely unconnected with food and eating, became linked in the brain of this dog.

I would hardly consider eating food to be an orgasmic experience, but small amounts of dopamine - the pleasure chemical - are released in the brain every time we eat. It's natural that we should have evolved a brain that teaches us to eat... eating is what keeps us alive. Eating food is a kind of addiction, if you like. We eat because we get a pleasurable reward from doing it. We are satisfying a craving.

Sex and masturbation are a bit easier to understand. We get a much bigger dopamine hit every time we are sexually stimulated in a state of arousal, and another big hit of dopamine if we achieve an orgasm. It's much easier to see that sexual behaviour is the same as any other addictive behaviour. We feel a craving for pleasure: we get horny, we want to fuck or masturbate. We then satisfy this craving, with sexual acts, and then we are rewarded with pleasure.

However, the brain has natural systems to curb our enthusiasm for round-the-clock eating, masturbation and sex. After food or orgasm, a protein called prolactin is released from the pituitary gland, which signals to the brain that it's time to take a break from those pleasure-seeking activities. The amount of dopamine that's released if you continue to eat or fuck, is virtually nothing... you get no pleasure out of it, until the prolactin levels drop again.

The problem with drugs is, that they're almost always rewarding, provided you take enough of them. Sure, a tolerance builds up in your brain, but you can usually take bigger and bigger doses, and still get high.

If you combine drugs with sex/masturbation, you've got a problem... just like Aaron on his injected Crystal Meth, you might want to fuck or masturbate until the drugs wear off.

Now, if we imagine that Aaron is like that dog that salivates whenever the bell is rung... poor Aaron is going to want drugs whenever he gets horny, or he's going to get horny whenever he gets high on drugs. It's a vicious circle.

The only way that you're not going to feel horny is if you have your sexual functions interfered with, by medication or surgery. Castration for a man, removal of ovaries for a woman... the elimination of the sex hormones: testosterone, oestrogen and progesterone. That goes some way to eliminating your libido, but then, what are you if you're no longer a sexual being? You're certainly no longer human.

Drugs produce a temporary and mostly reversible effect, but the longer that you abuse drugs for, and the more of a link that is made in the brain between drug-induced pleasure and other actions, the harder it will be to undo those drug cravings, given the same stimuli.

When the stimuli is your own libido, you probably don't fancy becoming a eunuch. The only option is to de-link sex and drugs. That means having a lot of mediocre sex and joyless masturbation.

Creamy Coffee

Once you start to realise how the brain works, you can start to disentangle why you do the things that you do. Why do you drink coffee? Because it contains the bitter plant alkaloid called caffeine, which causes dopamine to be released in your brain, which is pleasurable, rewarding. Why do you smoke cigarettes? Same reason. Why did you copulate for 30 seconds and produce a screaming shitting incontinent midget that can't even feed itself? Same reason.

If you truly want to elevate yourself above the level of the beasts, you would have to make yourself asexual and release yourself from the tiresome bother of having to eat and drink. However, you'd probably get so engrossed in some interesting area of research that you'd forget to eat and die of starvation. Plus, you wouldn't have any kids, so you'd just die in obscurity as some kind of eccentric hermit.

Of course you don't have to take things to the other extreme, and test the very limits of human ecstasy, pleasure... to get as high as it's possible to get. I really don't recommend it. It's bad for your health and probably pretty deadly. Everything else in life will be compared to that gold standard forever afterwards, and it's hard to get over the disappointment that nothing in your life is ever going to be as enjoyable.

This is a cautionary tale, but it's more an honest conversation that people are running screaming away from, because they're prudish, repressed, uptight, shamed by taboos and social norms into a culture of silent guilt about normal, natural human things that every person feels.

But there's another reason why some people go down the path of hedonism, while others go down the path of quiet family life: oxytocin. The bonding hormone is released when you stroke your dog or your cat. The hormone is released when you see your kids, and give them a cuddle.

