Saw the psychiatrist, a couple of new poems

2003-06-20 at 2:15 a.m.

I've been spending the days going out a lot to stop from being alone. Hasn't really helped a great deal though.

Saw the psychiatrist today. He'd just come back from a funeral which was a bit weird.

He's putting me on another drug - the name of which I can't remember just at the moment, I'll tell you later. I've got to go get it tomorrow as the pharmacy had to get it in specially. He thinks the other drugs may have been making it worse, but I decided I didn't want to take a drug-free holiday just at the moment because I'm about to lose all of my support networks. In a fortnight I'll be without my friends, a doctor I like, a psychiatrist, the nurse.....everyone. Which is going to be really good, huh.

Anyway, I've made another appointment with him just in case I manage to get some money and somewhere to live after I have to move out of here.

I still feel awful. The drugs are obviously a no-go for suicide attempts - at least the ones I have are. I'm only left with the more painful ones now. I really want to do it, i just can't see a point in carrying on any more. I feel like my life has already ended and I'm just waiting for my body to catch up with it all. No matter what I do, I don't feel better, I can't find a reason to live - really, what is the point? Just to meander on wasting space for fifty years or so more? If I can't achieve anything, I'd rather achieve nothing. I just need to find a way to do it - that doesn't involve jumping off a bridge and leaving a mess for some poor sod to clean up. But it has to be something, and it has to be soon.

Anyway, off that subject for a bit - though you'll probably here much more about it than you ever wanted to in the next few days/weeks. I've got a couple of new poems:

Choices

Paths we longed for yet untaken confront us at each step,
Offering illicit vistas and dreams too precious to forget,
While all the while we wander in the paths of hate and pain,
Wishing we still had the choice between the roads again.

But on these hateful potholed roads we stumble down at dawn
The light comes glugging thickly rolling over us with scorn.
Though all of us are equal here the people that we meet
Still twist and score and change to gargoyles in the street.

We all of us are agonised and so very much aware
We joined this road simply because our choices brought us there,
And though we weep and cry at the cruelty that we see,
We can be sure that this is all our lives will ever be.

The Dead Ones

Shambolically staggering in the byways,
zombies on whom no blow fell
nor the grave welcome.
We weave and twist in sleeping thought,
dead in mind and soul.

No emotion - or is it too much?
Confusion blares like a foghorn
while thought and dreams lie inactive
but the body jerks and twitches.

We are the dead ones,
zombies with no consciousness
unseen, unseeking,
waiting only for true death to come.

Not sure about the rhythm on the first and don't think I like the second...but they're written, so they go here.