So, yes. What to say? I’ve been gone an awful long time and I really haven’t been keeping up with this nearly as much as I would have liked.
Mood is an odd thing. While I maintain that we are always in control of how we react to certain things, and thus should take responsibility for our own action, or lack thereof, I have always felt that I should make some sort of proviso for those who, due to depression, simply cannot control themselves as they would like.
It has been some time since my last diagnosis, in which I was informed that there was “nothing medically wrong” with me – it’s all in my head, no pun intended. But what the doctor actually meant, as he explained to me later (after I plummeted from “I can get better, I can be useful” to “I’m a worthless hypochondriac” in the space of about 24 hours) was merely that there is nothing that medication can fix. So, out with the lithium and the citalopram, out with the prior diagnoses of Bipolar, and Clinical Depression, and in with the more abstract and somewhat vague diagnosis of having “various personality disorders – obsessive-compulsive, depressive, narcissistic” though not wanting to give any firm affirmation of any for fear of “labelling” me. Social anxiety must be some sort of byproduct of their synergy.
I’ve oft heard the phrase “See four different psychiatrists and come away with five different diagnoses.” and while I do agree with it, I’ve come more to see them as mobile phone carriers – every year or so they call you in and ask if you want some sort of upgrade.
Therapy continues as it does, and the switching of one counselor to another caused some issue at first, but not nearly as bad as the issue I had when I thought I could just rough it without one.
The point of all this is that, in the end, while both the mind and body may both be willing and able, they can never get out of the room if the spirit has gone and hidden the keys. Such it is with myself a large percentage of the time.
So much I want to do, so much I want to write and explore and experience, and yet when it comes to crossing over from my bed to my desk and actually open up some sort of document rather than seek some sort of escapism, I cannot seem to control myself and my inaction. This is no excuse, this is merely the truth.
However, be that as it may, I’m a stubborn git even at the best of times, and so I have prevailed and forced myself into action, even when I never for one moment ever thought that anything good would come of it.
My portfolio piece (an expansion on The Arrival of an Assassin) has been marked, returned and I received what I believe to be a respectable mark – B+. Indeed, based on the marking system it would be very close to an A (about 2 marks off). At University level no less!
Well, that certainly has put a spring in my step (at least for the time being). I’ll be posting the story over the next few days after I’ve made some alterations and split it up into some more manageable chunks.
In the mean time, to keep you entertained, I’ll be posting something I hope you’ll like – the viewpoint of one of those refugees who shared the cabin with the Assassin on his journey to Ferra.
– Xyalon
The incoherent imaginings of Xyalon 