I’ve had a fire lit under my ass lately with regards to writing.  If I seem to be shirking my blog it is more than likely due to the fact that I have bigger more productive things to focus my writing efforts on.  Not that I won’t be writing here, only that my creative endeavours will be taking priority as they are more rewarding.  I will have a continued need to drain my mind of all things bipolar.  At present I actually feel super anxious.  I have yet to face the music at work and that has me really on edge.  With a hyperactive creative mind I find myself unconsciously concocting super-dramatized scenarios that are not in my favour and incredibly unpleasant.  I really do not look forward to going back to work.  There is no amount of drugs that doesn’t match a sedative/lethal dose that could make me feel more at ease with returning to that cess pool.  I have been able to distract myself by focusing most of this energy on creative writing however so it hasn’t been totally terrible.

I’m working on some high fantasy which I was super self-conscious about because I felt as though it was trashy.  It is the standard elves and goblins Tolkienesque type schlock.  Though, after going through amazons top selling list I feel much better about it and myself.  The puerile garbage that people fucking read these days disturbs the ever loving fuck out of me…  It gave me fuckloads of confidence, then at the same time stole a fair amount from me.  Sure, people read total abject fucking trash.  Yes, they are likely to read my shitty, high fantasy epic wading in the sea of other medieval fantasy junk out there.  Sadly, mine more than likely won’t stand out.  Nor if it does will it be appreciated for it’s style and the originality that it does present.  Bah, why do I overthink it.  All I really need to do is shit out a book.  Any damn book, good or bad and get past it.  Move on to the next one and so on.  The reason I am writing this particular story is because this is what is coming to me, I am simply following the idea that is coming to me.

I want to read more as well and I never was one to read much fantasy.  I always found it rather dubious and simplistic.  It never occurred to me that there are people out there that have a difficult time being creative and so the very simple concept of making shit up is complicated to them.  Here is all of fantasy in a nutshell:  Invent a race of people that is like humans with different dimensions, repeat as necessary.  Make some good, make some bad, make some neutral (these ones choose a side for the grand final battle).  Invent a system of magic, base it on colours or elements.  Maybe numbers or symbols, perhaps seasons or something completely whimsical, you decide!  This is fantasy after all!  Decide who can wield magic and how complicated that is.  Pick an underdog and make them the hero, everybody loves an idiot that triumphs despite being totally useless in all other ways (Frodo, Harry potter, Luke Skywalker… all really shitty heroes that were totally useless and haphazardly chosen for no real reason *destiny*).  Big scary, all-powerful bad guy.  A band of puckish, rag-tag good-guys.  A journey.  A battle.  Win.  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ…  I mean, this shit was cool when you were six.  If you hadn’t figured out that all of the big stories that you ever read and watched on the silver screen were one story by the age of twelve you are a tad stunted.  Or perhaps you hadn’t read Tolkien by then… Some kids are slow.  I forget.  Aside from all these things that they have in common they share another thing:  They do not have a female protagonist.  Or better still, protagonists.  Or better than this yet:  Anti-heroines.  Which is what my property features.  Strong female characters on the fringe or completely outside of society ultimately doing the right thing.  Throat-cutting, head-butting, heart-piercing, arrow-loosing, man-tracking, nose-breaking, ass-kicking women.  I’m rather excited about it.

I will be putting a fair amount of my time into that.  Hopefully I will come up for air now and then and things will improve for me.  Maybe with any luck this recent event at work will get the ball rolling toward that transfer I was looking for.  I doubt it but one can always hope.


