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About darkling

  • Birthday 11/11/1967

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  • Gender
  • Location
    East Coast
  • Interests
    Music: Ethereal, Indie, World, Ambient
    Books: SF, Fantasy, Horror, Contemporary
    Movies: Indie
    Queer, and Black

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  1. My relatives live out of state. But I'm getting some counseling. Hopefully it will help.
  2. I was just diagnosed with Complicated Bereavement Disorder. Ever since my mother died in December, I have been in emotional limbo. In stasis. Unmotivated, and isolated. My mother haunts my dreams, and seeing random pictures, like the ones Facebook spits up, almost aways cause me to feel a wave of sadness.
  3. I started to taper down from 100mg of Zoloft to 50mg. I'm stuck at 75mg. When I started the third week of the taper, I began having serious withdrawal--irritation, ringing headache and fatigue. I think I'll stick to 75 for the time being and maybe ask for Prozac to help.
  4. Thanks sober4life. I know that full on mania can be bad. This is a nice reprieve.
  5. Has anyone else gone through it? I am currently going through an episode. My confidence is surging. Everything is beautiful, even the grey overcast sky looks like marbleized paper. I've felt it before when I go on prednisone (for asthmatic issues). I'm adjusting to a new medicine and this side effect isn't really mentioned in the literature. Should I be worried?
  6. I'm on 10 mg of Buspar for anxiety. I think that I've found something that really works. For months, my therapy group told me that I had anxiety. I eventually had my doctor put me on Klonopin. It had no effect on me. Maybe it helped with sleep. I had heard it was addictive, but it did nothing at all. There was no difference between taking it and not taking it. I told my doctor that, and she gave me a low dose of Buspar (10 mg; 15 mg is the recommended amount to take) and my mood changed in about a week. It's like hypomania without the horrible irritation that occurs when things go south. I get hypomanic on Prednisone and Wellbutrin, but that manic feeling is punctuated by random bursts of rage and impatience. This is not like that at all. A veil has been lifted. The sky is unclouded after long time.
  7. I've noticed that it's made me slightly hypomanic. Not the crazy, cascading snarling snakes that Prednisone or Wellbutrin did (I once punched the side of a subway car in frustration). It's more like a rolling boil than it is a torrent. Exclamation points every other paragraph rather than every sentence.
  8. I have been told by my weekly peer group that I also have anxiety. Last week, I talked to my doctor and she put me on Buspar -- 5 mg twice a day. So far, I've felt less anxious and have been able to focus on a long project. I don't know how much this is the placebo effect. But I'll take it. I don't feel like I have the Sword of Damocles over my head.
  9. darkling

    Timeless Time

    The week my mother died, last week, is frozen in time. Time moved differently. It was slow, then it was fast. Mom had the best room. It was sunny and overlooked a forest of December-bare trees. The last night she was alive, snow fell in the evening. It was blue and silver. I listened to music, held Mom's hand as she slept, drifting in a morphine clouded waters. She died the next afternoon. Her eyes opened briefly when she took her last breath. I saw the arcus that ringed her brown eyes. It was blue and silver, the color of evening snow. Then she closed her eyes forever.
  10. Everyday I wake up filled with dread. Will today be the day I get horrible news about my mother. She's fallen. She's died. I dread calling to check up on her. This holiday season will be cold, bleak, full of anxiety and fear. Days are getting darker, in more than one sense. This downward spiral is endless. No beauty, no hope.
  11. I listen to ambient-electronic music. It puts me into a different state of mind. It's otherworldly. Right now I'm listening to Biosphere. Vocal music -- the gothic R&B music of Cold Specks, the weird minimalism of FKA-Twigs, escapist beautiful music like the Cocteau Twins and Dead Can Dance, who I've seen 5 times live.
  12. Asylum Piece by Anna Kavan. Kavan is a cross between Sylvia Plath and Franz Kafka both in theme and prose styles. She writes about mental illness beautifully and her stories are like fables.
  13. darkling


    Doctor A is from South India, of Teleguvaara descent. Her thin wispy hair is mostly gray, but it is streaked with black, tendrils of obstinate youth that cling to her skull. She wears dowdy blouses in weird colors, like pumpkin and hunter green with black or gray slacks. She always looks tired and I can tell that she is counting down the days until her retirement. Doctor A has seen me through Paxil (tremors), Prozac (green emptiness, the color of her blouse), Wellbutrin (lust with a heaping side dish of rage), and finally, calm Zoloft. She’s put me on Klonopin while I deal with anxiety. Kpin helps me sleep, and there’s a gentle benzo fog. It’s supposedly addictive but the feeling is so subtle that I don’t think I’ll get hooked. I can still feel the anxiety simmering beneath the fog, a lava flow underneath a steamy blackened crust. One time, at the old, now-abandoned psychiatric hospital near where I live, I was in a waiting room with another patient. This waiting room had old children’s furniture in it, low tables and tiny chairs, a rocking horse, smudged building blocks and faded stencils of cartoon characters. The other patient asked me who I was waiting to see. I told her. She replied, ‘Old crazy Doctor A, huh?’ Doctor A is kind of crazy, with her wild hair and befuddled manner. But she has a nice smile.
  14. First day of 50. I made a list of reasons to **** myself 1. The lack of financial stability. My credit is shot. Money is not flowing my way 2. Lack of love and friends. If I were to die, some people would grieve. Mostly in the form of Facebook posts. 3. I have a couple of illnesses. Diabetes. Asthma. 4. The depression is relentless. Occulding. Veiling. Poisining. Soul-destroying. My mother's decline will be the death of me.When she dies, so will I. Reasons to live. 1. My writing. I'm afraid, though, it's not enough.Words get stuck in my brain, blocked by the foul parasite that is my mental illness. It eats my dreams and turns them in voids, nothing, dirt. My drug regimen is the only thing that is keeping me alive. And that is not a good way to live: through chemical illusion. Image: venture of the grey race/ Alexander Nemkovsky.
  15. darkling

    Turning 50

    Still vaguely depressed because my 86 year old mother had a dementia episode on the eve of my birthday. She's doing ok, though. I'm going out to dinner with a close friend soon. The picture below sums up my mood. The menacing Henrietta Hippo; the relief of the woman. And the weirdness of growing up in the 70s.
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