Amazing omment by AmazingAZ (I know I left off the “C” but after I looked at it, I liked the new word. And “omment” is not a full fledged post, but is a vignette or contribution that causes a reader to pause for a moment and consider the situation fully. An Omment.
I have no doubt in my mind that the SSRIs are extremely dangerous, having fallen victim to them myself in the early 1990s.
After a devastating marital breakup which ended in divorce, I found out what real depression can be like. I was one of those who always thought, “hey, snap out of it” about someone who was coping with the blues. This was something much deeper, much more overwhelming. I could literally “feel” waves of depression moving through my body, could barely ever sleep all night, couldn’t read for any length of time, and was barely functional. Daily life became a mountain to climb in every moment. I sought help.
Besides receiving counseling, I was given a prescription to Paxil. The first couple of weeks there was no change other than knowing that I was at least making an attempt to deal with my grief. By week three however, the “light” went on in my soul, and for the first time perhaps ever, I wasn’t depressed. Oh no, I was better than before. I had more energy, my dreams grew, the self inflicted barriers dissolved. Shyness & social discomfort disappeared. I felt truly alive for the first time in my life.
There were side effects. I could screw for hours and never have an orgasm. (Excuse me for being nosy, but… are you male or female? There is a scientific purpose for my question.) It is good to a point, but it’s not always desirable all the time really.
More than anything, it was this feeling in my head that was never quite right. My personality really was different. A rosy disposition is fine, but I was becoming numb to reality. (I’ve heard this recently from a young teen fighting a real bout of depression… the sense of moving through the world feeling numb. Comfortably numb, perhaps?)
Months went by, and the initial flood of joy become a darker sensation. The depression was gone, nothing bothered me about life, but little by little I was becoming just a shell of who I had been. The weird thoughts began to appear more and more. While I never ever contemplated shooting rampages or craziness like that, it was calling me just over the horizon. I’m telling you, these drugs are evil. (I have to say my limited experience with anti-depressants has been negative, every time I’ve seen someone using them long-term.)
I took the hard way out. Cold turkey. I was a raving lunatic for two whole weeks. Wild mood swings, and anger would have probably described it best. It was years before I felt completely OK again. (Nothing worth doing comes easily or immediately.)
In 2003 my son then 24 began taking Paxil. In 2004, he committed suicide. I’m convinced that it was the Paxil. There were of course, many circumstances (noted above) that were influential, but in the end I believe it was the drug companies who left a big whole in the lives of many who loved him. (My friend’s daughter tried to kill herself last February. She was taking anti-depressant medication, and I am sure it contributed. She’s in therapy and they are considering moving her into a homeschool environment. I recommend a trip to the Boonies for some Bunny Petting and horseback riding.)
I believe that if more people knew how devastating suicide is to those left behind, many would reconsider.
But, the drugs which cause the numbness also cloud the judgment.
Thanks for a really well-thought out comment, AmAZ
Again, AmAz, a very relevant and poignant story. My sincere condolences for the loss of your son. My own son shared a story with me recently which made me realize how very close to the edge so many of us walk. And stumble.
My 30-year-old cousin killed himself about two years ago in a horrible vengeful strike at his young wife, who had left him with their 2-year-old son after the baby brought her a handful of pain pills Daddy had dropped on the floor. He was also on anti-depressants, flexiril and the Norco. I think they call that some sort of cocktail.
My family acted horribly, blaming her publicly and not owning up to the fact that his own mother, a registered nurse, and his uncle, a general surgeon at a hospital in a large city with an arch, fed his addiction for a decade, since he hurt his back playing basketball in high school. The coroner told the young lady that was one fucked up family.
I had no idea. I moved away and didn’t know the family turned into a pack of drug users while I was gone.
Ask most depressed people how much exercise they get, and I would be willing to bet 90+% of them get little to none other than every day walking around. Of all the people I’ve known taking these things, only one of them was what I’d call physically fit, and she got herself off of them pretty quick and hasn’t gone back on them in 10 years or more. Most people would be amazed at the range of health problems that can be solved just by 30-45 minutes of real exercise even just 3 days a week. You SHOULD do more than that, but its a good start, its much better than doing nothing, and its a hell of a lot more than most Americans do, especially Americans choking down SSRIs. Same with younger people taking blood pressure medication, diabetics or pre-diabetics, people on heart/cholesterol medication, anxiety medications, the list goes on. Joined with cutting at least some processed shit and soft drinks out of your diet, you can make a big change in the way you feel. The human body was not designed to be sedintary, and it wasn’t designed to digest the chemical laden processed garbage most people eat all the time. I believe most doctors are aware of this, but are as lazy as most fat Muricans, and just hand them pills.
I used to workout aat least and hour a day, 6 days a week, and lift heavy for 3 of them. A buddy of mine started taking one of those pills, and I told him to give me two weeks of not drinking so much beer, and work out with me, and I promised him he’d feel better. “So, you know better than the doctor?” I told him that yes, actually, I did, at least in this case. He said the doctor told him he had a chemical imbalance, and these pills would fix it. Still taking them to this day. Its sad, but its the reality when the truth about the dangers of these pills is deliberately hidden, and people just want the easy way out.
You nailed it, Gator. Everyone has access to a nearly perfect, almost 100% effective and inexpensive (if not entirely free) cure for depression and yet few (of many, many depresses souls out there) use it because it is not as easy as popping a pill. Just another dreadful effect of modernity. Smart phones are such a looming disaster it is hard to put into words. Not only are the things incredibly addictive, they lead to all the major causes of depression: loss of sleep, sedentary lifestyles and social isolation.
I spent a couple of decades of my youth drinking way too much and exercising virtually not at all. I was depressed the entire time, mostly without realizing it. Only this year have I been more diligent about daily exercise and what a difference it makes. I have gotten a but out of the habit of daily 20-30 minute workouts before work since my long European Vacation and the subsequent recovery, but I have been doing serious yard work through all my weekends and plenty of evening as well. In any case, I’m planning to pick up a Bowflex from Craigslist today and get back into lifting (lightly for the most part) every day before work.
I am at work right now on the mobile, but I will elaborate on my paxil experience in 2001 on active duty. It was not anything I would want anyone to experience.
Interested in seeing it…and hoping others will tell us personal experiences.
You got off easy on that stuff lol. I think I have blocked out other memories from when I was on it for sure lol. I will stick to LSD and wellbutrin from now on LMAO!
That came out wrong. I meant your bout on it. Not about the son. That is the worst there is. Hence why I almost did the same shit on it.
