...I've come to talk with you again...
I've come to the conclusion that my self-destruct instinct is the strongest instinct I have, because I've more or less stopped taking my main medication (the anti-psychotic and the anti-depressant), just taking the odd anxiolytic and a totally ineffective sleeping pill, and only taking those because I can't get out of it.
As a result, and despite all my best efforts to hide it and try and appear normal, I do feel that the darkness is creeping back into my life. I know I should just start taking the damn pills again, but there's something about taking medication that offends me, upsets me, disturbs me, and I just cannot bring myself to do it.
I must prefer the darkness, I suppose. Which no doubt says more about me than most of the rubbish I post here.
I feel old, though I'm not actually old enough to have been alive when the song referenced in the title and first line of this post was a hit, or even when it was used in The Graduate. I feel like I've failed so very badly at so very many things, important things like raising children to be people I like and living a "normal" life (whatever that means).
Martine, the wonderful ergotherapist here in the clinic, says there's a darkness to my work - she calls the stories I write "apocalyptic" (at least in parts), the paintings I use as models have a "melancholy" to them (the one I'm doing right now is this one, Edward Hopper's "Morning sun" from 1952:
) and the original work I produce is "dark" (that darkness rearing its ugly head once again).
So yes, I think my main talent is for self-destruction, and darkness is my best friend.