Kid Fuckers Beware

One thing that I’ve always loved about blogging with WordPress is the statistics function. Despite my pathological aversion to mathematics in general, I’ve always been a bit of a stats nerd, though of course the facility provided here is simple enough that you don’t have to use SPSS to make sense of the data (which is simultaneously a relief and an intellectual misfortune).

My favourite part of this has always been the information provided about the keywords that are used to get here. Sometimes they make me glad that I’ve contributed something worthwhile and have been able to help people – for example…

  • DLA / ESA and mental health (plus more specific queries eg. ‘DLA and BPD’)
  • DLA changes
  • Does Venlafaxine 300mg work?
  • How does transference feel?
  • Fighting stigma
  • Other people with C-PTSD flashbacks
  • Ending psychotherapy
  • Complex PTSD vs BPD
  • I hate DBT / DBT is shit (yay!)
  • Missing a dose of Venlafaxine
  • Quetiapine and hypersomnia

…some bemuse me…

  • Arsecunt
  • Borderline bipolar historical women witches
  • What things are fluffy?
  • Imagine walking fown [sic] the wrong side of the road, you are stopped because it is considered J Walking
  • How to register kindel [sic] with bed serial
  • Cunts of joy
  • Nihilism as a disorder
  • Nail writer forum mentalism anthology
  • Going to confession[,] and narcissism

…some make me laugh out loud…

  • Fuck life, fuck career and fuck everything
  • Achievements in cunt
  • Talking settees and Quetiapine
  • Minor hallucinations of curtains

…I’m still, to my surprise, getting a hell of a lot of searches pertaining to Mental Nurse, even though I thought everyone realised that it (regrettably) died some months back…

…but, of late, and perhaps inevitably, some terms arriving here have disturbed me…

  • Jokes about the mentally ill
  • How to fuck kids / I want to fuck kids
  • Gape rape fun / I want to be gang raped
  • Confessions of sexual abuse wank
  • Fucking young girls
  • Kids wanking videos
  • Rape is innocuous
  • Suicide is funny
  • Children DO fuck[,] they want to
  • Teens fucking five year olds
  • How do you screw a kid?

Blah blah blah. You begin to get the idea. Most of the stuff about ‘fucking kids’ has come in light of my post, Why Do People Fuck Kids? I note with interest that none of our delightful web explorers arriving at said post via one of the above beautiful searches have deigned the title question worthy of an answer.

So. Did you arrive here wondering if it’s fun to mock the mentally ill, or under the belief that suicide is something that exists to entertain you and your mates down the pub on a Saturday evening? Do you believe that gang rape is only something that people fake for the sake of fetish-ish sexual gratification? Did you happen upon Confessions wondering how to go about raping your four year old cousin/neice/nephew/son/daughter/grandchild/neighbour/daughter or son’s friend/etc?

Perhaps you are unaware that mental illness is very, very real, and that it’s extremely debilitating – even life-threatening. Perhaps you are unaware that suicide is rarely a choice, but, rather, an all but inevitable consequence when a disturbed or ill person runs out of ways to cope with a pile of psychological spaghetti taking the place of their brain. Perhaps you don’t realise that real gang rapes do take place, all too frequently, and that they are extraordinarily traumatic and stark. Perhaps you don’t realise that no, children don’t want to fuck or be fucked – they might curiously experiment with their friends occasionally, but they are not physically or psychologically in any way ready to deal with the consequences of actual, real sexual activity. Perhaps you don’t know that children are legally (as well as ethically) incapable of consenting to sexual activity because their minds and bodies are not mature enough to understand such actions. Perhaps, therefore, you do not know that when you have sexual relations of any description with a child, you are committing an act of rape.

But I think, on all counts, you do realise what you’re searching for. I think that you just don’t care about the people on the other side of the coin. Do you?

Perhaps the least offensive of you are the ones that fantasise about gang rape. I say that because, yeah – some people have non-vanilla tastes in sex and sexual imagery, and that’s fine. But, what you really find fun is, and I repeat, a fantasy about gang rape. A real gang rape – one where the people force themselves upon you, distinctly against your will, despite your protestations for them to desist – is highly unlikely to match the heady heights of pleasure in a ‘set-up’ of several people ostensibly, but not really, ‘forcing’ themselves upon another. No, alas, far from it – no pleasure nor ecstasy comes from a real gang rape; just pain, degradation, shame and horror. So don’t let me inhibit your sexuality, by any means, but please do realise that the apparently blasé attitude you have exhibited in looking for this material has the power to offend and trigger.

To those of you that find mental illness and suicide funny – part of me wishes upon you a day of crippling, abyss-like depression…or perhaps some time with persecutory voices and visions, telling you to throw yourself off a cliff or kill your wife/husband and children. See how entertaining it is then, and how ‘cowardly’ suicide apparently is in those circumstances. Yet, on the other hand, having been at the brink like this, I’m not sure I’d wish such experiences on anyone. That you find this kind of thing amusing proves that even I’m a better person than you. Fuck you, you pathetic, bigoted pieces of fuckwittery.

As as for all you lot that want to know how to fuck kids, or what’s wrong with fucking kids, or whether kids enjoy being fucked, or who want to bring yourselves off over images of child pornography? Well, I think you padeophilic cuntfucks most of all know that you’re twisted little wankshafts who can’t get it up over someone your own fucking size, so ‘have’ to turn, in the most cowardly and offensive fashion imaginable, to the one of the most vulnerable demographics available, just to get your pathetic little rocks off. Well, be my guest and read this blog, and see what your delightful intentions feel like like from the other side.

But be careful, people thus searching. I’ve had a lot of real-life sticks and stones thrown at this blog over the last two-and-a-bit years, and have had to act accordingly. I almost never use the services that I engaged to fight said attacks, but for you, my paedophilic readers, I will make a happy and delighted exception.

I can trace the IP address of everyone that visits this blog, you see. As noted, I almost never, ever do – so normal visitors and searchers need not worry. The problem for you, paedophiles, is that IP addresses can be directly linked to search terms, rather than just hits. So I can single you out. What a shame that is!

And what a shame, too, that the data also tells me your rough location…and, crucially, your ISP. What a shame, all the more, that I have reported (and will continue to report) your nefarious online actions to your providing companies!