Oxytocin is responsible for curbing our urge to seek pleasure, by giving us a warmer, longer-lasting kind of pleasure. If the dopamine hit you get from an orgasm is like injecting Crystal Meth, then the opioids that are released due to oxytocin are like injecting Heroin. You're happy to sit around, monged out in your pyjamas all day with your kids, because you're wrapped up in the cotton-wool opiate hit of a Heroin-esque oxytocin ride.

Nature wants you to change modes once you've reproduced, from the pleasure seeking fuck machine, into an obedient servant to your helpless infant(s). As a parent, your life is over. It's time to concentrate on stuffing calories into the greedy mouths of your offspring until you finally expire from exhaustion. It's a marathon, not a sprint, so having your brain calmed down and full of satisfying all-day pleasure chemicals while you're fulfilling your parenting duties works perfectly.

The most tragic thing is when these world collide. When children are conceived in the middle of a period of drug abuse fuelled sexual activity, it's going to be nearly impossible for your brain to switch modes. The amount of pleasure you get from your shitting, vomiting, snot-covered offspring is not going to be able to compete with powders and pills.

It might sound unpalatable, but if you're going to be a drug addict, you should be gay or be a wanker. Becoming a parent might provide an incentive to get clean and sober, but you're going to have a tough job kicking a habit and bonding with your child. That tiny bit of chest-swelling warm fuzzy feeling you get when you put your tiny baby on your chest... yeah, you're not really going to notice that if you're on a massive comedown.

Pregnancy Test

It might seem like I'm a reckless risk-taker, and that I've come dangerously close to ruining my life, but that's the whole point: I've got no dependents. I've actually been really careful. The main thing to be careful about is to not spawn any offspring you're in no position to look after, because you're struggling with addiction.

But this isn't a lecture. This isn't me being holier-than-thou. Actually, it's me saying that I understand why families fall apart, why parents don't love their kids enough, why babies get born to junkies and hopeless drug-addled fathers.

One of the main reasons I have such a high metabolism, I believe, is because my Mum wasn't expecting to get pregnant with me, and when she found out she was pregnant, she then decided to lay off the booze and the fags. The withdrawal from nicotine and alcohol while I was in the womb would have meant that highly elevated levels of cortisol, a stress hormone, would have passed into my developing body, through the placental blood.

As an organism, whatever advantage we can get in our environment would have been crucial to our survival in a world that was out to kill us, 10,000 years ago. A baby that is going to be born into a world with little food and many predators should have a completely different metabolism from a baby that's going to be born into a land of plenty. You can't run away from the wolves very fast with a big fat blubbery baby, and there's no point in having a baby that's really good at storing energy in fat reserves if there aren't any excess calories around.

Addiction is just the same as hunger or thirst, and so, babies that are born to mothers who are recovering addicts will be affected as if they were starving: low birth weight, and the epigenetic expression of genes that cause features to create a skinny scavenger, constantly in a state of nervous tension, high alertness.

While it's easy to look upon me with ignorant, stupid eyes, and assume that my life has been directed by my choices, in actual fact, so much of what we think and say and do, and how our body and brain responds to circumstances which are very much out of our hands, is a result of a chain of causation that is far more impenetrable than a trite oversimplification.

What does it tell you that I've been able to take drugs like Cocaine, Heroin and Crystal Meth and not become addicted? What do your simplistic ideas about drug abuse tell you about that particular fact?

Drug addiction is a more complex relationship than simply a person and a chemical. Drugs are social. Drugs are sexual. Drugs are societal. Drugs are cultural.

Yes, it's true that the right combination of a drugs and activities associated with drug taking can form a nearly unbreakable bond in your habits, behaviour and actual brain programming, to the point that escaping addiction will be virtually impossible.

However, only a fool would write people off and say that somebody can never change. One thing is for certain about the brain: it's a plastic organ, that can adapt itself in amazing ways. One thing is for certain about humans: they're adept at handling almost anything the world can throw at them.

To stigmatise a huge group of people, to ask them to hang their heads in shame, to ask them to shoulder other people's guilt, to pay for crimes they're not responsible for, to be the black sheep, to be the scapegoats... it's a horrible thing to do, to sit in judgement over somebody who is 99.5% identical to you.

