Paul Douglas Robertson

Perth, Australia

HI EVERYBODY!! / I have been writing my novel, which has turned into a trilogy. It’s is so exciting i made my cat throw up last...


PART THREE. I should add before i paste MORE of my history rant, that my life is NOT like this any more. on december the 20th it will be the anniversary of 10 years without a drop of alcohol; though the bipolar got WORSE after i was straight. which i thought was just fucking UNFAIR.
Since then… well in the last year i have gone on dexamphetamine sulphate (known as dexadeine in the US;) and it has made an indescribable difference to my quality of life. I am still definitively, sometimes, mad. And the despair returns and it hurts so deep and hard when it does. The biggest difference is that it is mitigated by the dex – no psychosis because IT DOES NOT CONTINUE FOR EIGHT MONTHS OF EVERY YEAR. It lasts for at most a week before beling balanced out by a few days of respite. It is not the pain itself that makes 20 percent of those with bipolar kill themselves. it is the KNOWLEDGE that it will continue. The terror that this instills. This has been taken from me. Healed.
Here – read it. This is more of the story of my life before I even began to heal.

Lost six months or a year and a half I don’t know managed to stop taking the meds they were killing me faster than the alcohol. Had a mad and stupid psychiatrist on a power trip: here, take some more STELAZINE Paul I can see that you are still vaguely capable of constructing a sentence and your hair hasn’t ALL fallen out yet. Better up the fucking dose.
Came off them then withdrawals and hallucinations my best friend told her she was a an evil bitch as I finally saw it her black heart so putrefied it was pooling behind her eyes. But I had never looked outside myself pity ME I pity YOU bitch. I was too mad to fucking SEE that was the fucking POINT
Stayed as far from my family as I could I could not look at them the only way of course to keep their lives clean of me.
Tried to fix myself went further and more mad and more mad and further faster it was still better pain beats lifelessness pain beats brain-death. Starved till the weight fell off me, wasn’t hard couldn’t afford to eat anyway at least my FUCKING HAIR GREW BACK.
Rapid cycling, oh so real after the fugue and it all slid back to me so fast skeletally thin and quicker than the rest… doing stupid stupid things wandering alone and manic. Euphoric drunkenness a cool ocean a delusion of relief honey sweet.
Beaten up again and a few more times finally worked out that I could to run away. Did gymnastics drunk on the edge of a cliff; on the roof of someone’s house.
Took stupid crazy girls to the lifeguard tower at the end of the pier at the edge of the beach in the middle of the night whenever it stormed. I waited I knew I took them whoever whenever it rained and howled at night and I could smell ozone. They liked THAT, I told them it was a full moon each one I told them a fucking ritual they always said how can you see through the clouds?
I went to clubs broke with no cigarettes and talked women into buying me drinks or just stole them; would walk around the room asking for cigarettes until I had enough to last me till morning; waking up where? Slept in a bus shelter, at the train station, in a construction site, in the bush on the doorstep of display homes and once in an actual for real DITCH.
I remember a shared rental house where I painted a six-foot self-portrait on the wall in blue and RED. I painted crows for eyes. Four houses in six months ending on the street again. Drank everything I could find oh yeah cooking sherry vanilla essence and fucking AFTERSHAVE. Used to love writing NO FIXED ADDRESS at social security called it social obscurity antisocial insecurity told then I had a job interview at a leprosarium.
I went there wearing a trench coat in the middle of the day in the middle of summer blood saturating the wool right to the edges sopping wet with it and trying so hard so hard to fill in the forms without it running down out the sleeves with my hands shaking so much I kept knocking the page onto the floor.
Must have worked I woke up a few weeks later lost them all; all those weeks were they weeks?
Got a sinus infection; reminder of humanity and mortality had to go to the hospital said hi to the staff in casualty. Remembered the nurse I slept with she turned white when she saw me and would not look again. High as a kite I waved at her and grinned oh such smiles. The infection was in my upper sinuses and about to get to my brain all those long drunk walks in the rain I guess.