See how fun your paedophilic endeavours are when you have to answer for your actions in person. Enjoy :D


(I should add here that I haven’t reported all dubious searches; “fuck children” could, simply, mean something along the lines of “I hate children,” and that the searcher would like to find like-minded people. But some of these terms are completely unambiguous, and those are the ones that have been reported. Of course, I am aware that if a paedophile was being clever, there are ways to hide or fake IPs, but it seemed a sensible thing to report these instances nevertheless. Finally, I don’t check the IP address of anyone searching for something non-suspect, nor any normal visitor, so don’t panic; I’m really not spying on the overwhelming majority of you, most of whom I know and love. The software installed is a hangover from when I thought my family were reading this blog, and has only become useful again in tracking these worthless motherfuckers, not the rest of you).


Shiny Things

Not to blow my own trumpet, because the relative popularity of Confessions continues to mystify and astonish me, but I’ve picked up a couple of awards since I started writing the bilge a few years ago. Sometimes I mention them, more often I don’t – but if you really care, if you’re fixated with the idea of self-flagellation by means of Pandorian self-aggrandising and narcissism, then be my guest and take a look at them.

Initially, pleased as I was when the lovely Little Miss Sunshine afforded me a ‘Liebster Blog Award‘, I wasn’t going to go with the meme and write this post – but then I thought, ‘what the hell?’

Liebster Blog Award

Liebster Blog Award

Firstly, thanks very much to Little Miss Sunshine for bestowing this upon me. As noted, I still find myself genuinely stunned that the crap I write is worthy of simply reading, never mind awarding – and since I really respect LMS’s writing, intelligence and determination, it’s really flattering coming from her. So this put a smile on my face. Thank you, lovely lady :)

Secondly, I have the pleasure of passing the award on to blogs that I enjoy. There are of course many such writings, but here are a few that stand out, for various reasons.

  • Conversations With My Head – bourach. Always bourach, one of my oldest online friends! Not because of some sort of Twitter-based nepotism, but because she is a great and evocative writer. Often, sadly, the reading is tragic and heart-wrenching – but it’s always intelligent, engaging, eloquent and even, when the tone is right, witty and entertaining. One of these days I’m going to Kent to meet her :) A year ago, we’d probably have been planning to head the White Cliffs for a wee bit of a fall together – now, hark! We are both moderately sane. I have to hand it to bourach – my relative recovery has been, at least in part, down to medication. Her’s has been down to the very opposite – coming off medication! Not to mention therapy and working fucking hard to free herself of mentalism.
  • Living with Bipolar Disorder, DID and the Consequences of Childhood Abuse – this blog is articulately authored by tai0316. I’ve only fairly recently discovered this journal (as in, this year), but I am sooooo glad I did. I can empathise with so much of what tai writes about, and find her style – although she also frequently discusses tragic and painful issues – to be strong and smart. There are times when I wish I could give her a big hug – but as I said, she’s strong, and there equally as many times when I find a smile creep across my lips in delighted congratulations of her determination to fight her demons. tai also posts quite a lot of artistic collages, which are as expressive as they are insightful. She’s a gentle, intelligent, remarkable lady, and I’ve been so glad to make her acquaintance.
  • Living Life on the Borderline – the online home of outwardlyintrovert. I don’t want to sound patronising here, but I suppose I probably will, so I’ll just get on with it. Outwardly is in her late teens, yet writes with a cleverness and insight not always seen in people three or four times her age. There’s a theme emerging here – there’s trauma in outwardly’s history too. I hate that any of that happened (as I obviously do for all concerned), but I’m glad that she writes. I know that mentalism is a fucking inconvenient thing to have when you’re trying to study, to make something of your life – it sort-of destroyed my attempt at a Masters degree – but as you’ll see from her blog, outwardly has an excellent intellect, and an important characteristic that I’ve always lacked: wisdom.
  • Whisper on the Wind – written by Me. Not me me, but Me. OK? OK. I’m new to this blog (the blog itself isn’t that old, though), but again I’m very glad I came across it. I always hesitate to use the word ‘beautiful’ when it comes to writing, as it’s so often little more than self-referential or arse-licking hyperbole. In this case though, the word is, I feel, quite accurate. Yes, Me rants and raves like the rest of us, and such posts are always excellently expressed, but there are times when she becomes more introspective and philosophical, and on these occasions her prose and poetry is beguiling.
  • At Least My Cat Loves Me – Autumn Delusions. Another young blogger, whose prose I often read thinking, “fuck me, I wish I could write like that.” Engaging, entertaining, smart and often funny; though I don’t think AD realises that she has the capacity to amuse, let me assure you that she does. Now, unlike some of the others mentioned here, AD has some…what’s the diplomatic term?…sod it, mentalist issues that I haven’t been through (others that I have), and of course can’t ‘get’ from an insider’s perspective. AD, however, has a great capacity to promote understanding, and whilst her posts are often long – though I think I’ll be keeping the crown for the bloody longest, thanks very much – they never meander, and always keep you interested.

As well as being fab in their own rights, all of the above have been enormously supportive of me over the months/years, and I’d like to publicly thank them for that. It’s not whyI picked their blogs for this award, but it is hugely important to me, so thank you all.

Right, enough of the love-in gushing. I’m going back to being a bitch now. To echo Charlie Brooker’s immortal Newswipe parting gambit, go away.

I do love you people though. Not just the five above, though of course that includes them, but all of you.

Right, really. Enough of that. GO AWAY!!!

Night x

(Can’t be arsed proof-reading this, but I hope you don’t care because this isn’t about me; rather, it’s about bourach, tai, outwardly, Me and AD. Yeah!).

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Blog Carnival of Mental Health

Buenas días amigos

Just a quick note to let you know that Confessions of a Serial Insomniac will be hosting the Blog Carnival of Mental Health for the month of June. The theme is hope and despair; contributors are free to interpret this in any way they wish.

The Carnival, for the uninitiated, is basically a month-long version of This Week in Mentalists as seen weekly on the late Mental Nurse and now on <a href="The Madosphere. The only major difference (aside from the timeframe involved) is that bloggers volunteer their posts rather than have them chosen by editors. In short, it’s basically a voluntary round-up of posts written on a specific theme for a entire month.

You can contribute to this Carnival in two ways; either leave a link to your post in the comments of this entry, or email me with your post and/or URL.

Entries should be submitted by no later than midnight (British Summer Time) on 29 June. The Carnival will be published here by midnight on 30 June. Anyone interested is free contribute as long as their post is (a) related to mental health and (b) in some way related to the aforementioned theme.

If you have any queries, please give me a shout. Otherwise, happy blogging :)

Hasta luego

Pan <3 xxx


Bye, lovelies! I’m leaving these shores first thing tomorrow morning and shan’t be back until late on Wednesday 1 June, so there may not be any posts here until after that.

