Friday, September 3, 1999, some time at night

I have so much to say, and so little time. Normally I would write this in my journal but I haven't got time for that now, 'cause I would also have to create a new file for September and all that. I'll add it to the journal sometime. Anyway, I'll write in short what happened today. I've been on prozac for exactly 4 weeks, and it hasn't done anything. Today was the day I was gonna talk to a psychiatrist; the doctor would call me about this. Suddenly, as I was sitting behind the computer, my dad walked in and he said the Riagg had called him, and that he wanted to hand them over to me, but that they didn't think that was necessary. They wanted to have a talk with me and my parents. So it was like, I thought I was gonna talk to the doctor and a psychiatrist, on my own, and suddenly my dad walks in and he says 2 people of the Riagg are coming over to our house in 2 hours, and they're gonna have a talk with the three of us. At first I was furious at the Riagg -- how could they just decide such a thing without even asking me if it was okay? Well anyway, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I didn't tell them the whole truth, of course, 'cause after all my parents were there too. But I think they got the point. I have now been prescribed Risperdal. It's very modern they said, and it's actually a medicine against psychosis. They wanna see if this one changes my "thought circulation" so that I won't think about all the misery all the time. I'll also have to go to the Riagg, to get some counselling sessions or something like that. I'll have to go for an intake-conversation some time. And they said that maybe it would then appear to be best for me if I were hospitalized, and they asked if I had any objections against that, if it would be needed. I don't know exactly how things go in a mental hospital, but I don't have objections. I mean, I'm not like "I'm not crazy so I don't belong in a mental hospital." I don't care about the stigma or anything. So I told them that. Well, I'll first have to see my family doctor again some day, and then I'll have to go to the Riagg, and we'll see what happens then. Oh, and the university is very kind to me: they still haven't cancelled my internet account. And the first free Dutch internet service has just started today, and I've immediately signed up. So you won't have to miss me for a single day :-) Oh, and one last thing: with a little help from the Riagg, I got to convince my dad that it's not good if he makes me get up at 7.30 every morning. I said "I would agree with 10 o'clock." So that's the time to get up from now on. I'm so glad this has happened! My dad got all dramatical; he said to those Riagg people like "I don't care what happens or what I'll have to do, I just don't wanna loose my son." That sounded good... I hope he ment it, and that he'll show it. Bye now!

some time at night




Saturday, September 4, 1999, 1.14

One of Risperdal's side effects is drowsiness. I'm almost sure about that. Today I was on a bike trip with my dad, and I suddenly got tired so we returned home. I layed down on the couch and fell asleep. I woke up 40 minutes later because I heard my mom talking, which she always does very loud. The whole afternoon I could hardly keep my eyes open, so around 15.30 I went to bed to take a nap. I fell asleep within 5 minutes. (To compare: at night, it usually takes me 1 or 2 hours to fall asleep, when I'm healthy so not depressed). I set an alarm clock because I had to pick up the rest of my meds at the pharmacy, but when I woke up, my mom had already picked them up.

My dad has treated me so much better since what happened Thursday. This whole day, he hasn't yelled at me at all! While we were both home all the time, and we even went cycling together.

Next Tuesday I have an appointment with the doctor, at 15.00. Then he'll probably send me to the Riagg, where I have to have an intake-meeting, and then they'll decide what's best for me. Maybe I gotta go to a hospital. Oh well, I don't care what's gonna happen, as long as it helps. Today I read about someone suffering from bipolar disorder, who thought the hospitalization was the worst experience in her life. Hmmm... it doesn't seem that way to me. But then, I have no idea what it's like in such a hospital. But I wouldn't mind going to one.