How many times have you or heard someone say “My gut is telling me…” There is a strong correlation between the gut and brain. 90% of serotonin receptors are in the gut. Looking at the increase in depression; there is a correlation to the increase in glyphosate used. Glyphosate kills gut bacteria.
I’m not saying it’s the answer but something interesting I’ve casually observed. The addition of a probiotic like Align (consistently rated very good) might be an answer as well as eliminating GMOs/glyphosate from your diet. Death to Monsanto/Bayer-Roundup
https://www.organicconsumers.org/news/dr-bennis-glyphosate-exposure-leads-anxiety-and-depression-mice
https://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2013/05/14/glyphosate.aspx
http://www.americanherbalistsguild.com/sites/default/files/the_shikimate_pathway_gut_flora_and_0.pdf
Probiotics lessen my exzema symptoms drastically. If you ever take anti biotics, you have to fix your gut with probiotics after. I swear by them.
Martin
Proton pump inhibitors like Nexium decrease hydrochloric acid in the duodenum making you feel better but it’s supposed to be high to sterilize the duodenum. When you decrease the pH it allows bacteria to survive causing SIBO-small intestine bacterial overgrowth. This leads to bacterial absorption, causing a wide range of maladies. DON’T take PPIs. Take Zantac instead.
Our physiological and psychological well-being is being assaulted on all sides. It is a testament to the remarkable adaptability of human beings that we are not all raging psychopaths at this point. Yet we do seem to have an historically high percentage of them.
Poisoned food (pesticides, sugars and additives), poisoned medicine (drugs of all kings, but particularly SSRIs), poisoned “social” interaction (social media) and the barest minimum of physical activity. Throw in the raging hormones of adolescents–the obscene rate of school shootings should come as no surprise. And, yet, the only “reasonable” narrative out there: blame the fucking gun?
Fuck!
Oh, good topic, Maggie. I have so much to say about this I could turn it into a separate post. Will come back later
Btw, Dr Gator, you can’t fix this by exercise alone..pendejo.
M C
MC, that’s a strong word. Estupido is medium strong although it is considered quite tame over here. The word you used means dick-hair according to my Rican buddy. I never researched it, mostly I’ve heard somebody say, don’t be a dick-hair, to warn you about something stupid you may be doing or saying.
“Pendejo has two basic meanings in Mexican Spanish. Let’s take a look at some examples. Asshole/jerk. Someone who treats you badly. ¡Pendejo!, shouted at a driver who cuts you off.”
Must have more than one definition. This is the one I knew.
I take offense at someone who thinks exercise is the answer. I was already 20 lbs down when I was diagnosed. At 115 I looked pretty skinny.
M C
He wasn’t talking about cancer, he was talking about problems that crop up when folks don’t get enough exercise. It’s the couch potato syndrome, the less folks move the tireder they feel. They get fat, they take pills and get sicker.
Getting out and breathing fresh air might help. Especially if folks are depressed. Depressed folks seek darkness and warmth but it feeds on you and soon you look like a holocaust survivor.
I wasn’t talking about cancer either. This was 15 years before cancer. Clinical depression can cause loss of appetite. That is what happened to me.
In most Spanish-speaking countries a “pendejo” is a dingleberry, per my understanding of the word. In Argentina, it’s often used as a slang term for an adolescent. First time I’ve heard the dick-hair translation.
Pendejo: A kid or a insult
In this week’s new videos, Argentine movie and TV star, Pablo Echarri, tells us about when he was a kid:
Y yo me recuerdo que de pendejo en la escuela…
“And I remember when I was a kid in school…”
[Caption 13, Entrevista > Pablo Echarri > 4]
A word of warning here: In Argentina and Uruguay, the word pendejo is a benign, if slangy, synonym for muchacho meaning “kid, youth or teen.” But you couldn’t use pendejo in the same way in Mexico or parts of Central America and get away with it. There, pendejo is a crude profanity that you should read about in Wikipedia’s write-up under Spanish profanity -Yabla
Fine. Next time I will just use English and say asshole.
That was a Jim Beam post.
M C
There is a strong correlation between the gut and heartbreak, isn’t there? MC… looking forward to the discussion. I think you and I just might talk our way into the really, really, really big one.
The one no one talks about.
Impotence?
A. Bohr. Shun.
Shhhhh…. don’t tell. They’ll banish us, you know.
I dated somebody on Paxil once.
She could fuck for hours and hours.
Other than that, she was a mess.
I would rather take LSD for my “problems”.
Seeing the ‘inside out’ cures you a lot quicker than being zombified.
40 good blotters in 7 days will cure you of everything.
Although it leaves you slightly sociopathic,…
Jimmy, have you met Indentured Servant?
Depression is fine. I’ve ben depressed since I was 12. The world is a shit show, happy people, with no basis for being happy, are running amok.
Sorry I couldn’t resist
Ha! Depression, drinking and Pink Floyd did wonders for me.
Ditto dude. Floyd probably saved my life lol. That and LSD. I may start microdosing if I can find quality stuff.
Was wondering if anyone posted the song. This was a great and creative interpretation. Thanks.
These drugs are also socially acceptable, unlike self medicating.
Psychiatry has to create the disorders it claims to treat. Thus making it even more acceptable.
Shrinks and pill pushers: 5 different doctors and 6 different diagnoses with 25 different pills. Welcome to the V.A. Giving you a second chance to die for your country since July 21, 1930.
Paxil is poison. My daughter was prescribed it for a while when she was a teenager. Fortunately it didn’t do any permanent harm.
These things are a band-aid to get you by so you don’t kill yourself while you should be exploring other reasons why your wanting to kill yourself.
I don’t believe they should ever be given to people under 25, or if they do, a very close eye needs to be kept on them and it should be very short term.
No one checked my thyroid or hormone levels when I had a very serious bout of clinical depression around the turn of the century. It would have saved a lot of trouble if they had looked for physical problems instead of prescribing SSRI’s and benzos and assuming this solved the problem. It was a short term fix but it caused more problems than it solved and it took years before I found out that it could have been fixed by looking at physical issues.
Exercise and a good diet are very important. A healthy gut is also important. Mental health is a very complicated issue and is not solved by throwing pills at it or looking at it as a one dimensional issue.
I have to agree that exercise (and also a healthy diet) are really beneficial in reducing and eliminating depression. I’ve dealt with my own demons, and really haven’t had more than a few bad days for many years now. (It took work.) I believe age and wisdom through experience temper us against the inevitable ups and downs of life, and we learn to get through the bad. Something good (at least better) is generally just around the corner. As I mentioned in a comment to Stucky some time back, if you’re not at least a little depressed, you’re not paying attention. (Maggie, thanks for sharing this, I’m humbled. Btw I’m a white male curmudgeon, a young 60 years old.)