That said, I do have a couple of entries planned, so if I have a few quiet moments and a wifi connection, I may go ahead and post them. But I’m making no promises. You know what I’m like, after all..! And yeah, apologies for the dearth of the therapy reviews. I will get there eventually, I promise!

So adieu, take care of your beautiful selves, and don’t do anything I would do ;) Oh and, for the non-chosen amongst you, enjoy your Rapture-driven demise on the morrow, just as I will :D


Pan <3 xxxxx

It's My Birthday, and I'll Die if I Want Two

It's My Birthday, and I'll Die if I Want To

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for the not entirely insignificant number of readers this blog has, I don’t ‘want to’. Or even ‘want two’. Even if my posting here has dried up markedly of late, my little corner of cyberspace intends to remain alive and well for the foreseeable. The picture above amused me, and made me think back to some of my most suicidal days earlier this year, and thus I thought it was apt that I bring it to you along with my news…

…which is the announcement that it’s fuckin’ party time. Confessions is two years old today!

A Will Like This

This time last year, I wrote quite a long post with a sort of “where I’m up to at this point” theme, plus some stats. I’ll do the stats bit again – renewed for the blog’s second birthday – because that’s always kind of entertaining, but in terms of the ‘my life in the last year’, I’m not going to bother detailing everything that’s happened; instead, I’ll just note a few major events and hat-tip a few significant people.

Life and Times as a Mentalist

There were four major developments in my life of madness in the last year:

  1. Therapy with C ended, pretty much destroying my life.
  2. Therapy with Paul started, pretty much making my life better.
  3. I started taking 300mg of Venlafaxine and 600mg of Quetiapine, and the prescribing NewVCB proved herself to be thoroughly on my side.
  4. I was allocated a CPN.

2 – 4 inclusive have had the surprising but highly gratifying effect of improving my life, to the extent, indeed, that last month I realised I could no longer be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Whilst I still struggle with issues relating to complex PTSD, am frequently afflicted with (sometimes very debilitating) anxiety and know severe depression will once more return, I am, right now, doing fairly well, and getting rid of borderline (even if it’s unofficial) feels like a big deal. Life is OK.

In these ways, it feels like I’ve come on a long way in the space of a year (particularly in the space of the last few months), and I feel ever so slightly proud of this. However, it could not have been done alone: Paul, NewVCB and (to a lesser extent, but only because she’s new) Christine have been invaluable in the relative success of this process. In personal terms, A, my mother, my regular blog readers and Twitter friends have all been worth their weight in gold too. Thank you all for your continued support.

Blogging as a Mentalist

In terms of stats, the blog at the time of writing has 243,724 hits. Just short of the magical 250,000 that I’d hoped (though not really expected) to get, bah!!! I know that, in terms of blogging overall, this isn’t a huge amount – but in terms of a personal blog about a personal subject by a personal, provincial non-entity, it’s not bad. It’s certainly exceeded by expectations by…well, by about 243,273 hits, I suppose. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what it is that you like about this blog, but whatever it is, I’m humbled by it and very grateful for it.

I don’t think it would be a huge exaggeration for me to say that blogging has saved my life. At the very least, a combination of this and Twitter has; without the support that I have been almost unconditionally offered through these ventures, I strongly suspect that I would have caught the bus sometime in the last two years. I’ll never be entirely grateful that I’m alive, I suppose – I still can’t understand how some people aren’t suicidal. How the fuck does that work?! How the fuck can that even be?! But still, as of right now, I’d probably rather I have my life than I didn’t – and a large part of that can be attributed to the never-ending friendship and encouragement that you lot have shown me.

I got more blog awards over the past 12 months – see here and here for the main ones, and here for others that I somehow managed to rack up along the way.

The most popular posts this year were:

  1. Thoughts on the DLA Changes in the Budget – 6,501 hits
  2. BPD vs C-PTSD – 1,841 hits
  3. Self-Harm: A Warning – 1,012 hits
  4. Suicide – 950 hits
  5. Suicide Attempt Epic Fail – 832

The most popular static pages have been:

  1. About the Author – 2,811 hits
  2. NEW? Start Here! – 987 hits
  3. The Alter Ego – 953 hits
  4. A Mentalist’s Glossary – 719 hits
  5. BPD & PTSD – 592 hits

Over the last 12 months, I’ve had an average of 16,330 hits per month, and with the data available (only about six months’ worth), I see that, at a rough average, I’ve had between 3,000 and 4,000 hits a week and about 500 daily visits. Even when I haven’t posted for a while, for whatever reason there still seem to be about 200 – 250 hits daily, but this goes up notably when I do write more regularly.

The top three traffic providers have been StumbleUpon, Twitter and BlogSurfer. The top three other blogs sending visitors here were Bippidee (her old blog, and for the second year running), Mental Nurse (RIP) and My 13th Sad Day.

The top search terms arriving here are:

  1. (Confessions of a) Serial Insomniac (and analogous terms) – 2,474 hits
  2. DLA Changes (and analogous terms) – 2,229
  3. C-PTSD – 274 (bit of a gap there)
  4. Peccary – 248 (yes, I know – how odd. It’s because the picture on this post ranks highly on Google Images).
  5. Mental Nurse Blog – 238 (lots of people missing it, then)

Mentalist Acknowledgments

This is always difficult, but let’s give it a whirl. Mega thanks to bourach, Phil Groom, UselessCPN, Narky, Maria, Maybe Borderline, Sanabituranima, Seaneen, Little Feet, Autumn Delusions, Zarathustra from the erstwhile Mental Nurse, Kate (all three Kates!), Tit Flasher, MCBL, Splint, tai, Clarissa, Ali, Nick, Null and Mental Spaghetti. Thanks also to all of those on Twitter that I regularly chat with, and indeed those on Facebook :) (Please, please do not be offended if you’re not mentioned here – it’s me that’s shit, not you. I’m sure I’ll come back here to add people as Venlafaxine memory-lapses allow me!).

Many thanks as always to A, Mum (not that she’ll see this), Daniel, Brian (not that he’ll see this either), Aaron (not that he likes to be called that), CVM, K and everyone from the Mad Up.