Ok, so you bought a dog, and a house, and copulated and made some kids and now you feel all smug and fulfilled, and you'd like to tell other people how they made bad choices and you're morally superior. Well, guess what? You're made of the same stuff. You'd respond just the same as the people you're judging, if you were put in their situation. Your brain works in exactly the same way.

You should really learn about how to lead people back to the right path, rather than trapping them onto the path they're on, which can only lead to their early death... a death that you share collective responsibility for.

Blue Light

I had to complain to the manager of this coffee shop that I couldn't see my veins in the toilet. Caffeine good, Heroin bad, right?

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Escaping from the Island

7 min read

This is a story about being marooned...

Thames Clipper

The Isle of Dogs has been a pretty peaceful place to live, and I really needed for once in my life to see that the chaos in my life doesn't have to end in disaster and death. It's been a long time since things were on my terms.

This year has been a write-off so far, but while it looks like I've just wasted the best part of 4 months, in fact there has been a profound amount of psychological repair work done.

I should be babbling complete nonsense to myself, slowly rocking in a corner, completely detached from reality. I should be swinging from the chandeliers in a complete state of madness, but I'm not.

My extreme paranoia about outside interference, invasion of privacy, having my life dictated by people who don't know or care about me, being peered at like a goldfish in its bowl, having my cage rattled by aggressive and hostile people who don't care about my wellbeing... these psychological wounds have been quite remarkably healed in the last 4 months.

Ok, so I spent 3 months almost not leaving my bedroom. Only in the last few weeks have I been starting to come out of my shell a bit more, starting to think about a return to normality, with any credibility. Sure, I prematurely declared that I was ready to embark on the next crackpot scheme. That was just a reaction to the extreme things that I was going through. In the cold light of day, it was clear I was very sick indeed.

It sounds pathetic, but I took some tentative first steps back into the real world, and it's a big deal. The disruption, the disturbance, the chaos, the damage, the stress, the pressure, the neglect, the dysfunction... all of this caused me to just freeze in my tracks. Some kind of pretend recovery, propped up by drugs/medication/coffee, is not really recovery. Sure, I can do what I need to when I'm just about surviving, but it's not a path to thriving.

Sure, it's true that I'm not very compliant. The more pressure you pile onto me, the more likely it is that I'll dig in my heels and refuse to cave in. I tend to run the opposite direction to most other people. I won't put up with living miserably. I won't put up with being pushed around. I won't accept a pitiful painful and pointless existence, for the benefit of somebody else.

Tower Bridge

There's a great deal of pressure on me to toe the line. My sister once suggested I could get a low paid job at the place where she works, 130 miles away from my apartment in London. Has she been brainwashed? Has she been completely swept up in the madness of the idea of being underpaid, overworked and doing some shitty work that doesn't even pay for your travel, accommodation and bills? What sane and rational person would think that's a great idea.

London is where the jobs are. The well paid jobs for qualified professionals. I've been working as an IT professional for 20 years. I've never been short of employment opportunities. It's simply a question of mental health, and what's an acceptable standard of living for a person. What's the point of getting into debt and getting really sick, for the benefit of somebody else? Just to fit in? Madness.

Ok, so on close examination, there are some gaps in my recent employment history, but lots of IT contractors work for 6 to 9 months and then take 3 or 6 month breaks. Given the choice, why would you drive yourself insane, working too hard and never getting ahead. I've still made a considerable contribution to a couple of important projects, and worked for some massive companies quite recently. There is nothing to suggest that my skills and employability are in any way diminished.

In fact, I never really switch off. Even in down time, I'm still reading, still prototyping and experimenting. Research and development. My personal computer is full of development work: keeping my skills up to date and the grey matter ticking over. I never stop challenging myself.

Sure, everybody would like to see things happen overnight. Miraculous recovery, business as usual, normal service resumed. Well, sorry, I'm not going to rush my health and wellbeing.

Is it selfish or arrogant, to take my time, to tread carefully? This is about the first time in living memory that I actually feel well supported and I've got a good clean shot at what I want, rather than having to just rush into something, because of insurmountable pressure.

