The Short Tether Of Tolerance – Mad Chaos: August 20, 2004

Depressed In Intolerable Seclusion

Depression is so miserable and so is the passive status of my life.  I am depressed this intolerable reclusion has forced my drives, resolve, ambitions, and hope to fulfill resolutions, all to suffer.  

I am depressed I have insomnia and am unable to produce in my memoirs when it matters.  I am depressed because of a loss of momentum ever since I moved back into the family house.  

I am depressed because entombed in this bedroom I see more darkness than sun, and I am never able to escape the chores of these imperious memoirs.  I am depressed for all the opportunities I have sacrificed for their hegemonic sake.

I am depressed because I have observed a cultural loss ever since I moved back into this family house.  Music used to once be a profound excuse for rebellion, but I never listen to rap or appreciate other music anymore.  

I have fewer friends, fewer socials and fewer memorable days.  The reason is because I have become insular.  I am like a sole person on an island made remoter as I watch life and possibilities (like a flotilla of boats) float over the horizon, and this has been the metaphor for over a month.  

The Revelation Of Virtual Existence

I used to be proactive and I had luck to expand on my resolutions, but when I searched profiles of females online in the previous hour, I realized the loneliness with its isolation, as well as desperation.  I need a miracle because this observation has been revelatory.  

I once had a resolution to find a female companion, and it saddens me to see I have resorted to desperation on a virtual world.  

I looked for names of old loves and possible romances, but I am miserable because I know I am a handful of falls away from a broken man.

Broken Since The Third Cardinal Sin

I have been unable to produce since the calamitous aberrance of the sixth, which was a homicide my drive was unable to fathom.  I believe my resolve was broken on this day, and a crisis ensued around the subsequent loss of pleasure.  

I used to have a formula to calculate the steps needed to achieve happiness or a form of harmony.  I once said one needs projects in order to achieve momentum, which was the foundation of the formula.  Months later I incorporated a reform, which appended how one needs drives in order to pursue projects in order to achieve momentum.  I believed this was the basis of the formula, but now I appreciate one needs to be pleased in order to build drives in order to pursue projects in order to achieve momentum, which adds purpose to life.

I need to be pleased or to experience pleasure, otherwise depressors and apathy could immobilize the drives in me, which has been the case for over a month now.  

I feel however the modern pressures have made normal pleasure impossible to achieve because pleasure now has so many repercussions.  If I have a social I am subject to the pressures of these memoirs, so while socials used to please me, I now view them as counterproductive.  I have limited exposure to pleasure now because life has become so dismal and insular, so I am confronted by a vicious cycle to escape the curse of these memoirs and to reclaim natural pleasures.

I need to eliminate the stressors in order to rediscover pleasure, but I have been so miserable, sullen and jaded for days to weeks now that a simple pleasure to arouse drive in order to produce momentum is so hard to find.  

I am surprised at the defiance shown to avoid a recession.  I am so resolved to keep my memoirs alive and prosperous, but I need a miracle to overcome the obstacles I face.

The Legacy Of Zyprexa (Olanzapine)

I have observed a synonymous relationship between my contemporary mood and my mental status in the era before Olanzapine.  I remember I used to be undermined by a mental illness where a consecutive happy mood was rare.  I used to fear the recurrence of physical symptoms like coughs or adrenaline, so these insecurities so reliable were so ubiquitous that there was never a chance to build momentum.  I needed consecutive happy days with few symptoms to persevere with resolutions, but this never happened until medication balanced me.  

Now I have observed psychological symptoms to deprive me of pleasure.  I am unable to maintain a stable mood in consecutive days I believe because of the lack of serotonin.  So there are parallels with my contemporary mood now and my mental status before.  I am fickle and confused in the absence of Olanzapine.  Pleasure is so hard to achieve, as are consecutive productive days, because symptoms recur to make successive volitional intellectual days rare in this era.  

If I reverted back to Olanzapine perhaps I would be able to focus.  I otherwise face depression and displeasure, which is a mood issue created by a chemical imbalance.  I need a revival because my tolerance has reached a new low, as one can see.  

Research In The Memoirs

I was inspired yesterday when after the work in my memoirs I watched television, and by curious nature I came back to research in my memoirs.  I was supposed to sleep at 5:30am but I woke up often to read for a further two hours.  

Recitation is usually a nuisance, so I never read much.  I am a poor reader because the effort dissuades me.  But after several hours and much invaluable wisdom later, volition was inspired.