Things have changed around here lately; because I’ve been keeping relatively well, my writing on Confessions has gone down proportionately. But make no mistake – my recovery is far from complete. It’s started well, but there’s a fuck of a long way to go. This blog will continue until, at least, I am able to return to normal, paid employment. I’ve no idea if I’ll have achieved that by May next year – probably not, I’d guess, for even if I feel ready for it, the economic climate is still pretty shit. Even if it does happen by next May, I do have to keep you updated here and there, don’t I? And also, I’ll probably still be under Paul’s care then, in our second run of therapy. And who am I to deny you your vicarious therapeutic pleasures?! (Before someone says it, I know you’re owed three session reviews. Soon. Really. Yes. Honestly, soon. I promise. Yes! I really do!).

So I think Confessions will see its third birthday, at least. Whatever the case, thank you all for all your comments, emails, tweets, FB messages, RTs and so on. Thank you for the never-ending support and encouragement. And thank you for making this venture the modest but important success that it has become.

Much love

Pandora <3 xxx


On Being Alive

I’m aware that my post frequency here has gone down considerably lately. Where once I was writing maybe three or four entries a week, now here I am considering myself lucky if I’m even getting one done.

There is no sinister or disillusioned reason for it. It’s just that, apart from three sessions regarding Paul which will follow shortly, I have very little to say. However, that is not to say that there’s absolutely nothing happening in my world; it’s just that it’s stuff that’s not under the remit of this blog.

I have been doing other writing, I have been reading, I’ve been out to pubs and restaurants, I’ve gone for drives and walks, I’ve played with the cats, played Scrabble, I’ve even been into a couple of shops (unheard of six months ago). In other words, I’ve been doing normal stuff…and living.

Since my prescription for Venlafaxine has started, in combination with therapy, to work, I have felt able to do these ordinary, enjoyable things in a way I was not before. Life isn’t beautifully wonderful or anything – I still have a long way to go before I can edge myself back to work, for example – but it’s improving. Not every day feels like mere existence at the minute. Sometimes, just sometimes, I feel as though I’m alive.

Fear not, the blog is staying – being mental hasn’t gone away, and neither have all the associated issues such as appointments. But the more content I seem to find myself, the less I seem to need to write about it.

For now, for these few weeks at least, I have been living life rather than just writing about it.

RIP, Mental Nurse :(

The Mental Nurse blog, in which so many of us have been involved in one way or another for some time, is dead. It passed away on Friday, before being all-too-quickly reincarnated as some dirgey piece of spam holding crap.

*weeps inconsolably*

The demise of the Madosphere’s favourite blog was not caused by anything particularly sinister – it is understood that there was a problem in renewing the domain name, and in the brief time that the URL was unregistered, someone else came in and stole it. Frustrating as fuck, certainly, but essentially just very unfortunate luck.

I am in mourning, as I know many others must be. So I thought I’d write a little tribute.

Mental Nurse (MN) had a certain curiosity to it. It was written mainly by…well, by mental nurses (or trainee mental nurses), yet a substantial number of its readers were us lot, the patients. In this way, it was able to bring about a respectful and equal dialogue between these two often disconnected demographics. This was a forum where (in the main!) courteous and empathetic discussion and the swapping of ideas and stories took place, undoubtedly (a) improving the practice and client-understanding of the staff involved and (b) giving us patients a better idea of what goes on behind the closed doors of the offices of CMHTs and psychiatric wards/hospitals, coupled with the knowledge that not all mental health practitioners are ogres ;)

Another function of the blog was the bringing of patients together. Because it was so popular in the sphere of mental health blogging, we could all get together in the comments sections and talk to each other, discovering new blogs, new people, and ultimately new friends. As many long-term readers of this blog will be aware, in August there was a mass-meeting of mentals in London: whilst this was not directly spurred by MN, certainly the sense of community on the site had initially brought some of the people concerned together online. Zarathustra (Z), who at the time was the main contributor to the site (and later the Editor, after Mental Nurse himself retired), was at the occasion and bought me a pint. He is held in high esteem for this generous action.

No where was the sense of community more evident than in the weekly This Week in Mentalists (TWIM) round-ups, where the best of that week’s writing across the Madosphere was featured. I, along I’m sure with others, used to wait in foot-tapping impatience each Saturday, desperate for my regular dose of TWIM. The series’ importance culminated (from 2008 to 2010 inclusive) in the annual TWIM Awards, the recipients of which were decided by MN’s multitude of readers.

My two personal favourite memories of TWIM were (a) the first time I was included on it, because I was surprised that anyone cared what I had to say; and (b) when I got my very first blog award, a runners-up place in 2009’s awards. I actually won two (!) awards from the site at the end of 2010, which was beyond amazing – but the first one will always stick in my head particularly.

TWIM was certainly one of MN’s more popular endeavours, but there were a number of other series that merit recognition. In the last year or so, Z wrote regular analyses on the debate on the regulation on psychotherapy, which were very insightful and informative. There were also regular critiques on the dire standards and poor practices in mental health services in certain NHS Trusts (something about which I, as you might well imagine, am pretty passionate!). The site offered commentary on the political and social issues surrounding mental health issues, both from its core team of staff and from guest writers. And although I never participated much – because I’m not very good at off the cuff humour – I always enjoyed the results of the semi-regular caption competitions.

The very lovely UselessCPN has written up This Week in Mentalists for this week. I’m not sure what, if anything, will become of it in the long-term; maybe those of us that were MN devotees can host it temporarily until it finds a permanent home again…who knows. Time will tell.

What I do know is that Zarathustra and the wider Mental Nurse project will be greatly missed by so many people. I wish my best to all the personnel who made it into the successful, informative and witty site – and, indeed, community – that it was, and commend its memory to you, good readers.

What are you favourite memories?

Venlafaxine 300mg and Seeing the Good

I’ve been taking 300mg of Venlafaxine for a week now. A week is damn all in the context of anti-depressant medication, I know, but I’m actually feeling cautiously optimistic about it. A and I had a really good weekend; I’m not saying that most weekends are shit per se, but experiencing raw fun and pleasure is, as you can imagine, rather rare for your Not-So-Humble Narrator.

Also, last night we saw a very professional and wonderfully authentic production of King Lear. I was actually proud that I was able to go, even though on paper I would always have been keen to do so; last week I’m pretty sure it would have been impossible, and even if I could have dragged myself to it, I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate for any more than about three seconds. When you’re watching an intense Shakespearean tragedy, concentration is clearly a pre-requisite, so that would have been a fucking disaster. As it was, I was actually able to both follow and even enjoy the play, which surprised and gratified me greatly.