Tomorrow is the big day: Netherlands - Belgium. Although it's only a friendly match, it's still important, because it's the "derby of the low countries." But our coach is ruining it. The starting lineup consists only of players who play in other leagues than the Dutch one. Let's see: 6 from the Spanish league (!) (all Barcelona!), 2 from the English, 2 from the Italian and 1 from the Scottish league. Terrible. Especially 'cause most of them have never played very good in the national team since they left the Dutch league. They're betraying their country! First they leave the Dutch league, so that everyone says the Dutch league is so weak (strange, if all the good players leave 'cause they can earn more money elsewhere...), and then when they play for the national team, they don't even try their best anymore. At least that's how it seems. Luckily I'm not the only one who thinks like that anymore. The match is played here in Rotterdam, soccer capital of Europe, and still only 25.000 tickets were sold today. And on the leading Dutch soccer page there's a discussion forum, and more and more people there agree with me. Maybe it's time that I would go to the mall and ask people to sign a petition for more "Dutch-leaguers" in the national team.

I know no one cares about what I said in the previous paragraph, but I just had to write down my thoughts... All you Americans and Australians could never understand the importance of soccer here anyway. But look at it this way: the Rotterdam area has about 1.5 million inhabitants, and there are 158 (one hundred and fifty eight!) soccer clubs. Maybe that tells you something. Or the fact that many people still light a candle each year on the day Feyenoord (the biggest and most popular club of Rotterdam) became European Champions.

Alright, I think that's about enough of my pointless ramblings, so bye now...




Monday, September 6, 1999, 0.12

I have lots of things to say, but I don't have much time so I'll just give you some facts.

1) My dad is getting on my nerves. He has really good intentions and all, but he thinks he knows exactly what's best for me. But he doesn't know that. He's being nice really often, but in the mean time he says things like "don't go to bed so late, that's not good for you." And today he even made me go with the family to some people we know. Last Friday he said I could decide if I wanted to come or not, so this morning I said I wouldn't go with them because I felt so awfully tired because of the meds. But then he suddenly said that I had to come. I wish he just hated me. Then at least I could blame things on him. But now I can hardly blame him for anything, because he is trying to do things right. Of course I can blame him for certain things, but I can also blame myself. Because I can never speak up to him at the moment he is doing a bad thing. I always have to focus on holding back tears at those moments. And I never know what to say, until 15 minutes later.

2) Tomorrow I have to go to the city to take care of some financial things regarding temporarily quitting my study.

3) My parents are planning on going to talk to the doctor about what they can do best to help me. Looking at point 1 that would be a good thing, but I'm afraid the doctor will only make them do more of such things.

4) Netherlands - Belgium was a ridiculous match and ended 5-5, which, in soccer, is a ridiculous score (scores like 0-0, 1-0 or 2-1 are normal).

5) I just discovered that this style of writing takes very little space, because if I would have written it "the normal way," it would probably have took at least five times as many.

6) I really don't know what more I could write.




Wednesday, September 8, 1999

When I'm writing this it's actually 23.05 on Tuesday, but I probably won't publish it until somewhere past midnight so I'll use tomorrow's date. The reason for me to write so early at night is that my parents are already asleep. And besides, I'm often very tired, so I'll probably go to bed "early" tonight (around 0.30). In other words: my dad is getting what he wants: me going to bed early. Well he actually wanted me to go to bed at midnight, but I explained him (again) why I couldn't do that.

The Risperdal is making me so tired. And I also have blurred vision. Right now, I can hardly read what I'm typing. I can read it, but it makes me even more tired. Well anyway, I saw the doctor today and he said these side effects should go away after some time. I sure hope so, 'cause I can't do anything if they stay like this. I can't read, I can't work, I can't do anything. Whenever I close my eyes, I fall asleep. Yesterday night and this morning I even almost fell asleep on the toilet.

Yesterday (Monday) I went to the city to take care of some financial things. It was the first day I had to take 2x2 of those Risperdal tablets. The first three days I had to take 2x1, to make my body get used to them. And starting yesterday, I had to take 2x2. Well anyway, because I was going to the city, I first decided to "forget" my medication for once. Because I didn't like the thought of falling asleep on the subway, and of walking around like a zombie (even more than usual). So I went to the city and everything went well. But when I came home, I didn't like the idea of not having taken my pills. So I took them at 16.30, and the next dose around 20.30. I think that was too soon, because the side effects were at their worst that night. Reading things produced tears in my eyes, and my jaws were moving automatically -- like when you have taken XTC.