I was resolved to drain the reservoir as soon as possible, so instead of sleep, I enforced the provincial cure to even sacrifice the Olympics so that I could rediscover a pride of rhythm.  

I worked on the reservoir for five hours until 12:30pm, which is when I decided to sleep.  I was so proud I had found a pleasure to drive me to reconstitute work in my memoirs.  I had a successful five hours of tolerance, which is as rare as consecutive happy days, but I applied momentum and bubbled with exuberance.

Brother Drives Over In New Commodore

I woke up over six hours later at 7:00pm and had a meal, which was six hours before I wrote here.  

Half an hour later my brother drove over to show us his new six cylinder white Commodore.  I know I had many reservations about my brother earlier this week because his priorities were disagreeable, but I am happier for my brother now.  

I realize my brother needs passions otherwise depressors would rule him.  I need sex workers and commodities as sustenance like my brother needs a car and a mobile phone.  If I were deprived of these pleasures, I would sooner be a broken and hopeless man.  So, as these pleasures produce sustenance, one can be happier and prosper until he or she is fulfilled, if ever one can be.

I was passive while my brother visited.  Mum and I walked outside to say hello, and I took a photo of my brother with his car.  

I was passive and removed from conversation when mum and my brother spoke however because their relationship nauseates me.  I find the hypocrisy unbearable, in how my brother shows compliance to advance his cause, while mum in her naive manner is deceived by false hope.  

Mum wants to advance her own cause as well because she is desperate to see Sabrina, but it sickens me to see her whistle a new tune and make exceptions, like my brother has as well.  I know the chance for mum to see Sabrina is improbable, but my brother condones her optimism because he needs her to advance his own cause.  

Eric will use Sabrina to lure cooperation from mum because he knows our parents will be gullible for any chance to see their granddaughter, and vice versa, my parents will make concessions as well in order to appeal to my brother’s conscience.  I am so nauseated by how mum is so proud and spirited now while my brother fosters this false hope.

Confessions From My Brother

I had a small conversation to my brother.  

“I want to buy a car of my own to sleep in as I drive around Australia one day,” he shared.

“Have you spoken to mum and dad about your decision to move back into the family house,” I also asked as well, to answer the obvious puzzle of his bags of clothes near the stairs.

“These are just extra clothes I need to store here,” he assured me he would use the family house as a last resort.  

“I have fucked up each time I have lived in this house,” his emotive words had a solemn sentiment, so my brother was in no hurry to walk into another mistake.

Brother Offers To Loan His Car

In a lighter note, my brother allowed me unconditional use of his Commodore.  

“Would you like to drive it around the block,” he offered.

I waved my hand in front of me and said, “Nah, cars do not interest me.”  

Mum was back in the house by now, as my brother lowered his voice to add, “You can even use the car to get your P’s.”

The offer to help me secure my provisional license sounded good, but I said no.  I knew self-preservation was in order and knew I would be irresponsible to drive unlicensed in case I crashed, which means all the money he placed on the car would have been a waste.  I appreciate how my brother offered me unconditional use of his Commodore.  I also had to consider Lottie, because at the end of the day, I assume her baby bonus paid for the car.

I came back into my bedroom after this and watched television while my brother spoke to Beatrice from next door whose husband had sold an aviary to my brother when Eric lived here.  

The Short Tether Of Tolerance

I started to realize then as I came online to view profiles of women, the miserable, sullen and jaded consequence of an immobilized life.  I need to eliminate the stressors in order to rediscover pleasure, because I fear I have fallen into an era of desperation.  I believe this break from socials has helped relieve tensions produced by controversies, so isolation may have been helpful in one circumstance, but momentum is key to escape depression, which I am so desperate for so that I can rediscover the adored pleasures.

I think I will label this month the short tether of tolerance because tolerance has been its theme.  The ravages of the reservoir sounds like a fitting alternative as well, because the reservoir of my memoirs has caused so much distress.  I could combine the labels to form the compound name the short tether of tolerance amid the ravages of the reservoir but a shorter label will suffice.

Planning To Tackle The Memoir Reservoir

I have no idea on plans now.  I have been in these memoirs near for three hours now.  I would love to attend to the reservoir, but so much concentration is involved for those two overdue days, the sixth and the eleventh.  I may as well have a shower and a coffee and endure the burden.  

I spoke to Weston online earlier before I viewed profiles of women.  We arranged to have a workout when I wake up later today.  I hope to avoid this social for the sake of preservation and my memoirs, but the pressure is on now to relive those vital, controvertible days.