I’ve felt fairly level over the last few days (as my Moodscope results, unscientific as they are, would appear to attest – currently they’re about 20% each day, which is much better than the standard 1% or 2%), but I (unlike NewVCB, apparently, in the context of our last appointment at least) am well aware that I have a secondary or at least differential diagnosis of bipolar disorder, type II. All anti-depressants carry with them the risk of (hypo)mania, and that presents a slight concern. It’s particularly noteworthy for me as I genuinely have no conception of what is ‘normal’ contentment/happiness, and what is psychiatric pathology; I simply do not have a proper frame of reference from before mentalism. Arguably, if you hold to the medical model at least, the mentalism was always – to a greater or lesser extent – there anyway, thus rendering a frame of reference devoid of it impossible.

I’m reminded of Freud’s old dictum about the transition from ‘hysterical misery to common unhappiness’, or whatever way it was that he put it. Let me make this clear: I am still strongly depressed, still suffering the usual intrusions of PTSD and occasional psychosis and dissociation, and am still terrified of leaving the house (particularly alone – although I went to a non-Paul appointment by myself yesterday, about which I was very pleased). Drugs don’t cure people – actually, as you know, I don’t believe that anything actually cures people – but maybe I was too quick to condemn Venlafaxine. Maybe, to use the old phrase employed by myself, both VCBs and doubtless countless others, medication can at least take the edge off the ‘hysterical misery’.

So, so far, so acceptable. In other news, I’m on a diet again and, again, am cautiously hopeful that I can stick to it. Since I’ve been taking 600mg of Seroquel, my cravings for sweet stuff have spiralled out of control. A few weeks ago I ate six bars of chocolate and three Creme fucking Eggs in one day! Unsurprisingly, I’ve gained 11 lbs since the last time I weighed myself, which was a fucking year ago (I know I have a dangerous personality, so I keep away from the scales. There’s no danger of any imminent eating disorder given my humongous size, but I don’t want to step onto a slippery slope and become obsessed with my weight). To that end, yesterday, I procured some Slimfast, and have found that the Cafe Latte flavour can (again) take the edge off my craving for such ridiculous amounts of crap. This is all weird to me, because savoury rubbish rather than sweet stuff has always been my weakness. This is why I opine that Seroquel, not just me, is to blame. Anyhow, if it fails, it fails. I’m also planning to re-quit smoking next month, but again – if I don’t, then I don’t. There’s no point in self-vituperating about it (that’s easy to fucking say, mind you…). I want to lose weight and get back off cigarettes, but if my mental illnesses don’t like that, then I am a slave to them. All I can say is that I’ll try.

For all my positivity in the last 600 words, though, there has been a lot troubling me in the last few days too – I mean, yes, the usual pervades my mind (abuse, fear, therapy, blah de blah). But it’s not just that. A lot has been afoot in parts of the mental health blogosphere of late, and it has left me feeling very disillusioned. I’ve been angry and frustrated on behalf of the personnel in question, and furthermore it left me questioning why the fuck I even write what I do here. I was actually asked this question by a third party fairly recently (respectfully, I’d add), and defended myself on the grounds that this blog is nothing more than a personal journal.

Is it though? When I sat and thought about it, I’m not really sure any more. It’s not meant to be anything more, but to my surprise it’s morphed into something more popular than I could ever have expected when I started writing it in May 2009. The thing is, sometimes I feel pressurised to write, to the extent that I get irritated by my ‘need’ to blog. This is especially true of my reviews of therapy sessions, which are by their nature very long. I mean, I could reduce them to abstracts rather than specifics, but then all the minutiae would all be lost and forgotten to time, and I don’t want that. I want all I can possibly remember here, for me, for posterity, for recollection of the healing points made, and for help in avoidance of the bad. But, perhaps paradoxically, the more I have felt under pressure to sit down and write said posts, the less I have been able to do it. My motivation, minuscule as it was in the first place, erodes completely. I find excuses to avoid writing. I feel anxiety rising from the pit of my stomach – not because of the content I wish to record, but because of the recording itself. It’s pathetic, I know.

What all this culminated in was this: I wrote two posts that I haven’t published. Both declared that I was taking a (possibly lengthy) break from writing here (at least publicly); one entry was bitter and angry, one more measured and considered. I sought advice from another blogger and from A, and decided to wait before I published either.

Cue today. I went out the back to smoke and sat down and just thought about it for a long while. For all the negative sides to it, and for all the unpleasantness of the last few weeks in parts of the Madosphere, I think I have done something worthwhile in writing this blog. For myself. If it is somehow worthwhile for others as ‘entertainment’, a form of advocacy or whatever, then that is a very beneficial side effect – but with no disrespect intended at all, I don’t write it for you. The blog is public merely because I value feedback, support or advice for myself, but if commentators/readers derive catharsis from it, then that’s an excellent and gratifying incidental.

So I will not be taking any sort of extended break. I’m not sure how I’ll catch up on all the psychotherapy stuff, but I’ll work it out sooner or later.

To be clear, if people don’t like the realities they read in the mental health blogs out there (regardless of who the author may be), then – as I’ve said a million times before – then DON’T FUCKING READ the mental health blogs out there. Just click the ‘x’ on the top right (a variable location if you’re a Linux user, that said), and go the fuck away. S.I.M.P.L.E.

Otherwise, readers, Twitter friends, etc, you do (I hope) know that I value you all very, very deeply. Without social media, and without this blog, I wouldn’t have made so many wonderful, gentle, kind, genuine and supportive people – in fact, not just ‘people’, but ‘friends‘ – and for me that actuality easily trumps the negatives associated with what I do here. Thank you all for continuing to follow the life and times of Yours Truly, and for all your amazing encouragement, friendship and kinship.

Onwards and upwards.


It seems kind of narcissistic to write this, but I will anyway.  I just want to make any regular readers aware that it’s doubtful that I’ll be updating this blog in the next week to 10 days.  A and I are going on what the Americans might term a road-trip – except that we will not be transversing their hallowed highways of as Routes 50 or 66,  but rather the M9, M7 etc way down towards the South coast of Ireland.  A and I have lived, collectively, over 60 years, and yet we have yet to see the vast majority of our own country (or ‘island’, if you are sensitive to constitutional or geopolitical matters).


We expect to be back on 29 or 30 January – next weekend – but we don’t have any definite plans, so that’s open to variation.  The beauty of Ireland at this time of year is that it’s unlikely to be overwrought with tourists; ergo, you can almost certainly just travel to any random place you feel like, walk into a guesthouse or tourist board, and successfully secure accommodation for the night.

