Question:
Depression can be expressed in many different forms. One form involves two people and is a polarized duet composed of an identified patient and an identified helper. Both partners in the duet are depressed, and both parties have a desire to change. They combine together and polarize the way they express this internal conflict such that one partner is identified as the depressed patient and the other partner is identified as the nondepressed helper. It’s the identified patient’s job to express their combined depression. While it’s the identified helper’s job to express their combined desire not to be depressed.
Oh gobbledegook, Stewart. I do understand how it may be therapeutic for you to attempt to see society as comprised of folks who all suffer from your ailment, but I’m afraid I can’t be your buddy on this trip. -Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
Response:
He should jump the bitch, then use the gun. *plonk*
Thanks. I’ll add it to my collection. 974 on google. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
3. That I should put up with her behaviour in order to "get in touch with my own depressed feelings." I guess when you’re a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. I actually do not suffer from depression at all. I *do* suffer from a girlfriend with depression who I love very much.
I didn’t suggest that you "put up with her behavior" in order to get in touch with your own depressed feelings. I suggested that you are using her to help you get in touch with your own depressed feelings. You can claim not to be depressed if you like, and you can claim not to understand her or her depression if you like. But I would suggest that you are in fact depressed. I would further suggest that your depression is what led you to be attracted to someone else who is depressed. Depression can be expressed in many different forms. One form involves two people and is a polarized duet composed of an identified patient and an identified helper. Both partners in the duet are depressed, and both parties have a desire to change. They combine together and polarize the way they express this internal conflict such that one partner is identified as the depressed patient and the other partner is identified as the nondepressed helper. It’s the identified patient’s job to express their combined depression. While it’s the identified helper’s job to express their combined desire not to be depressed. I want to help her. I came to this newgroup and posted in good faith. If this is the best that the collective group can come up with then I guess there’s no solving this dilemma.
The dilemma is your own internal dilemma. When you change, your dilemma will change. If you don’t change, your dilemma will remain the same. Sincerely Stewart —
Response:
He should jump the bitch, then use the gun.
*plonk* Bruce.
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Oh, I understand jokesters. More than you might think. Rather than ignore them I like to use the power of prose to attempt to startle them back – makes for an interesting discourse. You think I have feelings? Read the rest of this post and go figure. It really is not pleasant, but if you wish to even try to understand the poor girl’s situation, you’d better read on. How long has she been on Zoloft? It may take a month or two to kick in. How many other meds has she tried? I’ve been with her for 3 years. She was first prescribed with Prozac and her dosage was gradually ramped to 60mg over 2 or so months. By the end of that 2 months, she was quite repaired and we did spectacularly well together – she was happy! But shortly after starting the 60mg (say, the 2 1/2 month point) she began to head downhill until she was broken again. We took her back to the dosage she had done very well at for 2 months, 40mg, but she remained totally broken. Maybe you should investigate Cipramil or Aropax. There are three main types of serotonin disorder, all of which are treated by different chemicals to inhibit the uptake of serotonin into the nervous system. A three month course of each of the main serotonin re-uptake inhibitors should be more than sufficient to determine the best level of stability for the poor girl. Have your girlfriend’s quacks even discussed this with her? Are they taking the poor woman for a ride? Seriously. Ask yourself. Yes, although I don’t understand why depression allows her the energy to spend endless amounts of time playing on her computer or watching the Lifetime women’s network on TV, and absolutely no time bathing or doing the dishes for once. It seems to me an awfully convenient malady. I wouldn’t mind it myself, if I got to goof off all day. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, but you know what I mean. It’s an escape. It’s a way of dealing with a trauma, or a way of dealing with something it wants to deny ever happened. The mind distracts itself so it does not have to deal with the issue that causes it so much pain. Her depression sounds like the classic coping mechanism. Yes, it is awfully convenient. It is convenient for the poor girl who has you to rely upon so that she can distract herself from whatever it is that troubles her so. Despite earlier posts, you come across as a selfish, unthinking boor. The energy that she would normally expend in bathing, doing the dishes, and being the perfect girlfriend to you is all being expended on NOT dealing with the reality of whatever it is that is troubling her. Can’t you see that? She is immersing herself in non-activity so that she does not have to deal with her problem. It’s that simple. Think about why she rejects you, yet she knows you mean her no arm. Why is that? Did something occur in her past that she will not speak of? For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I’m hoping that the meds will work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer. 3 years. 