We are in the same cohort, AZ. (MC, Maggie, Stucky, LLPOH, me) that’s probably why we are so reasonable. Dutchman, Bea, Fleabo, nkit and Muck are the tribe elders. YoBo, Rdawg, BB, IS, FM, jFish and a few others make up the young pukes. According to Admin’s table, we boomerati are the majority, what we say goes. Sometimes it goes in the spam filter.
Hey, buddy ole pal-o-mehoe… I’m working through some really powerful mental calisthenics here in my self-imposed exile as a hillbilly land baroness and bunny farmer. Most of you here will realize I’ve really fucking done what I said I was going to do. I said to that dumb broad who worked with me turning unreadable Technical Orders for Obsolete Weapons and Airplanes (sent to third world countries who really didn’t seem to need tanks or other weaponry) into even more unreadable instructional manuals with the redacted material replaced with nothing.
Think of it like this… An Air Force Technical Manual on how to turn on and operate the IFF system inflight. Step 1: Turn on/off switch to “on” position.* Step 2: Uh Oh… that requires a code entry so that was deleted. Step 3. Sit down and hope the codes are still loaded and the month hasn’t turned over to make them all go to zeroes and show the back door in. Oops. Now Admin may have to delete this.
*Warning: IFF will not operate in “off” position. (No kidding… I saw a little warning note in one of my old checklists. Aircrew members really are idiots. Well, except for old red ropes, of course.
I not only lost all that weight, I have also almost completely stopped drinking anything other than what’s good for the digestion and lots of fresh fruit pressed through a sieve right here in paradise. With my mind clearer and my health better, I just might be able to finish what I started here a while back. It is one hell of a fucking story.
How’s this for a teaser?
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Oh, and I can’t believe you left tadpole out.
Okay, the point of this was this: I think I’ve re-set my metabolism or something with the cleanse followed by fasting followed by completely changing my dietary habits. I get SICK and throw up if I eat certain processed foods with certain smells and flavors. If the color is weird, I avoid it too.
Am not sure we are Paleo, exactly, but we are damn close.
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There… that is me just this morning getting ready to wash the porch. Nick has just cleaned and re-stained the oak logs. So that I could take a picture.
So, Stucky… if I made the comment made by AmAz here (60ish, male) would you stop reading?
Rdawg will wish his inflatable wife looks that good in a decade or two.
I wish I looked as fit as you and Stuck, Maggita.
Fine. Next time I will just use English and say asshole.
That was a Jim Beam post.
M C
You look awesome, Maggie! It’s hard work to lose a bunch of weight. Congratulations! Keeping it off is a whole nuther challenge. I’m up 20 and down 20. Never more than that . Paleo is a good eating plan.
M C
Maggie you look fabulous!
Haven’t been commenting and then I see this thread. If anyone is wondering what I have been up to it isn’t too much. I don’t have whole lot to say these days and reason is the weather has been great here… Just waiting for last frost so my wife and I can get tomatoes and peppers planted in raised beds.
As to the content of this thread it has been lucky for me that I have avoided the pills all these years. Happy to say that lately the Black Dogs have faded away… And like Gator said above it has much to do with getting outside and off the couch.
Fresh air and the outdoors are the best little helpers…
You mean jFish or Uncola?
Shut up. I didn’t see it there earlier. Shaddup.
OK, so now that I am out of the vitamin stench area I can shed some experience on the disaster that is SSRI and paxil in particular, or as I dubbed it “the I am going to fucking kill you and your whole fucking family and bathe in your blood after I spread your entrails around the neighborhood if I miss a dose” drug.
As soon as I saw “paxil” in there I already knew exactly where you were headed: the zombified, homicidal, locked-in syndrome, wanting to sleep 18 hours a day and not giving a single fuck about anything that happened to anyone mode unless a dose is missed experience, which is exactly what I experienced. You got lucky Mags lol.
My worthless cunt of a doctor of psychiatry, dare I use that term doctor, diagnosed what I already knew: PTSD from my first deployment in 1995 couple with extreme anxiety in public as well as some other bullshit I figured that included the usual anti-social/ borderline according to the DSM-IV at the time. At present it was simply PTSD, anxiety and anti-social behavior leaning more towards just being blunt and saying what the fuck is what. Fuck sensitivity. What I know now today as PTSD/Anxiety/ Dysthymic disorder have given me a clear cut means of effectively attacking it.
Lo and behold Dr. McQuack Dickfuck tells me I need religion and blah, blah, blah SSRI paxil. Having my BS in biology at one point going to med school before I broke contact with idiots, I was aware of SSRI, but the point I was at and where I was stationed put me on the brink of saying fuck you and fuck it to everything. Coupled with a command team that was trying to dick me out of SF assessment and selection I had enough of me and the sleepless nights and questioning things done and not done. The usual PTSD scenarios. Coming to grips with taking of life and religious undertones from the deployment area had me questioning Christian values and the guilt associated from a fucking retarded family structure of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Roman Catholics and Lutherans. Family. Fuck it, I digress.
Anyhow, Mcquack Dickfuck, MDMFFU prescribes paxil twice daily after my encounter with a fifth of JD and a bottle of vicodin. My body is not of this earth as far as I can tell from the amount of physical abuse I have put on it in my 42 years. So I start taking this shit and sister let me tell you that I have done LSD, and the hallucination I endured on paxil made uncle sid pale in comparison after about week 3. I got into week 4 and actually had two incidents where I was locked-in/ gray out where I could not wake up my body, but my brain was fully functional. That was more terrifying than any shit I have gone through to this day and that includes the goat fuck show that was the shooting at the FLL airport in January 17′. The second incident of locked in I finally got movement back and was so twisted from that one that I forgot to take my evening dose.
Missing a dose was what did it for me. The fucking witch doctors and pharmacists failed to inform me that missing a dose had the potential to turn me into Mr. Hyde. And it did. One of my soldiers in the barracks I was in fell down a flight of stairs when he looked at me wrong. It took four other soldiers to restrain me and one of the medics helping restrain me had a broken nose from my psychotic episode of fuck everyone free for all. Mind you the only thing prior to any of this shit keeping me sane was working out twice a day and reading Nietzsche and Rochefoucauld religiously for a couple hours everyday, so I was probably at that point in life where no fucks were given thanks to SSRIs.