A few quick issues: I am running behind in catching up on my session reviews with Paul, though I only have one, rather than the expected two, to catch up on at the minute.  I missed this week’s meeting due to illness; I thought I had the starting symptoms of a ‘flu, and it therefore felt like a prudent move to stay in bed. Fortunately the sickness didn’t amount to much in the end, but it did mean missing the session.  Obviously I won’t see him this incoming week either, but things should get back to normal on 31st January and I’ll try to catch up properly that week.  I mean, I could write up week 11 right now – but you know how it goes; the session reviews are always very long (c. 3,000 words), and writing that much is often exhausting.  I have a long drive ahead of me tomorrow, so it is probably a better idea just to postpone its composition until we’re back.

Secondly, I have heard back from my patient advocate, Derbhla, regarding the proposed meeting with Bill and Noreen, the representatives from the Trust of evil.  Unfortunately, it turns out that Bill’s diary is absolutely chock-a-block next week, and therefore we shall not be able to meet him after all as Derbhla had hoped (we were willing to postpone our trip around Ireland if Derbhla could have organised something with him, but that is of course no longer necessary).  Alas.  I have agreed with Derbhla that I will set something up with Noreen’s secretary when A and I get back from our trip, and that I will let her know the details.  Hopefully by then I’ll have got the reams and reams of medical notes for which I earlier applied, which should hopefully help me to underline, when it comes to meeting Noreen and whoever turns up in Bill’s stead, the ridiculous numbers of epic fails levied at me by their pathetic employers.

There is no sign so far of the money I’m owed from the Social Security’s monument fail about which I learnt yesterday, but I’m not expecting it until probably Tuesday 25th anyway.  The sooner the better, really.

I may be on Twitter and Facebook in the coming days if I can find a free wireless network.  If I’m not, fear not. The likelihood of my being dead is no greater than it would normally be – less, in fact, as I wouldn’t want to leave A stranded at the other end of the island with no easy means of getting home  I will probably be alive, if you care.  Either way, see you back here the week after next.

Enjoy the rest of your January.  Cheerio.

Obligatory 2010 in Review Post

So, I come to the end of another year as a mental health blogger – and, judging by the fact that I have not given up on the whole endeavour, as I expected I would, I must be doing something that is not quite as shit as the stuff that clings to the pipes leaving the toilet that deals with the majority of my IBS-ridden concerns. At least, I hope that is what it means; I still don’t think much of what I do here, and don’t really understand the moderate success this site.

Anyhow, there is almost fuck all other than this blog to show for another year of respiration, though I have a suspicion that my customary verbosity will disguise that fact admirably in the forthcoming prose. This time last year I wrote a review of the seven months I had then been blogging, and find myself amused that a period of nearly twice the length in question – ie. the 12 months of this year – is full of much less material of any meaningful worth. I may be able to count this blog as one thing that has been worthwhile in 2010 (and I do), but to be honest, there is almost damn all else.

I mean, 2009 was shit – but at least some stuff actually happened.  For instance, I lost my job in a mental health charity for being a mental health charity case. I received my first proper diagnoses, catapulting me to the ranks of a proper mental. I developed psychosis and watched myself sink into a spiral of dissociated mess. I was ordered to murder my baby cousin on Christmas Day. Fun? No.  Not at all. But at least it was vaguely interesting: shit actually took place.  This year, analysing it retrospectively, has been mind-numbingly, uneventfully, unwaveringly dull.

But, re-engaging my narcisssism gear, let me attempt to dissect something of it, in a fashion similar to that employed this time last year.

TEH BAD!!!1!!!!eleven!!!!11!!!!

In 2010, I hated, became frustrated with/annoyed by, and send poxes in the general direction of:

  • my abject failure to kill myself (pathetically, at that) at the start of the year. It wasn’t my finest moment, but it’s a sign of how desperate I was…well, obviously it was a sign of how desperate I was – people don’t tend to attempt suicide because they’re bored or think it will be funny or something. Anyhow, it was not so much the really woefully awful suicide attempt that was such a ‘bad’ thing; it was the infernal, hateful, despicable A&E extravaganza that became the attempt’s incidental and dubious side order. I don’t even think the relevant post captures the overwhelming feeling of one’s brain decaying before one’s very eyes (not literally, obviously. I mean, obviously! But it certainly felt that way on a metaphorical level). Certainly not one of my more enjoyable all-nighters.
  • the cessation of therapy with C. I can’t provide you with a link to a specific post (this takes you to a list of posts about him) because, despite the fact that I was booted out of his care in August, I have still been unable to bring myself to review the final sessions on this blog – or, even, in my own mind. I (audibly) recorded the final (I think) five meetings; my rationale for doing so was that I knew there would be material discussed therein that concerned my lengthy anti-discharge complaint (see below) – stuff that the Trust might well be inclined to deny. Evidence, in other words. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to lie to me.  Anyway, a by-product of such aural subterfuge was that I had all the material to capably write-up the final sessions – but the thing is, I can’t bring myself to listen to any of it. I accidentally clicked on one file in iTunes the other week, and upon hearing C’s soft voice, to find how much I still reacted. It was a bizarre, indescribable combination of regret, disgust (at him and his employers), longing, bitterness, sadness, hypervigilance and bewilderment. And thus it all remains unwritten – for those of you that seem to derive some sort of vicarious enjoyment from my therapy session reviews, I apologise.  But hopefully the stuff with Paul (see below) suffices?
  • the endlessly circular and frustrating palaver with the Trust complaint and Mr Director-Person. Seriously, what utter, utter cunts. Every time I got a letter from the putridly elf-like Mr D-P I felt violent, primal urges which had hitherto been alien to me. What an unspeakable wanker. Seriously, what a twat! A fucker of the highest order. Bellended fucking cockhead. Bastarding, twatting…Sorry. I could rant all day. Moving on (…), the more he became a jargon-obsessed, targets-driven fuckstain of absolutely evil fuckery of cuntitude, the more tenacious and pissed off I became, to the point where they actually had to take him specifically out of the picture and instead involve Mr Chief Executive. I’m currently waiting on my medical notes detailing my entire psychiatric history and a meeting with an advocate (see below); thereafter, I am taking up an offer from Mr C E to meet the Head of Psychology and the Assistant Director of Mental Health to “discuss the way forward”. I fully intend to win this fight.
  • dealing with the realisations – or, more accurately, dealing with admitting the realisations – of my childhood abuse in therapy. See here, for example. However, I class confessing to C about the sheer extent of things as a positive development, so in that sense see below. The hallucinatory fallout from the admission wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, however.
  • the worry that my family had found this blog (which suddenly exploded all over again yesterday). That would have been a disaster of the like I have never experienced…but, through all the clouds of the associated drama, I saw one slither of silver shining through: I will not be silenced because of those arseholes. I’ve banned suspicious IPs from reading and will continue to do so as necessary. If the family are reading, if they don’t like what I write here…well. If they don’t like it then they can go to hell.
  • the fucking DLA changes and the comprehensive spending review. Nearly as effective a manual for suicide as that penned by Geo Stone in 2001.
  • the recollection of the gang rape. It’s always been something on the fringes of my awareness, and I suppose I was compartmentalising – something at which I am highly skilled – and hiding it away. In a sense it’s a good thing that I admitted it to myself (to Paul – see below for more on him), but although I know that intellectually, it was still very, very hard to ruminate on.
  • planning, and un-planning, to kill myself (again) at the start of October.  This is bad from all angles: if you are a nice anti-mentalist who for whatever fucked up reason thinks I am remotely less than shite, then you might be sorry that I so deeply planned this, and that I know exactly how to do it should the compulsion consume me once more. If you’re me then you see it as a bad thing too – I still can’t even end my life successfully.  Another moronic failure of a not-necessarily-difficult task. How much longer will this silly little dance continue?!
  • feeling the effects of the intensity of my new therapy with Paul was difficult. In the long-run, such intense work is a good thing, I’m certain – but in the short-term, it frankly fucking sucks.
  • going mental in Newcastle.  Actually, I look back on this with a certain amount of humour – I mean, an (admittedly, in the grand scheme of things, low level) experience similar to Cotard’s Delusion is quite amusing – but it was horrible at the time. I wrote that post whilst bizarrely feeling quite hypomanic, but shortly afterwards I was lying in a toilet somewhere retching and shaking like the local crack addict going cold turkey.  Not. Nice. At. All.
  • the usual perennial misery of Seasonal Affective Disorder, plus general late-year malaise and more side-effects of therapy.
  • meeting (and having A meetmy alter, a child that I’ve taken to calling Aurora. I hate her. I don’t know what else to say; her manifestation was – and is – an enormous development, but beyond expressing my abhorrence of her, I don’t know what I should discuss on the matter. She sucks.  The end.

