I’m here again. I am taking a lower dose than normal as I have yet again misjudged how much medication I had left and won’t be able to last on a full dose till I can get more.
Every time I miss or reduce a dose I start to feel parts of me creeping back in. I start to feel parts of my mind waking up again. I feel alive. I feel my creativity sneaking back; I believe it is not coincidence that since I have been on higher and higher doses of anti-depressants my creative output has gone down, its almost zero these days. I used to be kept awake by thoughts I needed to write down. I used to be able to think in rhyme, poetry would just spin around my brain like a free-verse beat def jam open mic conga line. I’d carry a camera round everywhere and photographs would spring out at me from unlikely places. Now I just seem to see the world like everyone else, a dull blank canvas of unremarkable pebble dashed beige that needs no further inspection. Like out of town suburban sprawl, retail parks of hangars selling shit sofas and drive through edible composite cardboard food. I don’t see those little glimpses in shadows and corners.
Yet this life is unstable. This life in me has it’s downside, the depression. Yet I am starting to wonder if I am not better off dealing with those downs when they come than living this half life, a life where I feel I may never get the drive to do anything of interest or worth and just trundle on being ‘stable’ but an epitome of mediocrity and dullness I might as well be Milton Keynes.