Walk Dark Corridors Alone – Mad Chaos: June 2, 2003

Hand Dole Form Into Centrelink

Another day propagates natural endorphin behavior, as my last two hours were spent handing my form in, in town.  A symbolic crossing into the central business district was conducted today, as thoughts flourished in my mind to a collection of steps to the link and back.  

I had moderate moments of embrace.  But the most poignant came when strident through a walkway, my mind wandered to life just before industrialization and just before the badgering bane left and the unbeneficial end to the lost years.  

“I used to be intrepid,” I placed myself back in those shoes, “but now I walk the dark corridor alone.”  

The Hole Lyssa Leaves

I felt this response for the period of days leading into the problem month because it truly was the dawning of these last psychotic three years.  Before this point life used to be built on structure, even if faulty.  So, life crumbled when the badgering bane left.  

I rushed into remedy afterwards instead of allowing cool heads to prevail.  So as all my decisions became soluble, the structure failed.

The period of the lost years to the moment the badgering bane left our shoes is one whole generation of behavior.  The period of unstructured life since her and since the times on marijuana and of recovery has been the second generation, which to my recollection concluded around the fifth of last month, in a step back into society.  

In  Control  Of My Mind

Now I have a definable structure again.  One can probably thank these Olanzapine tablets but the stability comes from many issues.  

I am finally in control of my own mind now however.  

I can sleep earlier without anxious retardation.  My boredom replaces preoccupation, which benefits me to look for work.  I have to build life on structure now otherwise this mental burden will never lift.  I have to take the next step and move forward, not in the direction that friends or others pull me into, but to the beat of my own drum instead.

Reflecting On A Wasted Three Years

Moving to the new lease of Data Compilations and charts now, I find it a dear loss to have wasted three years to inable motivation.  From a generation of structured behavior to a generation of psychosis, and to now, has been seven years, and all of them captured in these memoirs.  

Three years of inable motivation.  Three years of deep self-consciousness and low self-esteem.  Three years of uncertainty and agitation.  Three years of lost interests and withdrawn states, of bad sleep and excessive tiredness.  Three years of fluctuation, three years of worry and three years of guilt.  

I wish I came out of it sooner, to move past the loneliness and self-degradation.  But we have it now, as a beacon for future generations, and for people to see.  I have wasted a lot.  I have wasted away.