The distinct side effects I remember clearly:
Disconnected from real reality and not that shit everyone thinks is reality (LSD had nothing to do with it).
Sleeping 18 hours a day.
Giving not one iota of a fucking shit about anything other than breathing and sleeping.
Weight loss.
Lack of appetite (and I fucking loved to eat as it went with lifting weights).
Homicidal ideation.
Homicidal intention and acting out when I missed that dose.
Suicidal thoughts were amped infinitely beyond what was just the philosophical thoughts on the impact of committing suicide prior to taking that zombie drug.
Inability to orgasm/ anorgasmia, which is one of the worst things you can experience as a 25 year old male (FUCK YOU FERROSAN).
Absolutely no ability to think consequentially, which drove even worse decision making than a soldier normally would on whiskey lol.
Anger management was non-existent as my rage episodes were off the richter scale.
With just the ones I can remember I said fuck it after the battle royale and dumped all that shit down the drain going cold turkey immediately about half-way into week 4.
Fortunately my body is fucking retarded and purged it quickly coupled with the short half-life of that fucking poison, which I think is a hexagonal conspiracy in and of itself to get Americans to go bonkers and do stupid shit. Consequently, after dumping that trash, I caught wind of dopamine reuptake inhibitors and agonists (NDRIs) and voila, bupropion, aka Wellbutrin, saved me from literal self-destruction. Not to mention I suffered only one negative side-effect, which I already had and that was insomnia for the first three days on it. Every other side effect was positive including my dick working properly again and better than before. Almost like the six million dollar dickman. But seriously, I can say that drug actually worked and it was not a placebo.
Lessons learned: fuck pharma for the most part. Those cunts will try to shovel as much shit down your throat as insurance will pay for. The V.A. is notorious for it and so are active duty docs. When a fucking supposed MD has no idea what the pharmacokinetics nor pharmacodynamics of a drug are then you should just fucking run as far and fast as you can. One of the dickheads I had to see when I was stationed in Korea in 02-03 actually had no clue what HMB (hydroxy methylbutyrate) was and tried to have me tested for steroids lol. Talk about a fucking bunch of idiots. I had to explain to him that it is a leucine metabolite. Un-fucking-real.
16 years later I am actually in the nutraceutical industry in one of the major brands for the market and around real chemists and pharmacologists that understand natural supplements are indeed where its at as far as a healthier option when diet, exercise and talking about shit are not fully effective. Moreover, I do understand that some chemical compounds are effective in the treatment of whatever illness, disease or disorder someone may be suffering from, but I also understand that the FDA is a fucking farce as far as truly determining what is safe or unsafe. I always follow the “Fight Club” rule for recalls: if it is cheaper to pay out than recall, then pay out.
I have also read some peer reviewed article on low testosterone for PTSD patients and how it actually got them out of the funk, which I have experienced as well, but with limited success. Additionally, I think dopamine is definitely where it is at for me at least.
Between physical injury, emotional/mental fatigue trauma and probably a mix of shit altogether, there are times and places where diet, exercise and friends and family cannot bridge that gulf and that is where a drug may help. I stress MAY help as more times than not the treatment is worse than the affliction. Case in point: SSRI drugs. I would rather teeter on the brink of insanity and/ or suicide than ever fucking take that shit again and end up front page for some stupid shit that certain groups will use to strip rights from others.
Moral of my story: FUCK PAXIL and fuck you Ferrosan/ GlaxoSmith for even making that piece of shit drug, which probably does work on some people but fucks up way more than it helps. If it ever comes down to me having take an SSRI….well…. I would rather drink a gallon of gasoline and piss on a fucking fire.
I will say thank you to Nariman Mehta and Burroughs Wellcome for making/ patenting and first producing bupropion. It is not for everyone though.
Approach everything with trepidation and critical assessment.
ZFG…
WOW. My heart goes out to you. Amazing you lived to tell us. I’m so glad you are out of that horror story.
Lessons learned the hard way is not my usual method of learning, but fuck it. I am better for having experienced that shit show as it sheds light on just how sideways an SSRI treatment can go. I do believe that pain and suffering are a vital part of being a human and I do still go a bit into the modes of sometimes you have to suffer to appreciate how good you feel when you are not in pain (physically or mentally). If we dont know what a rainy or decade is then how do we appreciate a sunny one?
Trust me when I say I exhausted all natural means to avoid taking that shit. Again though, some people do get good results from paxil. I am definitely not one of them and I am totally on board with dopamine agonists, prolactin inhibitors and stimulants (to a lesser degree) as a means of kick starting healthier habits. Between concussions, hyper-critical thinking and the stupid conditioning that most Americans go through with thinking they have control of everything, which you usually discover you dont have control the hard way, and it smashes the preconceived notions of what control really is. Ignorance is probably at the core of all the drug shoveling by patients and doctors. I blame insurance subsidies and the idiocracy running rampant now.
Holy shit, ZFG. What a story. Hard to even imagine going through that type of shit. Just another thing that makes me sick about our culture. Prescription medication is far more dangerous to the public than illicit drugs, but the topic is never even discussed in the MSM. Ask the only two questions that are always important and seldom asked: Why? and Cui Bono? In this case, why IS Cui Bono. The Big Pharma industry with their massive lobby and influence get ever richer off of poisoning the plebs. Fuck!
ZFG. Nice. Am planning on revising this and calling it my own. In many ways, it could be, but not for the Paxil story. My husband and I took Ambien, both prescribed, during some stressful periods when Nick’s restless leg would not be still. My husband almost died from sleep-driving from a motel in Cleveland to the Rocky River after telling me he’d arrived, gotten his father’s funeral planned and taken an Ambien to go to sleep.
Then, the police arrived at my door in Oklahoma to notify me I needed to call the hospital in Berea, Ohio. Neither of us ever took Ambien again and the horror stories out there about Ambien should make it illegal for distribution, but… Big Pharma and Congress Critters go hand in hand.
I avoided ambien when I was watching over one of my buddies that just got out of the Corps after a med discharge for PTSD at 100% and he went full sleep walk zombie on that shit. I had to role play that we were on a mission running an LPOP so he would stay put and shut the fuck up in the hotel room in Vegas.
Yeah, whiskey, slots and really bad decisions. He has absolutely no memory of it to this day 12 years removed. Thankfully he is out of commiefornia and not boozing anymore. Once I convinced him to toss all the VA carousel drugs he leveled off.
I approach multivitamins with the same disdain too. Sparingly for all supplements.
