Autobiography of a Madman
 

                         I might as well begin this story from the very beginning. I don't recall anything that 
           happened before my sixth birthday, but my mother said that I was born with cataracts 
                  and a hole in one ear, of course the cataracts were removed right away.

           At six or maybe before, my parents worked as caretakers in an adults only building, I 
            was the only exception, no other kids were allowed in. As my parents worked at all 
           hours of the day all days of the week, I was alone most of the time. I don't remember 
                                         ever having a babysitter. 

              Before starting school I remember somewhat walking into a doctors office and 
           glancing at a chart. The doctor gave me an eye exam and I read the chart; the one in 
              my head. I had a photographic memory. I knew reading and arithmetic before I 
              started school, probably from my mother as my father pretty much ignored me.

            At school I felt like an outsider and kept to myself. I could barely see the teacher let 
           alone know what she was doing, I might not of heard her very well either. Seeing as I 
            didn't know what the teacher was doing and that I could read I taught myself. When 
            the teacher saw that I was that I was doing work far beyond the rest of the class she 
            gave me a lecture. That lecture hindered my over achieving. When the school gave 
            I.Q. exams they started calling me lazy, they're not satisfied either way, I get a head 
                   of the class and I'm told off, If I hold back I'm lazy, a genius, but lazy.

            By the middle of grade three the school gave an eye exam. I couldn't see the chart. 
             They moved me half way up and I could make out the top letter. Naturally I had to 
            have glasses, one more thing that made me an outcast. There was yet another thing 
               to make me feel like a alien, I had psychic abilities concerning death, which I 
             inherited from my mother's side. I new when any of our relatives died, I even new 
             when a close pet had died. Because I already new I didn't show any emotion when 
            they told me, which was alright as neither my father nor his father showed emotion 
           either. In fact neither of them talked about anything except themselves. I think I had 
                    already started reading about meditation and mind control by then.

              Next, lets skip to my teens. By then I had the mind control thing down pat, both 
            physically and emotionally I couldn't feel anything. My peers started noticing me by 
           experimenting on me to see if they could make me feel something. But I soon found 
            out that totally controlling your anger isn't safe. I blew for only a minor reason and 
              picked up a friend over my head and slammed him down on a picket fence, then 
            proceeded to put my knee on his back and hold him there. There wee two more of 
           our friends there but they couldn't pull me off until I cooled down. I remembered the 
             whole instance but during the act the only thing going through my mind was KILL. 
            That was only the first time I blew, the second time I totally blacked out except the 
            word kill before the black out. When I came to my friend was shaking like a leaf, he 
           said that I picked up a fairly heavy chair by the bottom of one leg, lifted it high in the 
            air, and brought it down where his head was a half second before. The impact left a 
           deep indent in the floor. After that I realized I had to release some pressure, at least 
                 when I was alone. I haven't had any problems with my temper since then.

            Continuing on, with my so called coolness and my sense of humor I managed to do 
               all right with the girls. Thinking it was cool I never turned any of them down, 
               whether or not they were suppose to be with my friends or not, I didn't really 
            consider anyone my friend. I also thought it was a waste of time to go out with a girl 
           more than twice if I didn't get what I wanted. One time I went out with a nice girl and 
             we had a lovely time making out. She told her friend that she liked me a lot. The 
            next day she and I along with my friend and his girl friend were suppose to go to a 
            special spot at lunch time. My friend was driving so we went to pick up his girlfriend 
            first. When we got there she had a friend of her own who they put in the back seat 
             with me. Bad thing to do, it wasn't long before I had my arm around her. Then we 
            picked up my girlfriend. First there was a look of surprise quickly replaced by a look 
           of sadness that I'll never forget. I couldn't say anything or look at anyone after that. I 
           remembered how sweet she was the night before, and that I really did like her a lot. 
                Six months later I seen her again, she still hadn't got over me, and I was too 
           ashamed to even apologize let alone ask her out. Since that time I've never gone out 
             with anyone I cared for as they deserved a lot better than me. Also since that day I 
                                   started drinking heavier and heavier.

           By now the only way I could go on was with mind control, alcohol, and drugs. At times 
             my moods were changing from depression to manic even without booze or drugs. 
             Sometimes I got so depressed I would seclude myself for weeks at a time with out 
            paying attention to whether I bathed or ate. At one point I was getting dizzy spells 
             and the doctor said I was suffering from malnutrition. The first time I was manic I 
            was sure I was the antichrist. At another time I thought I could heal people with my 
                              hands. Of course there were spending sprees.