I like that people have shown their true colours. I know who I can count on, and who's just living in a self-centred little fantasy world. There are remarkably few people who make good on their promises, and their responsibilities and obligations. There are remarkably few decent human beings in the world.

HMS Belfast

I certainly don't put myself in the 'decent human being' bucket, but I'm keeping track of the score. I know who I'm indebted to, and I know how my karma is doing. I keep a pretty close eye on what difference I'm making to the world I live in.

It surprises me that many people don't question their own actions. It's a bit like smoking. Why on earth do people smoke? Cigarettes are really expensive, they're bad for your health, they make your breath and your clothes stink, stain your teeth as well as creating a stink that other people have to smell, and can even damage other people's health with your second-hand smoke. It must be by purely acting with animal instincts alone that people smoke. If they used their higher brain functions, they'd stop.

Obviously, I'm in no position to judge. It's just an observation, that there's very little upside in doing something with so many downsides. It would be understandable if there was something that was quickly achieved by smoking, other than the relief of a craving. It would be understandable if people did it in extreme circumstances, such as severe stress and depression, but it seems to offer so little escapism. At least supercrack will probably kill you at the end of a fairly insane ride to hell.

That's what it means to me, to examine my actions in great detail. When I question why I do the things I do, and decide what I want to do, how I want to live life, it's with a cold and rational objective analysis. When I do drink alcohol, coffee or have a sleeping pill, I can tell you precisely what the desired effects are, and whether I plan to turn alcoholic, stimulant or sleeping pill addict... nope!

I've decided that I will use alcohol and caffeine in moderation, to regulate my moods, when they are going to tip into destructive extremes. It was a strategy that worked for almost my entire adult life, so I'm going to return to a tried and trusted formula. Given that I've never been an alcoholic, and I managed to avoid stimulant addiction for so many years, despite having a lot of strong coffee, there is a lot of good data to support my case for having those crutches during exceptional periods of mood fluctuation.

The problem comes when you can't get up in the morning without the promise of a cup of coffee, and you can't get to sleep at night without an alcoholic drink. It's me who's going to define what I consider to be moderation, nobody else, but you can be damn sure that I won't be having any coffee after 3pm and I won't be drinking before lunchtime, and there will be plenty of days when I don't have any caffeine or alcohol at all.

I'm not answerable to anybody. I've made my peace with myself.

Bed of Roses

Stopping to smell the roses gives me a natural mood lift, but it's just not practical sometimes. When you've gotta work, you've gotta work, and it's all rush, rush, rush. Stuff your yoga up your arse.

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Vicious Cycle

6 min read

This is a story about going round in circles...

Triple Triangle

The mistakes of the past, the pitfalls, the traps, and the warning signs and the other things that can be learnt by experience, are not hidden from me. The 'right' way to live your life is not alien to me. There was a period of many years where I worked regular hours, paid my mortgage, bills and went about my daily routine with familiar normality.

Now, it's easy to point at many aspects of my life and say "that's not right" and "you need to fix that". I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. I can see what needs to be done. I know where I need to get to. However, there is no short-cut to moving from dysfunctional to productive regularity. There are no fast fixes for the myriad little things that break down and need attention.

The accumulation of this backlog of little broken things and time spent trapped into a dysfunctional existence, leaves very steep sides to a very deep trench that you get stuck in. There are limited opportunities to make your escape.

Please don't think this is a case of poor me, poor me, pour me another drink. I'll either get out of rut I'm stuck in, or else I know quite precisely where I'm going to end up.

It's true that at a certain point, it becomes attractive to just give up, to capitulate, to self-sabotage. When the task ahead just looks so daunting and you have none of the resources you need to complete it, why not use what little remaining life force you have in reserve, in a hedonistic exit from your miserable existence?

I'm certainly not in that position at the moment. I have a couple of excellent lifelines, and to throw in the towel now would be churlish. When I scratch the surface, things are so much worse than I could even imagine, but at the same time, I have some assistance and opportunities that I'm ridiculously lucky to have.