Psychic caramel dimulants, they're good for the undertow, better than a psychotic stimulant. But it's a drag you know, sometimes... it's a drag, you know, sometimes... and it drags... it d r a g s ..... That's kinda like how it feels. It feels like I have no will, no soul. Then I drink some espresso, hoping to get myself back, but it won't work. I'm nothing at all, most of the time. I'm too tired to do anything. So then I just sit on the couch and listen to the radio, and try not to fall asleep. I don't feel like doing anything at times like those. I don't feel like reading the newspaper (I'm still not done with Monday's), I don't feel like doing something on the internet, I don't feel like writing something for this page... it's horrible. Right now it's a little better; I'm listening to Marilyn Manson and that makes me feel something. My cd player's broke, but luckily I can play it on my cd-rom player while I am writing this. But even though I'm feeling somewhat better, it's still not very good. Because I'm still tired, and I can still hardly read what I'm typing.

Especially that seeing-thing pisses me off. It's so weird; it's like you're looking through someone else's glasses. And I can't drive. These medicines have a yellow sticker, which means "they probably have a negative influence on your driving skills, but you're still allowed to drive if you're taking them." But I don't even dare to drive like this.

And another bad thing about Risperdal: when I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping really soundly. That may not sound like a bad thing, but in this case it is. I always have a dream then, which goes on and on. Normally when I sleep I have about 20 different short dreams each night, but now I always have one big long dream. And then when I wake up, it feels like I've been in a coma; like I've been gone from the planet for a while. And the bad thing about these dreams is that they all have a certain "atmosphere;" a certain feeling that belongs to the dream. I don't know exactly how to explain, but maybe you know what I mean. Maybe you can look at it this way: take, for instance, a music video -- like the videos on MTV. They all have a certain "atmosphere." For example Marilyn Manson's "Sweet dreams" video has a very recognizable feeling; it just gives you a "satanic" feeling; a feeling of evil, like evil is around you (it doesn't give me a bad feeling though). Well, that's approximately what I mean by the dream's "atmosphere." And that atmosphere is so terrible, so "nothing." I'd prefer the satanic atmosphere.

I just noticed... this journal entry is a mess! If I were someone else reading this, I probably wouldn't understand much of it. Oh well, that's just my style I guess, and you have to live with it... But I'm saying this just to let you know that I know it's a mess. So that you won't think "God, that guy probably thinks he can write a journal, but I don't understand the crap of it!" Hmm... that sentence wasn't exactly good English, now was it... well I don't know. All I know is that this entry is getting a REAL mess now... why don't I just delete this paragraph? I don't know. What I do know is that I'm gonna brush my teeth and all, and that after that I'll continue these ramblings.

(0.11) Alright I'm back again.

Life sometimes seems so useless to me. Sometimes I'm not feeling so bad that I want to die, but not good enough to want to live. That's not a bad feeling, it just feels like "what's the use?" Then I think I might just as well end it all immediately. Which is strange, because at such a moment, I don't feel bad at all. I feel more like "neutral." Hmm... if 2 of those pills make me fall asleep and unable to read, then imagine what 46 of those pills would do... 'cause I have 46 left at this moment. Sometimes I think about what would happen if I took an overdose of those pills. But I can't picture myself doing it, 'cause I just wouldn't have the guts. If I did it, I would probably get into a coma, which I'm very afraid of. Why is that? Let me explain. It's gonna be a long story and, because it's me, it will be a mess. Here it goes.