Real depression does not have a social environmental cause, i.e. it is not triggered by life events. This confusion is part of the problem. SSRI’s are only considered marginally better than placebo, do to the whole field not understanding maths. Usually the problem has nothing to do with serotonin, which is why more psychiatrists are trying off label stimulants and other approaches. Most drugs approved by the FDA for depression have no clinical value for anything and should be banned.
Psychology has never been and probably never will be a legitimate field of science or medicine, (not to say it never does any good). But, thankfully, there are other areas of science and medicine that are going to fix it, if it doesn’t fully embrace the burgeoning field of neuroscience.
Maggie. Thank you for sharing. My sympathy for your experiences and my best wishes for your future.
You may find the following podcast of great interest. It’s at the Peak Prosperity site and is with Robert Whitaker who is informed, knowledgeable and articulate about the “epidemic” that is prescription drugs. The conversation methodically takes apart what is wrong with Anti-Depressants (ADs) – facts which are known in the scientific community, but the wider discussion of which is trampled on by big business. It raises some very uncomfortable questions. We have literally sold our souls.
What he says tallies closely with your experiences (and those of others here). Basically, ADs MAY have a role to play in helping people but ONLY in the short term and ONLY when used in conjuction with other non-medicine therapies (e.g. exercise, change of environment, diet, sleep, counselling, self-reflection, meditation, talking, etc). Using ADs for the long term is simply a downward spiral as they make the underlying biology in your body progressively worse. There is a lot of evidence they increase aggressive feelings and suicidal ideation. A disproportionate number of mass homicides seem to be associated with ADs.
Some people are waking up to the understanding that the powerful feelings we experience in our lives – e.g. a downward spiral, grief from death, divorce, depressive periods, etc – are actually normal events which we need to learn to deal with. We need to develop the life skills to cope with those in the same way we need to learn skills for driving, dating, socialising, etc. (This is NOT saying that developing those skills is easy – for many this could be the hardest challenge of their lives). But this is quite opposite to the mass marketed concept that these are temporary bad events (like the flu) that “afflict” some people and which just need to be got past. You can certainly imagine a time where our communities were smaller and closer and where children were naturally exposed to the death of elders in those communities and naturally learned those realities from a young age. Today we avoid those things as best we can, judge our lives against unatainable standards and then tear ourselves apart through self-criticism – at which point someone dangles a pill in front of us and says this will make it all better…… Except it doesn’t because if you take those pills you probably end up avoiding those issues rather than learning to face them.
https://www.peakprosperity.com/podcast/113921/robert-whitaker-americas-prescription-drug-epidemic
Thanks. I hadn’t seen this one.
I spent 20 years in a marriage where everything seemed ‘normal’ for the longest time. We had good times and bad times, ups and downs, and all of the things life brings naturally. My ex went to a counselor and was prescribed Paxil. Our marriage ended 2 years later. Now I understand why, thanks for the insight AmAZ
My question has increasingly become why all those SSRI’s have suddenly become so essential in American life when they weren’t just a few decades ago.
Yep, I am wondering the same thing. I sure seems to coincide with how society is headed down the shitter the last 25 years or so. Definite correlations with school shootings etc too.
That may be a bread crumb trail. If you recall, S. Plath suffered from depression. What a wonderful opportunity women’s lib has given the drug companies; when they abandon their duties, they need the comfort of drugs and alcohol to assuage their guilt feelings. I’m not being partial, men also suffer when they cannot fulfill their breadwinner role.
EC
El C.
Sorry I got on you yesterday, you forgot to sign it and I thought you were the Anonomousey who is an expert on all topics ever posted on TBP past, present and future.
I am the anti-mousey, an expert on nothing past present or future. I never take offense (okay, sometimes) and people should not do so either. If you can’t get your point across due to a thick headed moran, just move on. Or strafe them like you did. Excellent move, Fleabo!
EC
Ppphhhhllllllttttt.
You get your panties in a wad from time to time.
Because there are still people not in prison, the military, working for the government, on the dole, obese or high on skunk. You need a little something extra to bring them to heel.
SSRIs are like a bad trip without the pictures. Nasty stuff to quit.
Flea and Zulu, do you think this might be why so many vets are committing suicide? That was quite a horror story and I bet it’s just one of many except the others never make the connection between the SSRI’s and their despair about the fact that things are just getting worse. Wellbutrin is what finally worked well for me, also. I took a similar route and eventually purged my system of all drugs, except I have to take a thyroid med. I don’t think that Hashimotos has ever been reversed. Slowed down, maybe or in remission. My thyroid will continue to deteriorate though.
The benzos are insidious. If there where ever a supply chain disruption and people had to go cold turkey, you would have a million people go psychotic and possibly dead due to seizures. Of course we would have other types of zombies to deal with, also.
Mary C.
I do but did not want to derail the topic in general and this cell phone is too hard to type on. Will elaborate at the library on my laptop.
Mary C.
First my thanks to Maggie and AZ for keeping this topic alive, its a badly needed discussion and I didn’t want to bring up Vets in particular right away to avoid derailing the topic. I believe that what we are doing to our Toddlers and Teenagers with these drugs is far worse and we need to discuss it. What 9 year old hasn’t stuck out their tongue at a classmate? Now that’s considered anti social behavior and grounds to be put on Psychotropics without a trial.
Now about us Vets. This is where I think it started to become the epidemic it is today. In the 70’s nobody seemed to know what to do with the Nam Vets who were going nuts so the VA began handing out pills as a cure all. I’m grateful that booze, pot and a little opium kept me sedated enough to avoid that trap. By the mid 70’s I was seeing first hand what it was doing to some friends who had just been ordinary boys and girls before they checked into the VA Psyche Ward. Those who remain alive (if you can call it that) are so far into the machine they will most likely never come out.
The medical profession used to consider Psychiatry as glorified Voodoo but at some point it was suddenly elevated to equal status with MD”s and that’s when it really began to spread.
Suddenly we no longer had the very human condition of shell shock or battle fatigue. Now we had PTSD. Then it became Manic Depression, then some other more exotic label. Nam Vets going to the VA emergency Room for ordinary injuries were first sent to a Shrink to make sure we weren’t going to murder the ER Staff. There the “Candyman” would ask us with a wink and a nod if we needed anything? In addition “They” were handing out Disability Checks (Nut checks) and the allure of FREE money lured quite a few more into the trap.