Team Sky

For those who have to imagine the many parts of the picture that remain obscured to anybody except the mind-reader, you will struggle to see much difference between your own functional life, and my dysfunctional one. It doesn't look like it would take much to restore normality.

However, it has been a long time since I was 'in the saddle' as it were, cycling along with good balance and steady pedalling rhythm. 3 meals a day, a hard day's work and a good night's sleep. Week after week, month after month, year after year. My life simply has 'episodes' now, where I switch between different modes.

I'm stuck in an episode of low mood, low energy, high anxiety, high stress, low productivity. Things that aren't exactly peachy for getting your life back on track. It's hard to imagine why I'm not up at first light, fixing everything up and pushing hard to get back into the swing of things. Hard to imagine if you've never hit a brick wall of depression or anxiety.

It's a bit of a waiting game. Moods fluctuate. The body and brain dictate the terms, and to artificially alter them with chemicals is partially how I ended up stuck in this rut, so it's not like I just need a few happy pills from the Doctor. Or that's certainly a route I'd like to avoid anyway, having already seen several iterations of that particular approach, with the same results every time.

It seems there's no cheating the system.

My Ride

Doping in sport can lead to enlarged hearts that can suddenly stop beating, blood that's so thick that you can't fall asleep and have a drop in blood pressure, muscles that are swollen into vein covered monstrosities from steroid use, arthritic joints and inflamed tendons. Don't you think we're just pushing the human limits too far some times?

Using vast amounts of strong coffee to concentrate on work, and vast amounts of alcohol to switch off and de-stress after work, is perhaps the office worker's equivalent of being in the Tour de France, surrounded by other people who are using the performance enhancing substances, who are your peers and you need to keep pace with.

My body is screaming "where are the stimulants?" as I deny it caffeine. I could start drinking coffee and cola again, but I have no idea how far away from my true self I really am, I've been so out of touch with my chemically unaltered moods for so long.

I've started drinking alcohol again, and it's alarming how insidious it is, rushing back into my life, to tranquillise my jangling nerves and put me to sleep. There is some moderation, self-control there, but not much. There is sanctuary to be found at the bottom of a bottle. Intoxication is sweet relief from otherwise never-ending relentless exhausting stress and anxiety.

Without alcohol or some tranquillising medication, or even an herbal sleep remedy, I will just spend a night awake with my fears, my negative thoughts, my anxiety about the sheer volume of things that need to be fixed up, repaired, my stress about the workload ahead.

Things are getting worse before they get better.

Fairdale Flyer

Ok, so we have London, and we have bicycles. Some elements look consistent. However, we still have the seasons, and the dark and the rain and the cold are all fairly debilitating unless I'm in a well-established routine, or I can get away somewhere hot and sunny for a couple of weeks respite.

I know that Spring has sprung, and that we are on British Summer Time (BST) now, giving a whole extra hour of evening light. However, my body's not fooled, because I don't have a routine that is particularly dictated by clocks and calendars. I have moods that are dictated by sunlight and warmth.

Over the years I learnt what my body and brain needed, and when. It was important to establish an annual routine, as well as the daily workweek routine. How else could I lay down periods of up to 4 years in the same job, for the same company?

All that's been washed away in recent years. I've shown I know how to survive and get by, but not how to thrive and make things have any longevity anymore it seems.

I would say though, that I haven't forgotten the vast majority of what I learned in 20 years attempting full-time employment. It's only been since 2010 that everything went very much out of kilter. I guess it's like spinning helicopter blades. It only takes a little bit of damage to one of the blades, and the machine will shake itself to pieces.

Bucky Pee

Just popped round to see Liz and Phil for a spot of tea

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From Pole to Pole

10 min read

This is a story about living with a mood disorder...

Sick Note

Type II Bipolar Disorder took a long time to diagnose, despite a fairly obvious pattern of moods that can be easily traced back to adolescence. Of course, we all have mood fluctuations, but it's the extremity of those moods that qualifies something as a disorder.

