Am I Too Happy?


When I was a teenager, and living in East Maitland, there was a story in the Maitland Mercury about John, a bloke who wanted to set up a club for gamers – miniature wargamers & board gamers. Although too young to officially join, I went along and, as it happened, John and my father knew each other. My age was overlooked, and I started going regularly, learning about Napoleonic warfare, strategy and gaming. I loved it.

Since coming home, I’ve been thinking I should try and contact John, find out if the gaming group is still going. But, as with many such thoughts, I’ve not chased it up yet and it was on the back-burner as a ‘will do some day’ item.

At work, I’ve been having some issues with the computer network, and so I got an email from a senior bloke at the IT department. He had the same name as John’s son (distinctive enough there was a reasonable chance it was the same guy, and hey, it’s quite believable John’s offspring would end up in IT) so I asked if it was him. Then, I found out the gamer group still meets, still on Friday nights at John’s house. Although, they’re into Warhammer, which leaves me cold. But the email chat was just another brick in the wall – the wall on which is painted a massive sign that I love being back in my homeland, and the sense of being where I belong is enormously beneficial for my well-being.

Some days, I wonder if being this happy over something so intangible as being home is a sign of some sort of disorder. I wonder if maybe I need professional assistance.

I can just imagine the opening line of that visit:

“Hello doctor, I am terribly happy; something must be wrong”

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Some Friends Will Hate Me For This

Some of my friends will hate on me for saying this, but I do not believe depression exists.

Or, at least, does not exist in the way our society does.

I don’t accept it’s a disease.

I don’t accept that it’s an excuse for behaviour like this: Link to Sydney Morning Herald article about farmer Geoff Hunt killing his wife and three kids. Or, for that matter, any anti-social, criminal or inappropriate behaviour. I have though sat in criminal courts and listened to solicitor after solicitor stand up and say that their client should receive a lesser sentence because they are suffering from depression, are being treated for depression etc etc etc. I have never though heard a solicitor stand up in court and explain their clients actions as being caused by their dysfunctional liver, or excessive acne, or ingrown toenails.

Defence solicitors love depression because it’s undiagnosable, in the clinical sense. Because the prosecutors can never stand up and counter “Prove it!”

Years ago, I made a comment on a forum where I referred to depression as “a code-word doctors use for ‘this person needs to get their shit together, and won’t'”. When I wrote it, it was flippant, and half-intentionally inflammatory. But the reality is that, over time, I’ve found evidence to back the comment keeps piling up.

The standard argument against my claim is that it’s biological, beyond the control of the patient, a chemical imbalance in the brain.

But it’s not. Current medical science does not know what the ‘balance’ should be, so of course, they cannot measure an imbalance. And even if this ‘imbalance’ theory were right, I ask this: if your depression is caused by a chemical imbalance, when was the last time anyone gave you a diagnostic test? To measure the chemicals in your brain? You haven’t had such a test? Know why? It’s because they don’t exist. Because, as I’ve already mentioned, doctors know it’s not real.

The other argument is that depression is a result of a lack of serotonin. Since we do not know what the appropriate level of serotonin is, the only way we have come to believe it’s a lack of serotonin is that boosting serotonin in a depressed person improves their depression. This proves depression is a disease in the same way that sculling a bottle of vodka proves that sobriety is a disease.

In the last ten or so years since my initial comment, I have encountered a single example of someone who had “depression” as a result of a quantifiable biological cause. Actual, measurable, clinically-identified. But I’ve encountered hundreds who have claimed they were biologically depressed who weren’t.

If depression is not a disease, what is it?

It’s a failure to cope.

With life.

And the only way to address it is to do the things depressed people claim they can’t do (when really, what they’re saying is they don’t want to do).

Get out of bed.

Fix your shit.

That’s the only way it gets fixed.

Am I wrong? C’mon, you think I am, don’t you?

And to prove me wrong, you’ll get your shit sorted, get your life back in order, and you’ll still be depressed, right?

Yeah. Sure you will.

Either you’ll do as I say, you’ll fix your shit, and find I’m right.

Or you’ll continue, and you’ll proclaim I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Not because I’m wrong. But because you’re too addicted to the pity-train to hear what I’m telling you.

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I Couldn’t Write Comedy This Good


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On the Days I Cared

I was the best, you all knew it
On the days I cared
You can all say I blew it
You’ll be talking about me for years

I was my own man, can y’all say that?
Yeah, I was the shit

I Will Not Go Quietly, The Whitlams, 2002

 I need to remember this.

Whatever my failings, I’ve never lived a beige life. And, when it comes down to it, I’d never have done so.

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Subscription Test

To avoid losing my blog again, I’ll set up an email subscription so one of my email addresses can get all posts in future

This is a post to test it works

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She’s Dead Captain

Some aliens are worth waiting for

Some aliens are worth waiting for

I have kept blogs for more than twelve years now. With different titles, and by different personas.

Dermott kept one on LiveJournal. Then Aurelius had a few, most notably The Lost Legionary, and Aurelius’ New Direction.

In about 2007, old posts from all of them were copied into Waiting for the Aliens. I was still using Aurelius (or, to use the formal, Marcus Flavius Aurelius) to write. But then came the legal battles of 2009/10. And a large part of those were around whether I was Aurelius. The prosecution never managed to prove that point, and so Aliens never was able to be used against me in the various wars with a landlord who was upset by my descriptions of their thefts.

When Aliens was caught up in legal chicanery, I registered and blogged there instead. I also backed up Aliens and its predecessors to there. That blog covered 2009-2014 – the highs and lows of the Lana story, the end of the Lana story, the ugly post-breakup of the Lana story, the just-as-ugly lost year of 2012/13, and the gradual return to something approaching normalcy.

Two nights ago, I learnt everything there – at least 1200 posts, but maybe more, I can’t recall exactly – had been lost. In a confusion over which credit card to bill, and the hosting company deleting the files. I can get it back from a back-up, but that’ll cost a fortune, and so I felt it better to start afresh, with a clean slate.

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