From there I watched it spread to the 12 step programs and the Shrinks were overloaded so they deputized or annointed the scariest and most dangerous killers on the planet in the form of “Therapists” and “Addiction Counselors” etc.. People were being diagnosed with every exotic disorder and affliction imaginable and it became fashionable. From there it was foisted on our children and anyone else who could be persuaded. Those of us who saw the dangers and spoke out were slandered and ridiculed. We were not “Professionals” so what did we know? Now these Meds and their Pushers are so deeply embedded into the Healthcare Goolag they will soon be administering them by force on people like us. In Orwells 1984 people like us were declared insane.
That’s how I saw this unfolding and “You” may have your own version. Mine is based on experience and 36 years of Bible based freedom from any booze or drugs. It may not show in my speech at times but it works better than anything else I’m seeing out there.
I like that Fleabaggs. I’ll let you in the gate.
Maggie..
better not let me in. Domestic bunny is the finest meal iv’e ever tasted and I would just be there to case the joint.
You should see the deer I’m herding and training. Venison ground and mixed with pork sausage is just about the finest burger I’ve ever had. I see a doe with her young buck (last year’s fawn, I’m sure) and a young fawn, who I accidently named Sausage. Having named the fawn, I now can’t kill it.
So, my cousin, the huntress with blond hair/blue eyes who shot the young buck about ten minutes after I drove away to get supplies for a night in the blind will bring in Sausage.
By the way, if you didn’t know? Deer Antler Velvet is believed to increase testosterone levels… it drops off as the bone in the antlers harden and the bucks will eat it. Makes them want to, uh, rut.
“By late summer, as day length decreases, testosterone levels begin to increase, the form is filled, and the antler begins to harden. Finally the blood vessels within the antler itself are filled and lose their ability to nourish the velvet, and it dries up and falls off. The velvet is typically totally removed in a day, and some of it may be eaten by the buck.”
… so, let me see if I got this… the antler begins to harden, and if eaten by the buck, he goes and gets in on the rut. (if you have never seen a rut in full fledged motion? Stick around and I’ll show you this year. I figured out where to put my deer cam for the real rutting action. [Admin, I do apologize, but you should have realized when I sent a video to RiNS and HE POSTED IT of two bunnies doing it… well, you knew there was gonna be larger animals involved at some point, didn’t you? Oh, and tell Avalon I have figured out a way to freeze dry the deer antler velvet so she can sprinkle it on your food. Avalon, honey… you are welcome!]
Nick just informed me he is not eating any antler velvet.
Flea, that is a very good summary of the whole ” mental health industrial complex”. The only difference between crazy vets and the rest of us is they can blame the vets craziness on..well..being a vet. And the rest of us they have to dig for the reason for our mental illness. You know.. family issues and whatever. They never look for physical problems.
We all have baggage. Some of the baggage is just heavier.
I believe Leonard Cohen put it best: I know the burden is heavy as you wheel it through the night, some people say it’s empty but that don’t mean it’s light.
Goddamn I miss that man.
I miss EC
Without going into another diatribe, I think there is a correlation with prescription drugs that may promote higher occurrence of suicide with vets; however, I also believe that the military does not truly give us enough space to be adults, process the absurdity of the shit we may have done or been through and there is a complete lack of adequately preparing people for the reality of combat versus the expectation of combat. Moreover, toxic command climates lead to a very stigmatized (to this day) view of seeking support for mental health issues. Couple that with treating service members like children (see toxic leadership) and you have a recipe for the ridiculous. While I think our society frowns upon suicide as a selfish or cowardly act, until one has actually been in the very situation that drives the thoughts, the attempts or the completion of suicide, I cannot and will not fault a person or demographic of people that reach that point. I have had 6 soldiers I knew of personally that have committed suicide and my only real criticism of them is that they did not reach out to me when I constantly reinforced it that I am always available come hell or high water.
I have had 2 that did and they are both still here. As Nietzsche put it: the thought of suicide gets many a man through a bad night. I hold firm on that as I still have those days, especially when I lost a close buddy in June of 2006 in Afghanistan. I saw the writing on the wall in 2002 when we both came down on levy for Ft. Drum and I caught wind of going into Iraq. I signed off of active in 03, out of the reserves in 04 and officially done in 2013 with breaks in service for school and whatnot. Those are the driving forces to me that make people go over the edge: guilt and lack of control. What is the ultimate way to rid one’s self of guilt and have a final act of control: suicide. I was a terrible soldier in garrison. On deployment or exercise you could not touch me in my job.
The military has tried odd shit as a stop-gap measure for troops like the Bushido code, but they failed to realize that dishonor in that philosophy means ritual suicide lol. You cannot make this shit up. We had a recent saying of the good idea fairy shitting in command’s mouth and they swallow it whole instead of spitting it out. I am leaving out my criticism of how readily available alcohol is at the class six and the complete and utter hypocrisy of most military installation leadership.
We may just be a softer nation now that is more hypersensitive or always looking into feelings, but it ultimately comes down to not preparing our population for dealing with problems in a more traditional sense instead of just popping pills as a sweep us under the rug move.
Fuck it dude, I am going bowling.
P.S.
remind me to tell you all of the drunken Korean adventure of summer 2002 in Itaewon starring yours truly, my roommate, another roommate that would be KIA in Iraq in 2004, two deaf/ mute hookers and a fifth of J.D.
P.P.S.
remind me to tell you all of the LSD laced autobahn experience of 1996 in Frankfurt starring yours truly, the glorious Tannusstrasse/ Bahnhofsvietel red light district and a 1983 BMW M3. Much hilarity did occur.
I will pass on the stories, ZFG, at least in their uncensored version. Realize I was active duty myself until 1993, when I did cartwheels and somersaults out the door when removed from flying status for a back problem which qualified me for VA assistance with college. Now, twenty-five years later, !
I flew around the world with narcissistic flyboys in AWACS so I know just about everything soldiers will do when deployed to “theater.” Flygirls… not quite so much, although that one chick we all called Rachel Done Everybody was quite the hit at Rosy Roads in Puerto Rico back in the early days of running drugs for Ollie.
Yup. My favorite thing to do with my DD-214 blanket is to shake my head at all the stupid shit going on now with the services. Some of the shit I read and see now is out of a Heller paragraph from Catch-22.
I did enjoy giving pilots shit when I was in the airline industry. Especially the primadonna ex-fighter jocks. The only pilots I enjoyed associating with were the Hog and Spectre jockeys. Those dudes saved our asses more than a few times.
Abuse the shit out of the college bennies. Trades, vocational, whatever you can do with the benefits do it.
Have I got a story to tell? I don’t know, ZFG. Everytime I start to tell it, my stomach hurts and I tried to rid my gut of whatever it is that causes that cramping, but it hurts even after losing a whole extra person I added to my frame after separating from active duty, while working for the other most corrupt industry in this country, perhaps the world: Military Contracts for Hire with proper clearance. Proper clearance. What a joke.