Ever since I was a child, I've had this scary thing. See, when you're asleep and you are dreaming, there's something like a "switch" in your brain which makes sure your body doesn't make the movements you make in your dream. So your brain gives the signals to make those movements, but you don't really make them -- only in your dream. When you wake up, that "switch" normally is set to "awake mode," so that you really make the movements you wanna make. But what sometimes happens to me, is that the "switch" doesn't switch to "awake mode" when I wake up. So then you wanna move, but you can't. It's the same as cataplexia, a very rare "side effect" of a certain sleep desease. It's terrible. After 3 seconds, you just wanna scream and everything... but you can't. Usually it goes away after a few seconds, luckily. But I read once that some people who are in a coma, experienced what I just described... God, that would be awful! Imagine, after 3 seconds you wanna scream... there are people who have been in a coma for years... Ever since I read that, I'm scared to death of being in a coma. It only occured to a few people, but still...

Next subject.

I'm picturing ********'s face. God, she's beautiful... Why am I doing this?? Why am I tormenting myself like this? I don't know. Last Sunday after we went to Hoofddorp (an Amsterdam suburb) to some people we know, we drove home and we had to take a big detour, which took us near the borough where ******** lives.... And we also drove along the university and her school. God, I'm thinking of her so much...

Her borough is in the newspaper so often. I think I'm gonna cut out every article about it, and collect those articles. Maybe that would be a good therapy? Maybe not, but it seems nice.

Oh, I talked to the doctor today. He's gonna talk to someone from the Riagg and then he'll give me a call. I guess then I can go to the Riagg or something. Oh, I really gotta stop writing now, 'cause my English-speaking-resources are running dry... I can't say things in English anymore. Strange... I can't figure myself out...




Friday, September 10, 1999, 0.00

Risperdal's side effects are still just as bad as when I first started taking those pills. Today I went to the supermarket, and as I was walking I felt like it wasn't real; like I was dreaming everything that happened. I've had that feeling so many times, but lately I've been having it all the time. And I still have seeing problems, although at this moment, I can read what I'm typing... but now that I've said that, I can't read it anymore... it goes up and down.

But. There's a but. I THINK IT WORKS!!!! Two nights ago I suddenly felt fantastic; just for no reason at all. I had taken my pills at 10.30 and 17.00, so around 0.00, the tiredness was lifting - and, like I said, I felt great! It was right after I published my previous entry in this journal. I was still listening to MM and it sounded so wonderful, and I felt so wonderful... and I was like, wow, now I remember how good it is to feel so good! The next morning the great feeling was gone, but last night it kinda came back. Not as great as the night before, but still it was good. And now... well, I'm not feeling bad... not very good either, but it's a lot better than I have felt in the past 8 months.

Unfortunately the days are still mostly black, blue or grey. But I'm so glad about the nights!

Now I hope that the doctor will call me soon, about going to the Riagg. He said he had to talk to the "head psychiatrist" of the Riagg, who seems to be a very busy person. So it can take a few days. But I hope he calls soon. And I also hope that these side effects of the Risperdal will go away soon. Oh well, this way is better than the way I was before...




Monday, September 13, 1999, 0.00

Today I really hated myself. I don't know why, but around noon I suddenly just hated myself. I was thinking about cutting myself (which I did a few minutes ago; nothing serious, but wearing shorts is not an option anymore this year), and even about quitting my medication, because I didn't deserve to feel good anyway. Luckily I had a bright moment around 15.30 so I took my medication then.

Until a few weeks ago I often had lots of short dreams, especially in the morning when I was "half awake / half sleeping." The reason I bring that up now, is because I can't seperate dreams from reality sometimes. I was thinking about that today, and I found out there are some things of which I really don't know whether I dreamt them, or they're reality. Here are a few.

1) How did the singer Sting come up with his name? Answer: he used to be a soccer player for Dutch first division club Veendam (pronounce as Vain-dam; a in dam as in hard). Veendam's club colors are black and yellow, which makes them look like bees. So they called their most dangerous attacker "Sting," a name which he later decided to use as an artist name when he became a singer. (Maybe this is complete nonsence, but I wouldn't know... I don't even know from what country Sting is.)

2) Why does the Islam have a month of fasting? I mean, what's the origin of it? Answer: according to an Islam legend, some guy was once locked up inside a library by the devil and he didn't have any food. Today's Moslims have a month of fasting to experience the feeling of hunger that that guy felt.