Derailed/Breaking Point

As I recently mentioned I was sent on a company trip to a seminar.  Things have not gone well.  Not at all.  I have been experimenting with alcohol over the last little while again with a fair amount of success.  This has only encouraged me to do something really stupid.  I was on this seminar with nine others from the company, four of which were in my immediate department. These are people that I have known and worked with for three or more years.  I wouldn’t call them best friends but I have attended private events at their homes and even helped them on a personal level.  One I helped move and another I helped return a car to a dealership by giving them a ride home (in a blizzard no less).  I have been on multiple company forays with these individuals, I have been drunk in their presence dozens of times.  I am in all other ways comfortable around them.  This is the lulling falsehood of social activity that sets the stage for a trap.  You see, there happens to be this odd sort of social behaviour in my job wherein we say incredibly disturbing things.  Intentionally.  Seriously.  You know dead baby jokes?  My industry and more than likely my very company probably invented them.  No joke.  We say incredibly unthinkable, crass, crude, barbaric shit at any given moment, like a nerve check.  The idea behind this one might imagine is that the one who flinches or shows distaste, the one who reacts or shows signs of distress is the weakest link.  A softie.  I know, it is incredibly childish and not overly gentlemanly but you play the game, right?

Perhaps it is because of my dark vision but I have never reacted much to these and often find myself at odds while playing this game.  In point of fact it makes me feel a little like an alien whenever this kind of thing comes up.  When someone says something that I assume is truly horrible and everyone groans or grimaces and I do not react at all or merely stand there and smile like a fool I feel like a bit of a psychopath.  Then I start to wonder if maybe I’m not.  My attempts at joining in at this game have always been fairly successful because as I have mentioned I am reasonably clever and I keep it simple.  I merely state something sexual about a nearby elderly or morbidly obese woman and we are off to the races.  Simple.  Don’t get me wrong, I think this game is fucking vapid and pointless and I really hate playing it but it is a part of fitting in to my workplace social sphere so I do as others do. Here is where it gets particularly tricky for me.

I am on this seminar and I have recently begun experimenting with alcohol and things have been going pretty damn well.  I am surrounded by people I know who I am supposed to trust as they have trusted me in the past and I have reason to believe that all should be well.  I let loose.  A little too loose.  Regrettably and embarrassingly loose…  Let’s wind the clocks back to these two posts: meds/alcohol and hungover ramblings.  This will give you a frame of reference for the kind of thing that you can expect.  Well, you combine these two posts with a little game I like to call “let’s get childishly disgusting and inappropriate” and then you have me, good old Dysphorian opening a demonic rift to the pit of hades.  Inside this portal stands not a balrog, nor a satyr, nor any other imaginable horror.  No, something far worse.  The twisted mind of none other than Jack himself, dapper though he may be in appearance, inside his head roils all of my horrific dark vision and the frustration of having been imprisoned by my medication for far too long.  Again, I want to pause here for the new readers, though they may be few or none at all, and state that Jack is not actually an alter ego.  He is merely a name I have applied to all of my bad/puckish/negative/bold/subversive behaviours.  He is suave, sophisticated, charming alas he also embodies my stronger qualities and in the past has been my enforcer/protector and go-to degenerate.  Especially the later.

We are in the car ride back from the bar whereupon departing I had the brilliant idea in my already inebriated state to order two shots of hard liquor and down them in one go.  Don’t worry, the driver was sober.  We are speaking exuberantly at a near shout, a roadside pitstop has to be made to provide my bladder with relief.  After resuming our trek conversation continues and jokes are told when out of nowhere Jack bursts forth.  The alcohol has washed the effects of some of the meds away and blended with the wellbutrin to give him super-powers.  From the recesses of his putrid mind, in the bowels of his depravity he pulls forth an entry into the aforementioned game.  I shan’t repeat it as even in anonymity it shames me beyond utterance.  I will say this however, it involves period discharge, my face and a woman of not yet legal age…  I suppose by now you are ready to vomit.  I certainly am.  In saying the very words and discovering myself to have said them the next day I suffered from a serious amount of cognitive dissonance.  Still am actually.  My sober self finds anything sexual with minors to be the highest possible crime to our species.  I put it above murder and regular rape, as in murder at least you release your victim from the torture of it and with rape it is an adult mind with some resilience and fewer years to suffer.  But with the underaged they are doomed to an entire life with the memories and trauma of it.  Believe me when I say that I am not this way inclined even remotely and find it beyond reprehensible.  I personally think that any nation that allows child marriages to take place should be invaded, so strong is my disgust.