Dear God, I need an antacid.
I also need to explain that my son and I went to therapy not for the molestation issue; we pretty much got counselled and prayed through that one but the related feelings of guilt on my part (C’mon. I KNEW he was a little creep who pulled wings off butterflies and blinded the dog with kerosene to watch it whimper and cry before he was ten. He wet the bed every single time I’d ever had him in my house and he was cunning, which people called being very smart. I should not have left my son where he might show up, but to be honest, my parents are a bit MUCH for me to take, much less Nick, so a beer and a cigarette outside my Bible Belt wielding mother’s presence was tempting.) As for my son, he just likes to rag on me every chance he gets and having a guy to whom he could say anything and me never know was a lot of fun for him. You all know I adore the young man and am very proud of the job Nick and I seem to have done, in spite of all our mistakes.
The incident with my son is relevant to the topic…
Seriously, how many of you know children who have REALLY been molested?
I’m not talking about kissing cousins showing each other their plumbing or discussing what one might do with those appendages… unless it went further than prurient interest allows. I want to know if there is SYSTEMIC molestation in our society that none of us really SEES because we’ve gotten accustomed to hearing that so and so touches little boys, so don’t let your kid go there. But, what the hell is wrong in our society that so many little kids wanted to start having sex at such a young age. What did they start putting in the food? Does anyone remember the big concerns when little girls started menstruating around the age of ten? They thought, perhaps, it had to do with their mothers taking birth control pills.
What happened to birth control pills? If you are putting something in your body to kill of any chance of reproduction from a reproductive act, do you think there may be lasting side effects on a child created after stopping taking that pill for only a few months? I don’t know… it seems to me there was speculation about the relationship.
However it happened, in the 70s our children became sex objects and once that happened, everyone got depressed and needed drugs. And I mean everyone.
I read about the experiences of others and I do feel blessed.Life can be very ,very hard sometimes.
I had my experience with drugs while I was in the hospital for two major operations back to back .I was given all kinds of pain killers / drugs that fuck up my head for several months but they did take away the pain while I was in recovery.So these meds can be a blessing for some people. The doctors now have me on an exercise program which is walking 40 minutes 3 or 4 days a week.They told over and over that exercise is medicine.I now believe my doctors.
What if I slip that line into my next comment? Are you sexist? Haha… edited.
I made this comment to Stuckmeister, below.
“I could screw for hours …. ”
This is when I stopped reading.
Well, if you had read just a bit further to my comments in italics, you know I noticed that one too. Now, I’m wondering if Paxil and Viagra have anything in common.
Paxil just gave me blue balls. Nein danke. Between the spinal injuries and nerve damage I already had enough endurance lol. I am jelly of the two pump chumps quite often.
You either deal with your demons and your issues or they remain. A pill isn’t going to make shit go away…except the reality YOU NEED TO DEAL WITH. Good nutritional support, cleansing the body of toxins, and other healthy interventions are far superior ways to deal with an immediate “crisis,” but then the hard work needs to begin. All these pills do is prevent you from doing the hard work, making the hard choices, and allowing your own body to generate the Serotonin (SSRI – selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) that will improve your mood and make you happy.
A walk with the fat dog this morning. I think I will put a harness on her and make her drag me around like a princess. I’ve been telling everyone she almost died, was a rescue, blah blah… barely made it to 60 pounds.
The BITCH weighs in at 94 and the veterinarian told me she’s fat.
Here’s my vignette.
On my son’s first birthday in his memory, almost twenty years ago, I took him to his grandmother’s home for a birthday celebration of his grand age of five. Since his birthday just happened to fall upon Thanksgiving, the first time and only time we ever recognized both, my husband and I decided to leave our clever young man at Granny’s while we went to have a beer with the Cuzins. After a nephew “happened” to join them there and took my son outside to play around out in the barn or something, things went badly. When my husband and I returned a couple hours later, my son met me at the door and took me aside to tell me what “that boy” tried to make him do.
Now. I am a smart lady. I chose the word “lady” specifically TBP sisters. A woman has a vagina. A lady has class.
I am a smart lady. In spite of there being no fucking handbook that says what Mom is supposed to do when informed her brother’s fifteen year-old spawn has tried to perform fellatio on her baby boy, who ran away and told him it was “yucky”, I immediately said “Why don’t you come into the bedroom with Momma and tell me exactly what happened.”
While my husband brought in our luggage and looked at me oddly each trip into the farmhouse, sitting on the bed in the “guest/junk room” chatting with our son as if giving him a bedtime story, I listened to my child tell about his cousin coming down to play the Nin Ten Doh (he pronounced it in three distinct syllables that day and I’ll never forget it. Nin. Ten. Doh. They went outside to see where my brother planned to build his own home, on the farm. Then, it got confusing and scary to both of us, I think.
But, as if an inner voice told me exactly what to do, I turned and faced my husband when he brought the final bags in and told him to let our child tell him what happened.
I marched into the kitchen where my mother was washing dishes and handing them to her teenage grandson. I placed my hands on his shoulders when he faced me and forced him onto his knees. I told him he needed to pray for forgiveness with every fiber of his being because when my husband came through that door behind me, he was either going to meet the Lord or the Devil. Pick. You Little Bastard. He looked up from “praying” and I saw in his eyes it was true. He ran from the house and within seconds, my husband ran from the back of the house, enraged. I called my brother and said “your son has done something evil” and immediately he said “I’ll be right there.”
No questions. Not from my mother or my brother. Why didn’t that ring a warning bell?
So, that’s why my son and I ended up in therapy twenty years later. The SOB convinced my family my son made it all up. Even after he went to prison for raping a three year old girl (he learned they should not be able to talk), my family did not tell me. I think some of them still believe he “became” a pedophile because my son and I accused him.
I drank a lot of wine and tossed the anti-depressants into the garbage at the car wash.
[Tadpole, RiNS and others I’ve encouraged to help me tell the real story of what those assholes like Robert suck my de Niro and Meryl Strip for a role and all the other whores like Gwen and that skank from Chaffee Missouri… well, those who have done everything in their fucking power to turn your children into whores, like them…{Yeah, I remember you and you just fucking BRING IT you slut — MC? How is that for classic TBP crosstalk?]
Well, my writing friends, when you need to make a point in your prose, you must stop and tell the story moment by moment, step by step describing every single action and reaction that you can remember.