3 years I’ve been doing this. It’s dedication. But the toll on me is like the ocean on a rock wall – there is erosion. 3 years? Shoot her doctors… or find a new one. Try your own GP for starters. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression. We both understand the science stuff. We’ve had a long time to study it. Her depression is not event-oriented. She’s apparently (according to her parents who just thought she was obstinate) had it all her life. What evidence do you have to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that some event did not take place in the poor girl’s life? The word of her parents? These may seem mean and despicable words, but what evidence do you have that her father did not abuse her, and that her mother is denying her father’s past acts and covering up some past event to protect her own, thin psychological barriers at the expense of your beloved? Have you any idea how often a mother will make a daughter suffer unspeakable torment and nightmares merely to avoid facing the truth herself? Even if we concede it is not possible that her father is the cause of this problem, what about his brothers? Her mother’s brothers? A long past neighbour? A former lover? An abortion? Witnessing a traumatic accident? Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few things. Good point. I think I will. You better not do that without first socialising the idea with the poor girl during one of her more lucid moments. And you’d better pray she remembers. And you certainly better not do it without talking to whomever it is you have been paying obscene amounts of money to for the last three years. What if the poor girl is transferring or projecting her past trauma on to you? Can you imagine the unspeakable damage that you could do? I hope some of this helps! All of it did. Thank you. I owe you a beer. You owe your girlfriend a feed and a bath the next time she shows up. You may not realise this, but that act in itself is an act of remorse. Feelings of utter uselessness and swings of mood are the norm for the depressed. She knows that she can trust you. She would not come back for food if that were not so. To walk out because you have had enough is to destroy her. You need to understand what depression is, yet you need not understand your girlfriend’s depression. The distinction is vital. The whole world collapses in upon her. Nobody cares, nobody sees her plight. She may as well be dead for all she might care. The very least is that you are released from your own torment by leaving her. To put it another way, your girlfriend is compressed by the whole world. It is pressing in upon her. She currently cannot deal with whatever it is that is troubling her, and she most certainly will not share it with you, for to do so is to expose herself to more pain. There are two things that you should consider… 1. Take her away from the quacks and get her to a GP with the aim of finding a drug that affords her poor life some semblance of stability. 2. Do as many small things for her as she will accept from you. And when she rejects you, simply let her know that you love her dearly, and that you will be there when she needs you… and leave her alone. You will likely never, ever know what troubles her, so do not even try to understand anything beyond the fact that the poor woman is suffering deeply. She needs to find a medication, in a very short time, that gives her some stability. All the psychiatrists in the world cannot help her, only she can help herself. It is only her own realisation that will help her through. And your best shot for the poor woman is a period of drug induced stability, where she has sufficient time to reflect upon the cause of her problem. All that the quacks are doing is taking her money so that they can find a way to bring the poor woman down the path of her own self-realisation. Predisposition to mental illness is caused by a chemical imbalance in the nervous system. It is not necessarily an inherited trait, yet, understanding something of her family history may provide you with the clues you need to understand her predicament. Is her mother unstable or unusual in any way? What about her grand-parents? How does she react in the presence of her family members? Maybe nothing ever hapened in the past. Maybe she is scared of commitment. Maybe she never held down a good job. Maybe she needs a pet. If you really, truly love this woman, you may find something that gives you a glimmer of hope, but you have to work at it. Psychology really is the magick of the mind. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Some good points raised there Kman. The girlfriend really does need to see her GP and possibly be referred to a psychiatrist. A lot of depression isn’t mental illness, however, so a psychologist may be the best bet – the GP can advise on that. Many people think that depression is your body calling out for help and that actual illness or incident that caused the depression happened a little while ago, possible kicked off by something that happened a long time ago. Some people think that depression is your conscious mind resisting your unconscious mind that is trying to tell you something i.e. An incident you pushed into your unconscious mind a while back has stayed there long enough and needs to be dealt with. You’re unconscious mind is pushing that incident back into your conscious and your conscious is resisting ( Freud thought that is was your unconscious mind that was forcing pain onto your conscious mind, but Jung said that your unconscious mind is inherently good and tries to help you by forcing you to confront what you pushed into your unconscious in the past. Depression is your conscious mind resisting). If you really care for and love this woman, then offer her your support, but as Kman so eloquently put it, you can’t make her to do anything, it’s up to her but you can support her. Love isn’t picnics, and roses – love is when you are prepared to make … read more »
Response:
: Connie, : : Thank you so much for your post – finally some rational people! : : Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ : here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate. : : Oh, I understand jokesters. More than you might think. Rather than : ignore them I like to use the power of prose to attempt to startle : them back – makes for an interesting discourse. However, this : particular post really was a cry for help, and I’m glad you responded : with empathy. : : How long has she been on Zoloft? It may take a month or two to kick in. How : many other meds has she tried? : : I’ve been with her for 3 years. She was first prescribed with Prozac : and her dosage was gradually ramped to 60mg over 2 or so months. By : the end of that 2 months, she was quite repaired and we did : spectacularly well together – she was happy! But shortly after : starting the 60mg (say, the 2 1/2 month point) she began to head : downhill until she was broken again. We took her back to the dosage : she had done very well at for 2 months, 40mg, but she remained totally : broken. : : We then got a referral from our doctor to a psychiatrist because my : girlfriend was doing stuff like leaving, hiding in her car in the : middle of nowhere for 5 days at a time, and coming back for food. : : The new psychiatrist is slowly ramping her up, this time on Zoloft. : She’s up to 50mg now, and has been on it about 3 weeks. I see signs of : improvement, but I’ve spent more time with her when she was broken : than when she was fixed, so I’m trying to find ways to get her to : participate some in life when she’s broken. : : Is she in any kind of therapy? : : No. Do you think it helps? She didn’t need any when she was on Prozac : and fixed. It’s certainly a great recurring revenue stream for the : mental heath field, but I’ll do anything for her that helps her. Well, I am not totally enamored with thetherapists myself. Occasionaly you find a good one. One thing that I would be very curous about, and this may not be something that a therapist may be able to help with, is just how much of her behavior is depression related, and how much she needs to ‘grow up a little bit’ If it possible to separate the two. Quite a few people, that are not severely depressed, manage to deal with it without meds, but those are usually very determined people, that before the depression are used to, or have learned to pick themselves up and get going in hard situations. Than you have people that aren’t used to putting up a lot of effort in the first place, and then you add depression to that. The whole thing, at least for me is impossible to figure out, and I’m not even sure if there is a ‘professional’ that deals with this angle of it. I guess if your girlfriend approached a therapist with a notion, help me figure out how much of my behavior is due to depresion, and therefore irrational, and how much of it may be due to a level of immaturity, or looking for the easy way out. I’m guessing a pretty decent indicator may be how she behaves when she is ‘not broken’. If there are slight charracter flaws that manifest themselves then, then they probably get magnified in depression. One person in this group comes to mind, as someone that knows she has things to work through, but rather than giving in to her feelings, she keeps pushing and pushing with a huge amont of resolve and determination to overcome the obstacles. It’s Chimera. You may want to read through some of her posts… see if they uncover something new. I do see some of the actions of depressed people being parellously close to what an outsider may charachterize as lazyness, or bad judgement, or lack of resolve… I’m going on the premisse that most of us have some character flaws, some bigger than the others, and they play into our behavior, depressed or not. I’be even occasionally heard that some of them can play into our depression, andmake it worse, or we could put some effort into the right things, that will cause us to make some progress, and personal growth, and that they too would affect the depression in a positive