TEH GOOD!!!1!!!!eleven!!!!11!!!!

But in 2010, I derived joy, pleasure, satisfaction or hope from:

  • changing my name via deed poll at the start of 2010 – in order that I may be dissociated from V, the human male responsible for a spermatozoa implanting itself into an ovum produced by my mother, and his kin, Georgie and Merv – and am still confident that my decision to do so was the correct one.  My mother hasn’t entirely come to terms with it, and perhaps she never will, but that’s her issue. It is amusing to watch the rest of the family try and almost perpetually fail to remember it. I find myself wondering if they would be so forgetful if I had changed my name through marriage. I suspect that the outdated cunts would not be thus disabled.
  • meeting NewVCB, my new consultant psychiatrist, in January of this year. That first meeting was perhaps slightly dubious, but in fairness it was just after I slit my wrists (see above), so it wasn’t the best time for the encounter to take place. In general, the relationship is a fairly good one, and I do think she wants the best for me.
  • Seroquel, as prescribed by the aforementioned NewVCB in the aforementioned first appointment. Life-saver. Stick your anti-psychiatry wank up your arse; this drug has not only saved me from probable section and possibly a descent into completely florid psychosis, it has also saved my very life. I don’t give a fuck if you think I should be “mindfully breathing” and not accepting “overly pathological” “labels” (a term I loathe with a passion) and the “Big Pharma conspiratorial pushing” of these “mind controlling” drugs. I really could not give less of a fuck. Seroquel has made my life less shit. (Oooh, wah wah, it’s a placebo man, don’t you get it, haven’t you examined the real evidence [yes, that utterly non-biased body of 'work' - why, actually, yes - I have!], wah wah wah, gaaaah, mmmmmooooaaaaannnnnn – look: do fuck off, people. The record is stuck and it’s getting fucking boring now. Cheers).
  • another diagnosis: this time of complex post-traumatic stress disorder. I get the impression that NewVCB isn’t entirely keen on the application of what she terms “emotionally unstable personality disorder” (I much prefer the DSM’s ‘borderline’ myself, as in reference to my specific case at least I find it a more accurate description of the condition – not true of all those thus diagnosed, I know). It is, after all, the most stigmatised diagnosis in psychiatric history, for reasons that I still don’t entirely understand. Anyway, being diagnosed as having C-PTSD was a positive thing in the sense that I could perhaps start accepting that maybe the fault, if there indeed is any apportion-able blame, for my turning out as the unemployed and unemployable tosspot that I am lies elsewhere, and is not as internal as I often attempt to portray. (Hmm. That’s easy to say…).
  • lovely blog awards of joy. I don’t write this journal for such recognition, but it’s certainly an honour to have some sort of impact on others’ lives. Firstly I received a runner-up’s prize from Mental Nurse, later a ‘Top 25 PTSD’ Award from Medical Assistant Schools, then in early December a ‘Top Ten Health Blog‘ award from Blogger’s Choice Awards and finally, completing the circle, more from Mental Nurse in the form of first place for both the “Personality Disorders” and “Psychotherapy” categories (there were a few others along the way, too). I can’t work out what I’ve done to deserve these, but I’m delighted and humbled nevertheless. In all sincerity – thank you.
  • admitting to C just how chronic and systematic my experiences of child sex abuse at the hands of my uncle had been. I mean, putting it into actual, verbal words. I had been completely incapable of saying what needed to be said for weeks (arguably months, arguably even years), and finally doing so felt like an achievement for some reason. It’s just a shame that when I was finally able to let him peel back all those nefarious layers that he kicked me out of therapy. Cheers, NHS!
  • this blog celebrating its first birthday in May. Yay! I’m still so glad started to write it.
  • a holiday! Yay yay :D
  • the Mad Up – a carnival wherein a range of UK mental health bloggers descended upon a London park and, later, a London pub, to meet the faces behind the writings. It was truly a privilege to meet such an amazingly courageous and charismatic group of people, and I enjoyed their company immensely.
  • PAUL!!!!! A similar yet somehow distinctly different type of therapist to C, Paul is very, very definitely A Good Thing. I knew that as soon as I first met him, and the consensus from my A, my friends and those of you that comment here seems to be universally in his favour. I consider myself very fortunate to have met him, especially when I had been so (unfairly) dubious about the Nexus Institute.
  • telling Paul that my abusers psychologically tortured me too. I had told A of this, but I had been drinking on that occasion – discussing it verbally in an entirely sober state was something of an achievement, I felt, even though I can’t quite work out why that is my view.
  • Twitter and the Madosophere, once again. This year I’d particularly like to thank bourach at Conversations With My Head, Phil Groom, the artist formerly known as Lola Snow, Autumn DelusionsBippidee, Magic Plum, Useless CPNMaybe Borderline, Seaneen, Karita, Zarathustra of Mental NurseSplintered Ones, Sanabitur Anima Mea, and Titflasher. <3 to all of you, andindeed to many more – I’ve felt particularly supported and/or entertained and/or understood by this lot, but it doesn’t mean that others haven’t been brilliant either.
  • My wonderful friends – Daniel, Brian, CVM, Annie, K, and A’s family and friends have all been brilliant this year, as they are every year. For those of you that read this – I think it’s about five of you – thank you from…no, not the bottom of my heart; I don’t want the arteries leaving said organ to squirt blood all over you, after all. Thank you from somewhere much more psychologically meaningful; the part of my brain that controls positive feelings and affection.
  • A and Mum. Mum has her moments in which she frustrates me, but generally our relationship is fairly good at present, and she has been mostly supportive throughout the year.  A, as ever, has managed to not kill me in his own quiet, unassuming way, and I am perennially grateful and touched for his love and support.