There are many more of those things, but I can't come up with them now. Maybe the above things are complete nonsence, but I don't know whether they are real or if I dreamt them, or whatever.

Maybe they're the truth. Maybe not. Maybe it's good that I've been prescribed antipsychotics :-)

Oh wait... here are some other ones. Is it really true that, in the USA, women play soccer? And that basketball, baseball and American football are popular sports there? And that marihuana is illegal there, while everyone over 16 (or 18) can buy a gun? No, that MUST have been a dream.... it's just too ridiculous to be true. ;-)




Wednesday, September 15, 1999, 0.55

Today I thought about ******** a little bit too much. I felt so terrible. So useless. I just wanted to die. Why can't I just die if I want to? Another one of nature's BIG mistakes, I guess.

Luckily there was soccer on tv tonight; Feyenoord versus Borussia Dortmund. I was hoping "we" would kick those German asses, but unfortunately, "we" were restricted to 1-1 in the end. Our hero Kees van Wonderen scored our goal.

That's all I have to say for now.




Friday, September 17, 1999, 0.17

Risperdal's side effects are getting less. I'm not so tired anymore all the time, and I don't have blurred vision that often anymore. I even drove today! And it went fine. I'm so glad the side effects are getting less bad.

God, I just cut myself 9 times in my chest and belly. Not big deep cuts; just little surface wounds. But still, breathing hurts a little now. I hate myself so much. And I don't even know why. Well maybe all this cutting isn't just because I hate myself. I've read on some page about a guy who cut himself because "it was the only way for him to survive in a world full of pain" or something like that. He just cuts himself because it is the only way for him to deal with his pain. Maybe that goes for me too. But it's also partially because I hate myself, and because I want to see scars for the pain that I feel, although that pain is getting less because of the meds. But whatever the reason is, spraying deodorant on my chest doesn't seem like a very good idea for the next couple of weeks.

I'm thinking about going to work for the exploiment agency again. I haven't done that for a few months, but now the days just go by and nothing happens and it gets so boring around here.

Again a short entry. I'm sorry, but this is all I have to talk about for now...




Saturday, September 18, 1999, 0.29

Today (yesterday) wasn't such a good day. I've cried for a while, and I was feeling sad for a long time. I also wanted to cut myself again, but somehow I could resist the temptation.

And now I'm a bit scared. It started a few hours ago. I was thinking about how my future would be, and then I was thinking about how my life would be when I was about 30. And then I came to the conclusion that I didn't "expect" myself to make it to my 30st birthday. Not that I would kill myself or anything, but I just couldn't imagine myself at that age. It felt so scary, so real: if felt like I would never live to see 30. That scared me. Is it a sign?

And I'm also feeling like I have so many things about my life that I can't remember anymore, because my mind doesn't want to remember those things. Maybe you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, but I mean things like sexual abuse in your early childhood: sometimes the mind chooses to repress those memories, but they still leave emotional scars even though you can't remember those things. That kind of things is what I mean. I'm on the edge of going to my parents and ask them "Tell me the truth. What happened in my early childhood? Am I really your son? Tell me the truth now please." I don't know what they would do if I asked them that. (God, these medicines are used to treat schizophrenia, not to develop it!)

But I also had some pretty strange things in my earlier childhood. Like between my 7th and 14th, or something like that (I can't remember exactly when it was, but it's been there pretty long), I was always afraid that my parents would leave me. When I was lying (lieing? laying?) in my bed and I heard the front door close, I was scared because I thought my parents were running away. And every time I heard the door to the living room close, I felt releaved because that meant my parents would stay inside for a while.

I really hope I can go to the Riagg soon. Maybe I'll have to give my doctor a call soon, to ask him what the hell is taking them so long.




Tuesday, September 21, 1999, 0.57

I feel so empty. I don't even want to listen to Marilyn Manson - - - - -

- - - - - - - Interruption - - - - - - -

Guess what just happened. I had just disconnected from the internet, when the phone rings. At 1 a.m.! So I pick up the phone. It's someone who tells me to tell my dad to call her back in the morning. My dad, who had been hoping for that phonecall all night, comes out of bed and calls her back. W E I R D...... But at least I'm not feeling empty anymore. And I'm listening to Marilyn Manson now.