That day was the absolute worst day I ever lived through sober. There’ve been others, don’t get me wrong. But I was sober for all of that one and once I write it down for you morans and assholes here, I never plan to tell it again.
I’m coming back later
M C
It’s not your fault. Families can be so deceptive. Insidious. I have to go take a shower.
All the things you thought you saw but didn’t really see.
That almost sounded like the discussion of family made you feel you needed a shower. Hmmmm?
Kidding aside, think about something MC… how many people in your own family were molested as kids as children? I, personally, do not remember any incidents where an uncle or cousin or family friend tried to touch me, but I was the youngest grandchild on both side, so perhaps was sheltered. However, my mother told me she was molested as a girl, with her sister and her protecting their smaller sister from their father’s brother.
That sister’s daughter is my hunter cousin… she lost her mother several years ago to sudden heart failure. Her father told her that her mother was also raped by their uncle as a young teen.
Now, it just so happens I went to the old family cemetery a few years ago and took the time to actually look at every one of the grave stones. I know exactly where that Uncle’s grave sits… even have a photo because there is a really old and gnarly rosebush planted over his coffin. The rosebush was not in bloom when I was there, but I saw something at the bottom which made me stop and look. There were three pint-size bottles, empty, of tequila buried in what might have been his chest. I took a photo of one of them sticking out of the ground, wondering who comes to visit his grave and drink. Perhaps I know why they do so, now.
I told my cousin about seeing the bottles on his grave and then I asked the question no one bothers to ask.
Where the hell was our grandmother while her three daughters were being molested by her husband’s brother? In a three room farmhouse where she stayed home caring for her eleven children, how the hell did the SOB manage to rape ONLY her three daughters?
Explain that to me, Riddler?
No, Maggie, it was just time for me to take a shower but stories like that are grimey, aren’t they?
Families don’t talk about stuff like that. If it happened to anyone in my extended family, I never heard about it.
I did hear other stories, such as a paternal grandpa who was unfaithful to my grandma. The other grandpa was an alcoholic who beat my maternal grandma. She had enough sense to divorce him at a time (around 1922) when divorce was scandalous.
Seems like I hear the story he mother of children who have been sexually abused deliberately ignorant of the situation far too much.
Oh, they talk about it, but in private conversations whispered in the corner at family dinners. If someone mentions it aloud, they are banished.
Because I volunteer as a facilitator for “Her Choice to Heal” classes, I hear these stories a lot. Nothing shocks me anymore.
You are a better person than I… I suspect my “volunteering” days are over. I want to rest, garden and play with animals.
And feed my family high quality food.
“That day was the absolute worst day I ever lived through sober. There’ve been others, don’t get me wrong. But I was sober for all of that one and once I write it down for you morans and assholes here, I never plan to tell it again.”
Courage my Mag nificant. I have my own worst day. And I have had many bad days, mostly sober. It involved my 16 month old son, with two words he spoke as I changed his diaper; now a suicide statistic. It resonates today, 35 years later. Wisdom was to talk about it. And it seems no good ever came of it. Questions became weapons used against me. Innuendo spawned by a drug addled mother. At me and towards virginal 15 year old Catholic high school cheerleaders who baby sat while mom was away for three months in treatment (and kicked out of two different facilities), and while she attended meetings most every night, 13th stepping along the way with a future commissar of a treatment facility; and who wrote my evaluation condemnation as he popped pills in front of me and accused me of being homosexual because I was a virgin until age 21. And prosecution prone relatives of said Catholic innocents who would use suspicion to indite/indict me with prejudice decades later. The story does not have a good ending and most do not want to hear about it. And I no longer see benefit to share details beyond a chance to help others avoid a similar fate.
Courage and ‘endeavor to persevere’ as Dan George said to the outlaw Josie Wales. I judge you to be persevering (and thriving) without the malice of forethought epidemic in the land. And I have gratitude for what you and others share here. It makes a difference to me and I suspect to many others. And go ZFG! Powerful writing.
I think this was a very good post and am glad I bumped AmAz’s comment up for its clarity. Thanks everyone for your comments (even you know whosie) and thanks to the usual assholes for not dragging the trailer trash queen in here to denigrate honest discussion.
90-something, but if I tried to get the 100 comment prize on my own post, it seems rather needy. I am a lot of things… needy ain’t one.
Where are you, Maggito? It’s only 7:30 here, the sun is still out and I’m waiting to go to the gym.
Doc Pangloss said sucides preferred high places and lots of sun. Maybe they like the warmth as I said earlier, but the light part – well, lack of sunlight can cause depression. Oregon ain’t that great, they can keep their damn sunless days. We have the desert perfectly disguised to discourage the Oregonians.
Is 9:30 and we just had a sudden storm arrive at sunset and it was spectacular.
I have an appointment to pick up a load of mulch for my new herb garden in the early morning… (I’ll take a picture because it is three miles down a backwoods gravel road in the hills of Misery just north of Deliverance.) They have these huge bales of mulch packed up and ready for $20 but you have to call and schedule a time for pickup. The guy works out of his house a few miles away.
Maggie – Was that a dig at the silver tongued commenter and part time comedian BW?
Well, why not? It’s been a while since we did a silly song battle, eh?
100. I win
I’m glad it was you that got my cherry (first 100 pointer). Of course, I may have busted that cherry a couple years ago, but all us real ladies know how to patch things up like brand new and start again.
It has been a hell of a week. I now own a family of goats, with the little kids almost weaned and Momma ready to train for milking. And, yes, Stucky… I had to promise NOT to eat any of these goats before the family agreed to let me have them. (Apparently, word got around about a certain rooster who got sent home in a jar.)
So, stay tuned for photos of rubdowns with udder butter. For the goat. Oh, dear… we may have to call for an exception to the “no nipple” rule.
And, yes, Bea… definitely a sideswipe at the BWer.
Did I mention it has been a hell of a week?
Paradise Is Nigh (In Cinema Paradiso)
Let us not forget why
We make these numbered lists
Brief moments, invention of a sigh
Looking for that kiss, steeped in bliss
No matter the words we cry
It is always clear why
We toil and trouble
Inflating tiny bubbles
While dancing on this sphere
Why is sometimes not clear
What purpose and reason
Invents these human seasons?
Never forgetting why
We make these lists
For brief moments
Ending with a sigh
Or a swoon to the tune
In a burning platform’d room
Forgetting the doom
That is coming soon.
Speech: “All the world’s a stage”
By William Shakespeare
(from As You Like It)
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
End of speech.
I thought that might be a good way to get back to Depression and such.