Now, it was fairly irresponsible for me to drink on my meds and think that it would be okay.  It was unreasonable of me to trust these co-workers yet again to have my back as that has not historically worked in my favour (I think that it must be obvious to the reader that I am not a popular individual which is a sad truth that I am only just now beginning to realize myself).  So it should be clearly expected that the reaction to this would not be a favourable one.  I said the age fourteen, specifically not as though it matters…  You would think however that I had confessed to actually having committed some far creepier act (like what I don’t know and do not care to imagine nor postulate here).  This game is universal at my workplace, everyone either knowingly or unknowingly plays this and the usual reaction is “Ugh!” whereafter everyone rolls their eyes and moves the hell on.  Yes, my comment was definitely across the line.  By more than a few yards.  However, what I suppose my hallucinating and delusional med-mixed drunken mind was thinking was that everyone would do just that.  This was not the reaction I got.  They took me very seriously.  VERY seriously.  So seriously in fact that all males present were threatening to murder me.  This bewildered me.  I won’t lie I really didn’t know what was happening at all.  I was so confused.  One moment I was sitting in the back seat of the car being polite and enjoying a conversation and next thing I know the entire population of the car was being openly hostile toward me.  Somewhere in those moments the full force of the most disturbing works in the back of Jack’s (my) mind came bubbling forth and shat out something that I will never in a million centuries fathom repeating.

Here I am in the middle of a hostile gang of passengers in a car doing sixty-five miles per hour, give or take five miles.  In this state of mind (pay close attention to the second line of the first interaction as I was likely experiencing most if not all of them) with people behaving extremely aggressively toward me.  I guess they had the right, I probably would have except I would have been smart enough to remember the conversation that we had at the start of the evening about what could potentially happen with my medication.  Instead of treating me with open hostility as a long term colleague and even friend I might have instead reacted with yes, a fair amount of alarm but then concern.  Concern that they were not in their right mind.  Concern that they were troubled, or that the very reaction they had warned me of was taking place.  Instead I was being branded as an irredeemably sick fuck and told that I was going to be killed.  In this hallucinatory, delusional state I lashed out at the rear seat passenger, feeling cornered and paranoid.  Next thing I know it gets out of control and the best I can do is open the door of the still moving car in the hopes of either forcing the driver to pull over or making a leap for it.  Please note, I am not in any way thinking rationally here.  Eventually they get me calmed down and back into the car and we make the rest of the drive back to our accommodations.  Still other passengers persist in shaming me and threatening me.  It is decided that I will sleep in another room of our otherwise shared accommodations and sort out our differences in the morning.

Everything seems fine from the haze of my slumber where all of the nights events have been forgotten.  Until I am awoken by a police officer.  Great.  I believe in law and order but waking up to a cop is never a good thing, ever.   Questions are asked.  I am told that I will make an appearance at the station in the morning to give a more complete statement.  Rather than keep things quietly to ourselves one of the gutless dickholes in the car decided to go running under the skirt of the supervisor on our trip.  He happens to be one of the other five not in my department.  He also happens to be a spineless puddle of donkey sperm because he then goes and calls the police.  Yeah.  Better still, they tell the police what I said verbatim.  Yeah.  WHAT THE FUCK?!  I think when I told them that I have psychological issues and that I take pills, when I put my trust in them as human-beings, colleagues, friends even.  I didn’t expect them to try to turn me in to the police as a sex offender for something I said while fucked up and hallucinating on said meds mixed with alcohol.  I like to believe that Eminem taught mine and the next few generations at least one thing and that is that just because someone says something that does not make them that thing.  Me merely declaring:  I am Superman, does not make it so.  Also stating that one fucks chickens in his grandmother’s clothing does not make that necessarily true.  No, I definitely should not have mentioned any kind of depraved act on a fourteen year old.  No, I definitely should not mix meds with alcohol.  No, I should definitely NOT TRUST the useless pieces of shit I work with.  They are probably the flimsiest most unreliable shitrags I have ever encountered.  In addition to not only failing me totally, they sold me out for something I wasn’t and then later when I retuned to ask what happened they all passed the buck and sold each other out.  Sickening.  The most wretched group of weasels ever begotten.  Not worthy of my respect, trust nor protection.  If they cannot extend it, I would never in my life return it.  To this point as I have mentioned I have already done for them more than they have ever done for me.