Tomorrow I'm gonna go to the exploiment agency, to ask if they have something to do for me. Because now I'm bored to death all day. It's really terrible. So I hope they have something for me.

And I also hope the doctor calls me soon.




Friday, September 24, 1999, 0.31

I can't write much now because 1) I'm having blurred vision again, and 2) I'm really really tired.

The exploiment agency had something to do for me. I had work today. But it was awful. We had to deliver around 3000 newspapers. I was so tired. So I did everything really slow. And then I felt like "see, everything I do goes wrong. And it's all my fault."

I don't wanna live anymore. I've felt like this a hundred times before. Maybe I'm not depressed. Maybe everything I feel is just the truth. That would mean I really am a failure. And that I'm still crying over a girl who turned her back on me several months ago, a girl I hardly even knew.

After writing the previous paragraph I just had the worst crying spell since I've started taking Risperdal. God, why doesn't the doctor call me? Why can't I go to the Riagg? I'm gonna call him soon, 'cause this is making me sick.

I don't know why I even came home today. I mean, there's no one to comfort me anyway (except my cat but he doesn't have arms to put around me). Why would I try my best to continue living?

1) I feel very tired 2) I have worked way too hard today 3) I just had a crying spell 4) Too much love will kill you is playing. The memories of what were supposed to be my last days on earth are coming back....




Sunday, September 26, 1999, 0.49

Everything is getting worse again. Today was horrible. When I woke up, I really felt like killing myself. And it didn't improve much during the day. I just cut myself again. It's just my way of "dealing" with my pain.

All day I want to cry, and now that I finally have the freedom to cry, I just can't do it anymore. Maybe it's because I just cut myself. Maybe that really takes away the pain for some time. But I still wish I could cry; I usually feel a bit better when I can cry.

The risperdal may be working, but it's getting less I think. Or maybe this is just a recession; maybe it's going to get better again soon. But I'm thinking so much about quitting my medication. I'm so sick and tired of always being tired. Today I slept again during the day. I just fell asleep on the floor this afternoon. And on Friday I went to the exploiment agency, and I almost fell asleep on the subway.

I'm going to work again, Tuesday from 17.00 'til we're done, but maximally until 22.00. It's not going to be so tough this time, 'cause now it's only counting stuff and writing some numbers down.

But back to my pain. It's so many things. It's ********; it's my dad; it's me; it's the world. Most of the times it's mainly my dad. I feel so pathetic; even though he's trying so hard, I still feel hurt so many times. Why can't I just accept him the way he is, and be grateful for how hard he's trying to be nice? But I can hardly believe he's really my father. My common sence says he is (being adopted without knowing it, is something that "always happens to other people"). But thinking about it makes me think, or maybe even want to believe, that he isn't. I mean, he looks so different, and he especially is so different. I imagine my real father would be a bit like me. Maybe he'd be a little more sensitive than the man who is said to be my father.

Ah, finally, for a second there, I could cry. But now the mood has already passed.

Well the blood has dried, so I can go to bed now.




Tuesday, September 28, 1999, 0.52

Last Sunday I deliberately didn't take my medication. I just wanted to "have a break" from it. A break from always being tired and stuff like that. Well, it worked. All the side effects disappeared. Only problem was that the regular effect also disappeared. It could be a coincidence, but it's a fact that in the past 2 months it was the only day I didn't take any medicines, and it also was the day in which my feelings were the worst. That night I cried in bed again, which was a while ago. And I didn't fall asleep right away, I had my "normal" sleeping problems back.

I'm downloading the latest version of Internet Explorer, so I can read my Hotmail messages using Outlook Express. But the downloading takes much longer when I'm writing this, so I'm gonna stop now. No wait, I think I'm gonna translate another one of my writings. I just found some writings from the time my depression was at it worst, and I'm gonna translate one of them now. It will be published soon.