way, at least a small percentage. Is she willing to look ‘inside herself’ (on or off the meds) and willing to change things about herself that she finds less than desireable? We all have a bunch of little bad habits, things that set us off… that if we were truly honest with ourselves, we’d like to change. Doing that takes a lot of effort and work, and a large percentage of people shy away from it. When not depressed, is she one of those people that tries really hard to better herself, or just a little bit, or none? : Yes, although I don’t understand why depression allows her the energy : to spend endless amounts of time playing on her computer or watching : the Lifetime women’s network on TV, and absolutely no time bathing or : doing the dishes for once. It seems to me an awfully convenient : malady. I wouldn’t mind it myself, if I got to goof off all day. : : Sorry, I didn’t mean that, but you know what I mean. One thing that has occured to me, You may want to do a little research on a principle called ‘Tough Love’ and about ‘positive reinforcement’. If there is any non-depression related personality flaws that you may be dealing with, and those two are usuallt pretty got at steering people into some positive growth. You also need to figure out for yourself, to what extent you may be able to set some boundaries of what may be acceptable behavior, and what may not. By reading your post, my gut feeling is that there is some depression, and that some of her behavior just mught be excuses… But I really don’t know, and I have to keep in mind that i’m only hearing one side of the story, and it’s near impossible to pass good realistic judgement based on that. I see quite a few people that put a lot of effort into trying to function, in spite of their affliction(s), and other who do not. I’m hoping a good therepist might be able to sit with both of you, some together, some separately, and help you sift through some of that? I don’t know if or how much literature… is out there, if any trying to sort through depression vs character flaws, and how they mesh. : : 3 years. 3 years I’ve been doing this. It’s dedication. But the toll : on me is like the ocean on a rock wall – there is erosion. Yes, there is that too. One thing that you may have to decide is whether, or how long you may be able to deal with this. It’s a hard decision to make, but you have to be honest with yourself, and really take a good realistic look at a sacrifice you may have to make, provided you guys stay together for a very long time, get married… And the longer you stay together, the longer the life goes on, the more complicated things will get, even without depression. Especially if you start a family. More things to do, more things to worry about, more responsibility, more worries… .. .. If there is too much slack that you end up having to pick up, it will wear you out. No matter how much you love her, no matter how noble your intentions may be, and especially if you don’t see a lot of effort being put in into improvement on her part, it will wear you out. Like you said, the erosion, the rock eventually crumbles. And maybe distancing yourself from her a little bit, or for short periods of time may give her some motivation to figure out for herself how much of her malady is really from depression, and if there is any additional effort that she could be putting in to ‘feel better’. You know, most people go through most productive periods of ‘personal growth’ when not in a relationship (boyfriend/girlfriend) or (husband/wife), but when they have no choice but to fend for themselves. You know,if she was on her own, depression or not, she would HAVE to find a way to function to some extent. If her depression is so severe that she couldn’t function at all, that would show up rather quickly too. I don’t know if it’s a good one, but it’s some sort of a way to find out how much is really depression related, and how much is excuses… Take care of yourself! Hugz, — Connie =^..^= Well, I’ll pass on beer, but you can bribe me with Nutella! 
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate. Please, Don’t lose hope. And you only got 4 responses, so please don’t jump the gun. It may take a day or two to get more responses… He should jump the bitch, then use the gun. Good news is that help is available, bit it may not happen very quickly. Certainly not on usenet. It’s more of a process, and for some people keeping their depression in check has to become a way of life. You will not be able to reason, or rationalize with her, to get her to do things, like clean up the house… in a hurry, and by pushing, the way you would with non-depressed person, you will either make things worse, or alienate her, or even contribute to the depression worsening. Yah, murder by nagging. For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I haven’t been following this thread for long but I assume you are referring to Bernie Baby otherwise known as Strange Mother Bernadette. I’m hoping that the meds will
I have no fucking idea, but only because you are replying to a post I did not make. Dumbfuck. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
Oh, I understand jokesters. More than you might think. Rather than ignore them I like to use the power of prose to attempt to startle them back – makes for an interesting discourse.