Was still high even through the pain and told them I liked their x-ray machine because it looked art deco’. They fucked it up and hit the vegus nerve (the spelling is correct and the pun is clear – did I find that funny subsequently oh what do you think???) and I went and died on the operating table full cardiac and respiratory arrest wish I could remember that but I guess it would have HURT. No light at the end of any tunnels no light anywhere too cynical for a religious experience.
Was so weak had to wait three days before I made it to the bar, was straight out in a fucking wheelchair to smoke still high flirting with my face all swollen from the surgery like a freak like a lunatic of course.
Went back to squalor and starvation.
My best friend finally had enough and hit me and tore the skin from one side of my nose, though I had provided him with so many women after they realized just how fucking crazy I was and turned to his arms even though, then, he was a speed freak and a pot head and an alcoholic just like me. He is a good man. It took so much to break him from the love and bonds and fierceness ferocity of our friendship. But I found enough. Wasn’t even LOOKING.
Wartime syndrome before that us fighting the world so hard of course no cause for us. I ended up staying at my other ex-girlfriend’s place.
Tried so hard and stayed straight for three weeks; I think it was subconscious – conscious I fucking KNEW that that was what I was doing – preparation for the biggest and ugliest and least sane that I ever was.
Sleeping with my x-girlfriend and my current girlfriend and my ex’s flat mate and some girl (girls? lost days before I found my way back still high and getting higher) I found at some club… drank everything in the house and this was the time when I decided actually picked; CHOSE to go as mad as I could. Push it and see what was on the far far side.
I bought a bottle of brandy and hung it upside down in the fish tank the fish’s name was Death he was left from my friend who jumped. Painted and drawn figures of me I had done all over her walls I know AT LEAST SHE WAS A FAN. She kept them all around her mirror twisted bitch she once talked me into cutting my wrists; fucked all five of the guys I knew. I sure as hell didn’t care.
What was that to me?
Moving UP the scale wild chattering flitting out of my mouth so many quotes inappropriate walked into a glass door and fell down hurt my damned nose again. Didn’t eat didn’t sleep. Sick by now of punching holes through windows doors and wardrobes drew a lion and a witch on one I wanted more wanted to find the other bits delusions and voices I KNEW were waiting in the back of my mind: Fuseli’s The Nightmare I thought he was a genius until I read his prose inadequate and nothing never should have become a part of history.
Spitting words snarls and more and more cuts appearing razors eaten. When everyone has hidden everything sharp in the house you can chew through a safety razor and there it is you have your sharpness in your hand; though you WILL cut the hell out of the inside of your mouth while you do it. That’s ok though huh? course it is blood covered teeth mean their words more and there are so MANY to say.
Going up and up.
Could feel it in the base of my spine. Could feel it in the back of my head and behind the redness of my retinas.
A black storm; black as coal black as pitch blacker than the blackest witch. Rapturous fascinating terrifying spinning with immensity and weight and clouding my vision with red. A nightmare of power that I could TASTE.
By the time I was halfway there I was speaking in riddles and rhymes… glossolalia. Told people about the tower of Babel – babble – about the storms in my mind told them again. Told them about how Poe died in the street how that was me how I was already dead how they were fever death dreams. Temporal distortion ooh I loved it soaking each moment into me feeding on the surreality breathing out mind sickness absurdity hell. Things would slow down for me and I could watch others in a different world in a different time. I could lace a sentence with jokes and references and then I would just wait to see who if anyone got what. Movement so free easy loose my hands shaking so much I could hardly hold the bottle slippery from the fucking fish tank but I was so STRONG. My skin burning hot to the touch could feel myself heating up.
I was careful I drank only enough and not more I wanted to see where it would take me not pass out. I was never as mad when truly drunk it was the day after for me and I held to that state some part of my mind relentless and deliberate. Nursed and cajoled it intoxicating; tempted and caressed felt it shattering over me a glass club smashing inside my head.
And it worked.
All the things blood-mean and suppurating inside all coming in concert, allegro evaporating like the ground beneath me.

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