Site Info

I moved this blog from its previous home at to the self-hosted domain with which you are now familiar in January 2010.  I think it was about half-way through the month and at that stage the blog had about 17,000 hits, mainly from referrals from other blogs and sites that quoted or linked to my drivel.

As you can see from the relevant section of the right-sidebar, I now have over 200,000 hits. Some of the volume has been from being listed on blog aggregation sites and whatnot, but most of it now comes from searches. One advantage of self-hosted WordPress blogs is that it’s easy to install plug-ins that make relevant posts easily found by relevant Google searches.

In worldwide terms, 200,000 hits is what some blogs get in 10 minutes – but Confessions was never intended nor expected to reach such heady heights, and to that end I am grateful for what is for me a surprisingly high amount of visitation. Moreover, I am grateful to and platonically in love with all the personnel behind the statistics – I am now in the enviable position where I can class several of you as real life friends, and even where that is not the case, I care deeply about all of you that comment, read regularly, and engage via other media such as Twitter and Facebook. Thank you all.

The most frequent referrers to this site are StumbleUponTwitterBlogSurferBippidee and Mental Nurse.

The most read post by a substantial margin is Thoughts on the DLA Changes in the Budget, with over 5,000 unique hits. To my utter astonishment, the words ‘DLA changes’, a term that one would have expected to lead to a governmental outline of the modifications of the benefit, renders this post as the first result in some Google searches. Wow.

Other popular posts are:

The most read static pages are, probably unsurprisingly, About the Autho (2,300 hits) and The Alter Ego (900 hits). All of these figures are rounded up or down to the nearest 50.

The most popular search terms landing here are ‘(confessions of a) serial insomniac (blog)’, ‘dla changes [or many analogous terms]‘, ‘c-ptsd‘, ‘akathasia‘ and, rather amusingly, ‘nadine dorries‘.

[EDIT: Over Mental Nurse, I’ve just noted some of my favourite random search terms that seem to have fuck all to do with most of what I write.  I thought I should include them here too.  They are: ‘marsha linehan is a fucking bitch‘ (well said!), ‘mum sex‘ (um…), ‘psychodynamic masterbate [sic]‘ (oh yes, give me some Freudian lovin’), ‘already oppressive with his worthless refrains, will perhaps be the ultimate exterminator of our human species—if separate species we be—for his reserve of unguessed horrors could never be borne by mortal brains if loosed upon the world. if you think that that’s a frightening thought then consider‘ (OK, not really so random – the quote is on the sidebar.  Still loved that it got here, though) and ‘day of the triffids sexist‘ (yes, gender disenfranchisement was my first concern when giant carnivorous plants decided to take over the world and eat everyone and everything.  Politics is so important at such a time).  If you were one of the above searchers, thank you for entertaining me throughout the year! :D

EDIT II:  Just spotted these gems in the stats of recent days: ‘thefundingmentalists‘ (don’t know why but it made me laugh – I’m guessing it has something to do with the spending cuts, and is therefore wonderfully appropriate),’will she fuck someone else bpd‘ (yep, all we can do is whore about; there is literally nothing else in our lives ((*watches this blog vanish forthwith*))), ‘hate it blog‘ (yes, given my general nihilism, I probably hate it too), ‘illusion of child rape small xxxxx‘ (what the fuck?) and possibly the best: ‘how will i say goodbye after suicide?‘ (well, I suspect you’ll have to haunt your loved ones, because I don’t think your vocal chords are going to do it for you).]

People most often leave Confessions to head over to Conversations With My Head, Bippidee, Splintered Ones, Writing Myself Sane and Mentally Interesting (alas, the last two are no longer writing, at least for now. Love and hugs sent across the blogosphere to both Ophelia and Seaneen).

The most popular day to date on this blog was 23 June 2010, when there were 2,586 hits in total.

So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish

No, no, no, fear not: I’m not quitting blogging just yet – I just felt like saying that. I’m just signing off from this post, and anyway, it’s a nice phrase (if a strange one for those not familiar with the reference). In the absence of this quote, the title for this conclusion would have been ‘Meh’ or ‘Blah’ or something, and I thought an Adams allusion, inappropriate or otherwise, would be slightly more interesting.

I’m not enough of an optimist to start wishing everyone who reads this blog a happy new year, as I know mental illness and related maladies don’t necessarily lend themselves well to such hopes.  Furthermore, I know that the new year can be intensely triggering for some people – myself included, though mercifully not quite to the same degree as some (my main trigger of winter is, of course, Christmas). Still, the whole thing reminds one rather acutely of the inherent pointlessness of life and, in my case, the pointlessness of my life.

But, in some nebulous way, there is always the small chink of light somewhere that dictates that maybe, just maybe, the next 12 months will be vaguely less bollocks than the previous 12. So if you’ve had a tolerable 2010, I wish you a tolerable 2011. If you haven’t, I wish you a much better cycle of existence this time round.

Either way, you all have much love, affection and virtual hugs from little old me.

P <3