Oops nearly forgot to give this post a title

And so yes, I have changed my meds. Well no, of course I didn't just change them myself, you understand; I met a new (to me) doctor dude and he said listen lass what you're on just ain't enough. Or words to that effect. So in fact it was he who changed my meds.

Obviously, I know about side effects of new drugs blahbety blah. These seem to make me feel slightly drunk or frankly high out of my box. Neither one is strictly speaking unpleasant. So we soldier on. The incoherence effects will most likely (and sadly) wear off. However. There are two entries in the list of side effects which are worthy of my note. One: it says "do not take these pills if you have bipolar disorder as they may trigger an episode". Two: it says "do not take these pills if you have or have ever had anorexia" (no explanation given – for a good reason, as we can guess).

Please, I am not unaware of or unsympathetic to the suffering of others. No really, I am not. But I am, however, a totally self-obsessed, self-aggrandising, self-regarding whining shit (yes, really), and looking at these two possible side effects, I realise one more thing about myself.

I don't actually want to get well. As in, I don't want to be a "normal" person (whatever that may be), who doesn't suffer from fucking something or another within their psyche. Yes granted, I would like to have the fucking depression lift so that I could sleep for more than two hours at a go (and please, without dreaming things like, I don't know, children heinously disabled with ingrowing heads and the like; that's really unpleasant); or so that I could fucking well get things that need doing, done; you know, that sorta thing.

However. I am just so not going to tell the good doctor about my (long-since, admittedly) diagnosed "non-specific" eating disorder (it's not like I was properly anorexic, you see). And he isn't going to take me seriously anyway, if I do tell him I self-diagnosed myself the other year as having (fairly mild, functionality-enabling) hypomania. Is he? Because man, which self-obsessed, self-aggrandising, self-regarding whining shit hasn't diagnosed themselves with all sorts.

So that's good.

For you see, the non-specific eating-disorderly person within me goes, hur-bloody-rah, a possibility of a renewed encounter with an eating disorder? With ending up being, you know, like, really thin and stuff? For since I gave up smoking (eleven, no, twelve days short of five months ago, don't you know), I have put on weight, like, grossly. Oooh icky yucky fat person, that's me now, ah woe. To the point that…nevermind. Just take my word on this. I've put on weight and I'm not happy about that. It's not like I'm reaching for the choccie bar every time I'd normally reach out for a ciggie. It's just that nicotine has run my metabolism for more decades really than I care to think about; take away the nicotine and my metabolism goes bananas. Or rather, it doesn't go bananas. It seems to stop altogether. I put on weight even if I lived on light and air (which obviously I don't do, for I am not – contrary to rumours – an angel).

I am going on like a wank, aren't I? Yes I am. Anyway. I am a person who doesn't want to be "well", whatever that is; I am a person who's savouring the chance of kicking off a new season with a tiny touch of anorexia. And given that I'm also a person who's fucking well grown up (at least by her passport), and grown-ups know that some people actually really suffer (and indeed, kill themselves slowly and horribly) with this very anorexia that I want to have quick dalliance with (and I won't even go to the area where babies starve to death because of poverty and my Western affluence)…I am aware of the fact that I am a useless, whining, self-obsessed, self-aggrandising, self-regarding piece of shit, and I need to get real and become a good person…

…or at least keep quiet.

The latter, I can maybe manage, for a bit.