Finally, a diagnosis, during a very deep withdrawal period I had to see a government 
             official, a work counselor. Within five minutes she was on the phone to the mental 
              health, and set an appointment for the same day. The mental health counselor 
            decided to put me in a day program instead of locking me up. The doctor put me on 
                Sumontil. A little latter I was referred to a psychiatrist who liked dishing out 
            prescriptions; he added Ativan, Seconal, and Xanix. I needed the Antivan because I 
           was having just about constant anxiety attacks since I left my safe refuge, and had to 
            walk on crowded sidewalks, ride crowded buses, and go to a crowded day program 
           where I spent most of the first month sitting in the corner away from everyone else. I 
             needed the tranquilizers because I was only getting two to four hours sleep most 
              nights. Once I started getting a little closer to the group without a panic attack, 
                another member came to me as he thought I seemed a lot like him. He was 
           diagnosed as manic depressive, and I was diagnosed as major depressive, but we did 
                    seem to like the same things and were soon out gambling together.

                I was probably swinging the other way but was still being treated for major 
              depression. I was in a bit of a fog with all this sedating medications so I started 
           reducing it with out telling the doctors. As well, my father was sending me sedatives 
              and pain killers like Talwens that he couldn't take. Even though I was cutting my 
                sedatives and sleeping pills down I was finding myself in places that I didn't 
            remember going to. I also found things I had bought and put in weird places, that I 
            didn't remember buying let alone why I bought them. Living in this unreal mixed up 
             world was getting to be too much. I had a killer cocktail thanks to my prescription 
           happy psychiatrist and my father. When my daughter said she was staying at a friends 
              house, it was time to take action. First, I went to the liquor store and found the 
              strongest cider they had. When I got home I took every prescription I could find, 
            whether I knew what it was or not, and poured them in a mug. The mug must have 
              been at least three-quarters full. I put on a heavy music song that talked about 
           suicide, I can't remember name or group--daughter destroyed it. Sat back in my easy 
           chair with the cider beside me and the mug in my hand. I started gulping them down. 
            I woke up in the hospital puking up blood, seems my daughter came home early for 
           some reason. My doctor was there, but he just gave me a dirty look and released me, 
           even though it was 2:30 am.. Soon after that I gradually went off the antidepressants, 
                      they wouldn't give me anything else anyway. Then I left the city.

              I was fairly healthy for ten years until Christmas 1992. Just before Christmas my 
            mother phoned asking me to visit her, which was unlike her to ask for anything for 
           herself. I told her I was too busy, which was a lie, I just wanted to party. On Christmas 
               day my brother phoned to tell me that she had died in her sleep. My brother 
           gathered up all of her things and left within two days. I knew my father couldn't take 
           care of himself so I went down to move him back to where I was living so I could look 
            after him even though he never looked after me or cared what happened to me. He 
             helped my brother a lot more. Actually we are only half brothers, same father. My 
                                    depression was gradually returning.

            By 1994, We decided to move back to the coast, where I grew up, and my daughter 
            spent most of her growing years. My father also liked the idea because most of the 
            family is buried in Victoria and my brother for some reason had my mothers ashes. 
              When we got here of course my father wanted to phone my brother who lives in 
           Victoria. My brother told him flat out that he didn't want either of us living anywhere 
           near him. My father lived until 1996, my brother paid him a visit for about a hour just 
                                              before he died.

           I managed to hold on until early 1997 when the depression became to much to bear, 
           so I told my doctor, and he put me on Prozac. I think it was the mental health that got 
            me into the evening group at the hospital. The group had a psychiatrist, and he took 
            me as a patient. It must of been about five months when I had a severe panic attack, 
            and was put in the hospital for a week. When I seen my psychiatrist after that I told 
           him how high I was before the attack, and he finally got the true picture. He took me 
           off Prozac, and put me on Eptival ( Valproic Acid ) as well as Zoiclone when I told him 
                           I was getting up around three or four in the morning.

            Since then, the psychiatrist has added Clonazepam, increased the Eptival to 1500mg 
              a day, and experimented with first Trazodone and now Wellbutrin. I am in much 
              better shape than I've ever been. My lows don't last too long, as I follow my own 
            advice with the exercise and deep breathing, and I usually can handle the highs. It's 
           the mixed moods that seem to be the scariest and hardest to control, because I can't 
                                              think straight.

I hope you didn't mind reading the ravings of a madman. I created this site, with help 
                   from Kathi, to help people like ourselves, and I hope it will help you.

                          Best of luck to you from another face in the dark, Bruce
 

Visit Bruce at any of the following websites

  Feeling Good

 Faces in the Dark

 Split Hope

Or EMAIL Me

caringbear@home.com
 
 

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