I sincerely hope that there does not exist a file of me somewhere that lists me as a potential predator.  I would hate to think what I would do were that the case.  I actually went on a tirade last year upon reading a number of cases and began trying to understand these assholes.  I started researching their methods fastidiously in the complete off-chance that I might happen upon one by pure happenstance or come to understand them in some small way, that it might make me feel less nauseated by the whole thing.  Other than finding out how they get around the internet I found nothing.  It made me feel worse knowing that their techniques are really hard to prevent.  Right there is the root of my problem.  My mind latches on to the things that it finds most repulsive that it has no control over.  It tries so desperately hard to create some semblance of order and justice in the miasma of chaos and carnage and when it comes up empty it reaches the breaking point.  That breaking point is where I have to try to make it into something funny (either consciously or subconsciously) or I can’t cope.  Now as I have said, I don’t normally like that game that we play at work, but perhaps my mind subconsciously was still struggling with the issue of sexual predation.  Perhaps it has something unresolved stored back there that needed to be said or pulled loose, like a thorn in my paw.  In my intoxicated and delusional state I think my mind finally decided to set it free and as it turns out some things really just never are funny.  Well, this is what I am going to tell myself in order to prevent cognitive dissonance from tearing my whole mind apart.

As for being torn apart.  I’m certain word has made it back to “the office” and I will soon find myself under fire from all kinds of jackholes who are worried about their children.  Convinced I am some child-horny vampire they will probably want to tar and feather me.  I look forward to this like most people look forward to root canal on a boat in a storm, with a giant fucking pick-axe up their ass.  This is going to be unpleasant and pretty much impossible to explain.  I am going to be permanently stained by this, no matter what I do there will always be one fucktard who is utterly convinced that I am indeed a child molester.  This idiot will spread rumours until the end of time, regardless what anyone tells them.  Not like it was bad enough that I wanted to kill myself before I was branded a creep several months ago, let’s see where this goes.


I haven’t been terribly good about keeping up with my blogging on a regular basis.  I should say up front that I have had a change of medication.  I went from Cymbalta to Effexor, then from it to Pristiq which is essentially the same except without all the side effects.  So what I am settled on now is this cocktail:  during the day I take 150 mg Wellbutrin (Bupropion) xl, 25 mg (1/2 tablet) Pristiq (Desvenlafaxine).  At night I take 200 mg Topamax (Topiramate).  At the time of this writing I am quite stable and content.

Drawbacks:  I do not have a therapist or psychologist that I visit for ongoing therapy of any kind.  I see a doctor who adjusts my meds based on my moods like fixing the PH balance in a pool.  I have a history of therapy resistance which is contrary to most psyche patients.  Typically what they are finding is that psyche patients are benefiting more from their therapy and less from the medication.  I find myself in therapy sessions with people who moralize and judge my motives (which is not actual therapy) because they are merely human afterall and not capable of truly being objective and removing themselves from their own opinion long enough to get the job done.  Frequently I find that these psyche workers are just barely intelligent enough to be where there are which I find offensive.  Not to be arrogant but I am, in point of fact, gifted.  So, there I am swimming intellectual laps around these poor oafs wondering why it is these floundering fools are in the position of analyzing ME?!  I find the experience demeaning and dreadful.  I try to play along until I spot holes in their process or flawed logic and call them on it and it all falls apart…