I would say that hypomania was the more obvious one of of my pathological moods. Being able to concentrate and work with great intensity, with little sleep & food and a refusal to be diverted from my task, an irritability for distractions, hypersexuality, spending loads of money, risk-taking. Talking seems too slow to express your thoughts... the speed that you're thinking is too fast to explain to anybody else, to put into words. You're just a blur of activity.

It felt like driving with the hand-brake engaged for a lot of my life. I was always waiting for the next slim window of opportunity to work on something that I loved. Whether that was the Design & Technology at school, where there was never enough time to finish what I was working on before the end-of-class bell, or the lego model I was making, before it was mealtime and playtime was over.

Of course, we all have to work within a timetable, and we all have to eat & sleep, but these things always made me feel like I had to rush at everything I did as fast as I possibly could, in the hope that one day, I would complete one of my projects. I also grew incredibly frustrated with the limitations of timetables, mealtimes, bedtimes.

Switching to the world of work, there wasn't actually very much to do. Most people did very little. I ended up searching around for extra things to do.

Spaghetti

The computer network at my first full time job ran like an absolute dog. That was because AppleTalk traffic from the office Macs and their printers was polluting the Ethernet traffic from the Sun SparcStations. I managed to talk my friend Lucas into helping me to rewire all the cables one evening.

OCD Cable

I wish I could show you the actual images, but we weren't even supposed to be in the server room. This was a Ministry of Defence prime defence contractor with a high level of security clearance. The two junior programmers aren't supposed to go and fix all the networking problems in the office without any authorisation.

The next morning, everybody was commenting how amazingly well the network was running. Lucas & I obviously couldn't claim any credit, because we had acted without authority, but nobody was going to do a witch-hunt when everybody was so pleased that the most major problem affecting everybody in the office had been solved overnight.

That's pretty much how a person with Bipolar Disorder hides out in a corporation. You bumble along, bored, depressed, coming in late, demotivated... and then you suddenly pull something out of the bag that nobody else would risk their career to do, let alone the lack of sleep and unsociable hours.

Bosses seemed to just accept my erratic working patterns, knowing that when there was something that needed doing with an impossible deadline, that's normally around the time I'd wake up and start hacking something together.

Late Message

It all kind of hung together until I started at a new company in 2008 and the project they were asking me to do was so huge, I didn't know where to begin. I was just entering a depression, which was bad timing. There was also a cultural problem, where their in-house IT staff built everything using Microsoft Excel, and any 'proper' software was built by Oracle consultants or bought off the shelf... but nobody liked those big expensive systems.

My depression got so bad I couldn't even get out of bed or stop crying randomly. I knew I wasn't going to bounce back quickly from that one. After a couple of months I quit that job and started making iPhone games in my back garden. 18 hours a day, 7 days a week. I couldn't go fast enough.

And so began a completely unstructured phase of my life. I would take on a project or interest, completely immerse myself in it for as many hours as I could stay awake, and stay obsessed with that single task until I burnt out. Then I would be depressed, and with no reason to even drag myself out of bed and go and be miserable at work, I would just be depressed all day in bed. I stopped answering my phone. I stopped answering the door. I never opened the curtains.

Being self-employed after 11 or so years of 9 to 5, Monday to Friday structure and routine, is kind of a red rag to a bull, if you have a tendency towards mood instability.

I relished those periods of hypomania. I wrote a series of iPhone games. I built a wooden summer house. I read a huge pile of books on Theoretical Physics and had lengthy email conversations with professors around the world, I wrote a mobile eLearning system and launched it at Learning Technologies conference, I decided that I wanted to be a startup founder and applied for TechStars, I learnt all about Bitcoin, bought Bitcoin miners and started mining in my summer house, I traded Bitcoin for profit, I wrote my own virtual CPU so I could attack algorithms like SHA-256, I started investigating security loopholes in things like internationalised domain names and the Google and Facebook developer platforms.

It's not long before you stray into legal grey areas though, so a lot of my projects have been shelved and I've had to go on raiding missions back to the corporate world, to stay afloat financially. These are normally timed with my hypomania, so a company gets 3 months of incredible productivity, and then a month or two of me being depressed, and then we normally go our separate ways.