You think I have feelings? Read the rest of this post and go figure. It really is not pleasant, but if you wish to even try to understand the poor girl’s situation, you’d better read on. How long has she been on Zoloft? It may take a month or two to kick in. How many other meds has she tried? I’ve been with her for 3 years. She was first prescribed with Prozac and her dosage was gradually ramped to 60mg over 2 or so months. By the end of that 2 months, she was quite repaired and we did spectacularly well together – she was happy! But shortly after starting the 60mg (say, the 2 1/2 month point) she began to head downhill until she was broken again. We took her back to the dosage she had done very well at for 2 months, 40mg, but she remained totally broken.
Maybe you should investigate Cipramil or Aropax. There are three main types of serotonin disorder, all of which are treated by different chemicals to inhibit the uptake of serotonin into the nervous system. A three month course of each of the main serotonin re-uptake inhibitors should be more than sufficient to determine the best level of stability for the poor girl. Have your girlfriend’s quacks even discussed this with her? Are they taking the poor woman for a ride? Seriously. Ask yourself. Yes, although I don’t understand why depression allows her the energy to spend endless amounts of time playing on her computer or watching the Lifetime women’s network on TV, and absolutely no time bathing or doing the dishes for once. It seems to me an awfully convenient malady. I wouldn’t mind it myself, if I got to goof off all day. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, but you know what I mean.
It’s an escape. It’s a way of dealing with a trauma, or a way of dealing with something it wants to deny ever happened. The mind distracts itself so it does not have to deal with the issue that causes it so much pain. Her depression sounds like the classic coping mechanism. Yes, it is awfully convenient. It is convenient for the poor girl who has you to rely upon so that she can distract herself from whatever it is that troubles her so. Despite earlier posts, you come across as a selfish, unthinking boor. The energy that she would normally expend in bathing, doing the dishes, and being the perfect girlfriend to you is all being expended on NOT dealing with the reality of whatever it is that is troubling her. Can’t you see that? She is immersing herself in non-activity so that she does not have to deal with her problem. It’s that simple. Think about why she rejects you, yet she knows you mean her no arm. Why is that? Did something occur in her past that she will not speak of? For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I’m hoping that the meds will work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer. 3 years. 3 years I’ve been doing this. It’s dedication. But the toll on me is like the ocean on a rock wall – there is erosion.
3 years? Shoot her doctors… or find a new one. Try your own GP for starters. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression. We both understand the science stuff. We’ve had a long time to study it. Her depression is not event-oriented. She’s apparently (according to her parents who just thought she was obstinate) had it all her life.
What evidence do you have to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that some event did not take place in the poor girl’s life? The word of her parents? These may seem mean and despicable words, but what evidence do you have that her father did not abuse her, and that her mother is denying her father’s past acts and covering up some past event to protect her own, thin psychological barriers at the expense of your beloved? Have you any idea how often a mother will make a daughter suffer unspeakable torment and nightmares merely to avoid facing the truth herself? Even if we concede it is not possible that her father is the cause of this problem, what about his brothers? Her mother’s brothers? A long past neighbour? A former lover? An abortion? Witnessing a traumatic accident? Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few things. Good point. I think I will.
You better not do that without first socialising the idea with the poor girl during one of her more lucid moments. And you’d better pray she remembers. And you certainly better not do it without talking to whomever it is you have been paying obscene amounts of money to for the last three years. What if the poor girl is transferring or projecting her past trauma on to you? Can you imagine the unspeakable damage that you could do? I hope some of this helps! All of it did. Thank you. I owe you a beer.
