Quetiapine Sweats

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Sometimes when I feel like crap I want to write; the problem with feeling crap regularly though, and writing when feeling crap is it gets to the point where there is nothing else to say about all this crap-ness.

There's nothing new I can say about feeling crap, this pervasive crap-ness follows me around like a bad smell. Or a lost puppy. Lets be honest though, a lost puppy would be infinitely cuter than this crap-ness.

I wake naturally when not at work before daylight. I sit reading (except right now), I drink tea and plot and plan so many things. It's a good job I'm rubbish at putting plans into actions because I can't say all these plans are wise.

I don't turn my computer on and it's nice. I don't look at my phone, I just sit, I be. I drink tea.


I don't go out so much these days. I've become even worse, if possible, at replying to messages from friends. It's not that I don't care, it's because I care too much. I do not feel like a fun person currently. In fact, I feel more impotent as a human being than ever.

I feel societies pressures hard this Christmas period. I stand in M&S and all I can think is "How wank is all of this?"

I go to buy family boxes of biscuits and then feel stupid. Because these are real-adults, with real-money and mortgages (or not as the case may be). I feel like I should be buying more, getting them more, that a box of M&S biscuits is just not enough. I feel like presenting them with this token gift is a bit crap. 

I'm acutely aware of being mocked. I think it might be somewhat offensive to my family and friends too, expecting to be mocked, or pitied for the insufficient gift I've given. How much thought can you give to a box of biscuits from M&S? Because I have them all.

I'm sure this a throw back from being bullied throughout school, I was mocked mercilessly for trying to be me.  


I play the fool. I know I do. My witticisms come from a dark place, full of crap and contempt. 

But I am sharp and my memory is good. I like to pretend I'm intelligent, but maybe I'm just inquisitive and thoughtful. 

With very many vices.

"That's all the shit that flies around my head and keeps me sleepless."

I could be a better person, I'm sure. My tongue has acid on it - so much it makes me sick.

For all the self growth in the world, I can't make myself be kinder to myself - why would I want to?

I've included my spotify 2017 playlist - representative of me in ways I can't explain.

Many years ago, when my Mother still worked for Hastings Council, she had a client, who gave her some prints of his paintings. He had a mental illness. In these brightly coloured paintings there often featured a black cat somewhere, this cat a manifestation of his mental illness. My mother gave these prints to me. I know I have them around somewhere.

I stumbled across some images of Tilda Swinton by Tim Walker, and I can't stop staring at them. They mean everything to me, but I couldn't tell you why.

(Tilda Swinton by Tim Walker for WMagazine)