Hello tea-mates, Its Friday morning; Im working the day shift. Which is quite all-right. Settling in, having tea, brushing the teeth (bring yr toothbrushes with to work; gives you an extra 3 minutes of sleep), reading the Sinister posts & the regular excited email from mum telling me what new icon she bought to prettify her home with Catholic sanctity, these bring me almost to noon. The rest of day speeds on. You wouldnt believe how many people stop in when they somehow or other discover Im vegetarian. Most of these people were reared on farms; or in Chicago, the Hog Butcher of the World. They begin similarly: You dont eat any meat? What _do_ you eat? (I could never do that; not enough discipline) See, I grew up on a farm. Ive no problem with going out back, selecting a pig, & leading it into the shed for slaughter. If that doesnt offend me, why should eating their flesh? They lick their cheeks like you would the morning after smoking a cigar. They want to argue the issue. I dont care to. But I see depair, confusion, in their faces; an inscrutable sadness that I approximate with words like despair and confusion. I think its because a way they learned to live in childhood, a behaviour that was _right_ and proper as a child, was being contradicted. Give me a second, this has a relevant point (I think). The way we find to cope as children becomes the right way to act. And, we think it's courageous to keep the act up. I say all this vague rubbish because of Rachel Fruitloop's appreciated message. When I was 16 I tore my hair out. Bit any piece of skin I could reach. Held my head and crushed (Id hoped) everything inside, spinning spinning, until falling on the ground, breathless and pathetic. I hated being alone. But when I saw my parents, or older sister, or classmates, this supernatural shame gave me the energy to behave normally, if quiet; smiling, if for slightly no reason. being in company was a respite, but I despised myself for acting, so I hated being in company too. There was absolutely no place to go. I remember a friend of mine's mother worked in a pharmacy. I begged her for Prozac for my birthday. I wanted to believe there was a good place to go to. She turned up on the doorstep with my gift -- a bottle of Prozac. She smiled willfully, proud of herself, & I brightened. Now I think I was happy just to admit (however symbolically) to someone that things didnt feel right. She left, I rushed into my room, shut the door, and opened the bottle. The usage instructions were curled and stuft under the cap. I poured the pieces into my hand -- and looked at a palmful of rainbow Skittle candies. I couldnt see the humour in it; it was an impish joke, and well-meant Im sure, but it dismissed my symbolic admittance. I then found sleeping pills. These are the chemical numbing cheap Sominex kind, legal for a 12 year old to buy in the States; not at all safe like the herbal over-the-counter types in Europe. I still enjoy ingesting them. Back then, I had so much rage that my parents couldnt see how badly my insides were corroding. They were remarried, to each other, after 11 yrs of divorce. They had their own problems, I know. Plus, they came from a working-class ethic that my father summed up perfectly when he thought any complexity was being brought into emotions or psychology: 'psycho-babble'. He didnt have time, nor the capacity for the immaterial crises. He learnt to cope, & had no imagination left to sympathise. Im sorry, this email has suffered from a glandular problem & expanded well beyond its compass. I just wanted to say 'Well done' to Rachel Fruitloop for not being ashamed, or accepting of any alienated status, because of medication. I dont know if I would have been (would be) better off with medicine. Maybe. The most detrimental leftover from those years is shame in talking abt things 'slightly mental,' in admitting them & not feeling like a freak . The feelings remain; the coping still seems to work too. But to realise that silent screaming, nightly drugged sleeps, & a normalcy that is so absurd it's a caricature are not enough to draw attention to pain, when striaghtforward confessing is taboo, this dilemma crushes the spirit. So cheers to all the unmental, slighty mental, moderately mental, & extraordinarily mental sinisterines today. I get to go to Chicago tonight to see my sister, & have massive fun scouring faces for lunacy! Ill bring back souvenirs. 500mg & 500 smiles, Toy Stephen. __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? 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