The Despair of the Antipodean Runaway

I was watching Stephen Fry’s The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive the other night, and it made me realise a few things. Firstly, I am glad I’m not bipolar. Depression is bad enough, and from what I saw on there about bipolar, I realise it could be much worse.

Also, it made it absolutely clear I’m not bipolar. While I had experienced many of the things mentioned on the depressive side, I’ve clearly never experienced mania. The bizarre behaviour attributed to being manic is completely alien to me.

Most importantly, at least to my current situation, is how difficult it is to find somewhere to run away to here in Australia.

Stephen Fry had a very public breakdown some years ago, where he ran off from London and wound up in Belgium. For its faults, Belgium seems a reasonable place to run away to. Plus it’s relatively easy to get to from London.

Here in Australia, the options are limited. There is no rail link to New Zealand, and flying there doesn’t afford the same anonymity. Even hopping the train to Sydney from here in Canberra requires booking in advance, and the trains only run at most three times a day.

Another option might be to head down to the South Coast, but everyone in Canberra goes there, so it doesn’t really offer any sanctuary. I’d be spotted right away.

About the only real option available is to get the bus down to the Snowy Mountains. (The central character of the local film Somersault does that, although foe different reasons.)

Anyway, while I might wish to run away from all my problems for a few weeks, or even just days, the options don’t have the same romance that the Benelux nations offer. If it weren’t fir the cost, I’d consider it.

The Depressing Reality of Human Nature

Likely to be the first in a long running series.

I’m suddenly feeling kind of unwell. What has sparked this sudden malaise seems to be reading about a difference of opinion between a couple of people. The precise problem is that I desperately want to yell at the party I disagree with that they are idiots.

Now, you may think this a little extreme, but this is becoming my increasing reaction to particular types of idiocy I see far too often. The recent resurgence may have something to do with the changes I am currently undergoing in my medication, but there is a deeper problem.

Basically, when I see someone making an arse of themselves by touting some nonsense as fact, I often get frustrated at my own inabilitybto articulate exactly what is wrong with their argument. It doesn’t help that as I get more frustrated, it gets harder for me to order my thoughts in such a way to put forward a cogent argument.

The upshot of this is that I often find myself withdrawing from an argument rather than pursuing my case, which often results in the other party thinking they have won. (I suppose you could say they had, but it wouldn’t be because they were right.)

In turn, this frustration seems to be isolating me more and more from other people. People I previously had liked and/or respected I now view with some contempt. I spend less time on some message boards that I used to enjoy, just because I think they’ve turned stupid.

To look at it without by own personal problems being in the way, it’s like this strange need people have to believe what they believe and ignore any contrary evidence. I suppose I may even be guilty of this to some extent, but some of these people take it to extremes.

Another part of what so frustrates me is that, all too frequently, the arguments have been settled. The debate is over. Matters of fact have been determined. And yet they still insist that it’s an open question.

I could go on. I probably will. But for now, I think I’ll end it here.

I just don’t like people

Really, over the years I have grown to actively hate humanity as a whole. There are individuals I quite like, and some I respect, but in general I would rather not have to deal with people.