My depressions have gotten worse and worse. They seem to last longer, and I've actually started to harm myself more & more. It's strange, when you emerge from a depression and enter a period of hypomania though... you can't remember just how dark those previous days were. There's no rational voice that says "hey! slow down, or else you're going to crash again!". Instead, the voice says "better go as quick as you can, because we know a crash is coming again soon".

Down the Road

So how do we know that depression is the pathological mood at the other pole from my hypomania? Well, I sleep. A lot. Sometimes 16 hours a day. When I'm awake I have very low energy, low motivation. I have no interest in things I'd normally find enjoyable. I don't want to see or speak to anybody. I generally think that everything is pointless, broken, useless, hopeless. Lots of negative memories keep coming into my head, and make me think "I can't believe I said/did that" with extreme regret, embarrassment, shame. I think the world would be better off without me. I start to do pros & cons of living lists, either in my head or written down. I start to think of ways to kill myself, and what affairs I would need to set in order before I committed suicide. This goes on for weeks, months.

I've written before about trying mood stabilisers and antidepressants. The side effects just aren't compatible with good quality of life. You might think that risk to life outweighs quality of life, but it doesn't, especially when you have the waves of hypomania to surf, before crashing onto the rocks of depression.

My body and my mind seems to have decided to adapt itself to this world, to this society, to this environment. We applaud the kid who busts their balls to study for their exams, and can then collapse in a heap during the school holidays. We applaud the employee who pulls the all-nighters and comes in at weekends when work is behind schedule. We applaud the 'overnight success' stories, when an impressive project is unveiled, seemingly created out of thin air, as if by magic. There is no magic. It's just an unsustainable burst of energy, focus, determination, single-mindedness and a touch of madness.

Hospital Note

I'd like to go back to the routine I once had, pre-2009. Only I don't seem to be able to retrace my steps, yet. I know the formula that used to work, and a very dear and trusted friend urges me to take a permanent job, and he's probably right to some extent. However, if it all goes horribly wrong again, I would have earned a fraction of what I would have done in a contract.

I'm hoping I can find my little niché. Somewhere I can deliver more value than keeping a seat warm from Monday to Friday. Somewhere where the bosses are more interested in results than headcount in their empire. Pretentious? Moi?

I don't really care whether you think I should cheer the fuck up or calm the fuck down... my moods seem pretty intent on doing whatever they want to do. I've been fully aware of the calamitous consequences of not keeping my mouth shut at the right time, or not getting out of bed and doing some urgent crap. It doesn't really feel like I'm choosing even if it does look like a choice to you, as an outside observer.

This looks like a load of angst-filled teenaged immature self-centred selfish drivel. It probably is. I call it my life.

I'm probably more self-aware than you give me credit for. If you're thinking "oh my God, can you even hear what you're saying? Can you even hear yourself?" the answer is yes, yes I can. I spend a lot of time cringing and wishing things weren't so, and indeed wondering why I'm like a moth to a flame so often. I can see the train wrecks before they happen. I've plotted my mood and activity data, and the patterns are as clear as day. So what?

I'm sure there are days when you'd really like to be a bird, just soaring on the air currents above the ground, looking down on people & buildings. It doesn't matter how badly you want to be a bird. It doesn't matter how rational it seems, to become a bird and just fly right over that traffic jam that's getting in your way, it's not actually possible. That's a bit like those days when I would really like to feel normal. I can want it, but it's not actually possible. Anybody who tells you that you can stop worrying or be happy just by choosing is full of shit. You have my permission to punch them in their smug mouth.

So, I'd say my experiment with abstinence was a failed one. We need a little alcohol to calm our nerves. We need a little caffeine to perk us up. We know when we need it, and most of us know our limits. We're pretty adept creatures at tweaking our own moods. We probably need a pet for a bit of soothing oxytocin. We probably need a girl/boyfriend for a bit of serotonin and a squirt of dopamine. Other than that, we just need something to keep our minds occupied as a distraction from the inevitability of death and decay. Not God though. God is for crazy people.

Anyway, that's my two cents, on my two poles: Type II Bi-polar Disorder.

 

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