I need a therapist.  I need one to learn to cope with the new range of emotion available to me.  I am no longer relegated to the base tones.  I now have tenor to soprano in my range and I would like to understand how to control them.  I have always had them there obviously, I am now no longer hindered or drawn back by the gravity of abject misery and being lofty has left me open and paranoid.  This has lead to some random behaviours.  Not disturbing nor negative but they border on manic and have me slightly worried.  I find myself perpetually awaiting the drop of the other shoe.

Other than this I feel terrific.  I’m horny.  I don’t mind saying.  I am a physically fit man in his mid thirties who is actually getting more attractive as he ages and gets more physically fit and less awkward and gangly.  Filling out has been a blessing!  My steel blue eyes, symmetry, high French cheekbones and hard German jawline have all conspired to improve my appearance with time.  My only worry was weight gain around the middle as I still have all my own teeth and hair (which hasn’t gained a single grey), alas with recent physical training I have been doing for a large circuit I have lost twenty pounds.  So, I am down to one ninety and feel wooden all over.  I look as though someone blended Hugh Grant and Pierce Brosnan and then made them slightly less attractive (hey, I’m arrogant but not THAT arrogant).  All in all I look as good as I feel.   MUCH younger women are eyeballing me and I have been dating a few.  One twenty year old and a twenty three year old, obviously they were unsuccessful but a good ego boost.  There was a twenty six year old and a twenty eight year old they were both disasters…  Dating in this region is utterly horrible due to a massively disproportionate male to female ratio.  Despite this my looks have managed to get me in the door.  Sadly, the environment is such that the women are a little on the worked-over side and not usually worth the effort.  I don’t mean physically… I’m not so puritanical as you already know.  I mean, after SO MANY shitbags they just don’t have it in them to enjoy the company of a quality individual.  I feel for them, I do.  Also, I walked into all of these knowing in the first place I wasn’t going anywhere with them (I felt shitty but I was using them as training grounds) they were recovery dates, just getting back into the game.  I won’t lie I was also pushing the boundaries a little as well to see if I couldn’t manage a one night stand or two.  I know… It is hardly gentlemanly, but it is good sport and with the odds stacked so hard against I figured why not?  An older chap like myself taking a run at a few younger ladies who are perpetually inundated with propositions from an untold horde of knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathers.  I surmised that should I actually get anywhere that this would be the ultimate test of one’s mettle.  Well, I did manage to get into some fully naked business with one of the ladies, sadly I’m not sure that this was really a test of anyone’s prowess if you get my meaning…

In the meantime there is a woman in my life who actually matters.  I kind of know that she is right for the throne because I have been telling her all about my exploits and she has been giving me advice.  She has been laughing at the horrible catastrophe that is the dating scene with me.  She has been a confidant and a friend.  We are growing close, though we are doing this through social media.  We have known one another in real life and even dated at one point a very long time ago.  The problem I have here if any is that this how I became reconnected with my wife.  Not to say that they are even close to the same person.  This woman is already far more accepting and understanding than my wife ever was.  It still makes me uncomfortable having that similarity and also reconnecting with someone from my past, yet again.

I will be going away on a company training seminar for two weeks so my personal activities may have to go on hold.  Or not.  Maybe I will simply shoot for the absolutely most shallow and vapid of short-term goals.  What my friends used to call “Fire-sale hookers”.  I know, it isn’t particularly classy but you get the meaning.  The idea is to sleep with women without paying for a thing.  No strings-attached.  This would also be an excellent emotional balancing act.  I know that it sounds nearly deplorable.  However, if you have the capability of reigning in your emotions well enough to callously pull off a score like this and not cave.  I think you may just be ready to rejoin society as a well-adjusted normal card carrying member of the NRA and local church bake sale.  Brother, you would be healed!