You owe your girlfriend a feed and a bath the next time she shows up. You may not realise this, but that act in itself is an act of remorse. Feelings of utter uselessness and swings of mood are the norm for the depressed. She knows that she can trust you. She would not come back for food if that were not so. To walk out because you have had enough is to destroy her. You need to understand what depression is, yet you need not understand your girlfriend’s depression. The distinction is vital. The whole world collapses in upon her. Nobody cares, nobody sees her plight. She may as well be dead for all she might care. The very least is that you are released from your own torment by leaving her. To put it another way, your girlfriend is compressed by the whole world. It is pressing in upon her. She currently cannot deal with whatever it is that is troubling her, and she most certainly will not share it with you, for to do so is to expose herself to more pain. There are two things that you should consider… 1. Take her away from the quacks and get her to a GP with the aim of finding a drug that affords her poor life some semblance of stability. 2. Do as many small things for her as she will accept from you. And when she rejects you, simply let her know that you love her dearly, and that you will be there when she needs you… and leave her alone. You will likely never, ever know what troubles her, so do not even try to understand anything beyond the fact that the poor woman is suffering deeply. She needs to find a medication, in a very short time, that gives her some stability. All the psychiatrists in the world cannot help her, only she can help herself. It is only her own realisation that will help her through. And your best shot for the poor woman is a period of drug induced stability, where she has sufficient time to reflect upon the cause of her problem. All that the quacks are doing is taking her money so that they can find a way to bring the poor woman down the path of her own self-realisation. Predisposition to mental illness is caused by a chemical imbalance in the nervous system. It is not necessarily an inherited trait, yet, understanding something of her family history may provide you with the clues you need to understand her predicament. Is her mother unstable or unusual in any way? What about her grand-parents? How does she react in the presence of her family members? Maybe nothing ever hapened in the past. Maybe she is scared of commitment. Maybe she never held down a good job. Maybe she needs a pet. If you really, truly love this woman, you may find something that gives you a glimmer of hope, but you have to work at it. Psychology really is the magick of the mind. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate. Please, Don’t lose hope. And you only got 4 responses, so please don’t jump the gun. It may take a day or two to get more responses… He should jump the bitch, then use the gun. Good news is that help is available, bit it may not happen very quickly. Certainly not on usenet. It’s more of a process, and for some people keeping their depression in check has to become a way of life. You will not be able to reason, or rationalize with her, to get her to do things, like clean up the house… in a hurry, and by pushing, the way you would with non-depressed person, you will either make things worse, or alienate her, or even contribute to the depression worsening. Yah, murder by nagging. For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet.
I haven’t been following this thread for long but I assume you are referring to Bernie Baby otherwise known as Strange Mother Bernadette. I’m hoping that the meds will – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression. Being that your girlfriend is afflicted by it, and not an expert, she may not be of a whole lot of help in explaining, at least in a way that makes sense, what it really is. There is a lot of good info about depression on the internet, and since you posted here, I’m assuming that you do have full internet access. The scientific conclusion can be summed up thus… "Her head is fucked." Also, how long have you known her? Has her behavior suddenly changed? Did you guys move-in together recently, and then this started? I don’t know how old you both are, but I’m assuming pretty young? Early 20s’? Did she move out of her parent’s house to move in with you? Sometimes depression is brought on by major, traumatic (even moving, change of jobs…) events in life… In other people, they’ve always ‘been that way’. How much do you know about her past behavior patterns? Maybe she’s been shagging on the side and got a dose of the clap. Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few things. Like bathing. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
– TO EMAIL ME ADD ".au" to the REPLY TO ADDRESS. Bernard Hubbard Australian, Gay and Proud Homophobia by any other name is still homophobia (Homophobia= fear of, hatred for & aversion to Homosexuals) MacQuarie Dictionary 2001
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Really, why should you suffer just because the bitch has an unbearable mental condition? Depression is, after all, merely an outward expression of a request to hasten death. Mr. Kadatcha Man, Now that I understand how you vocalize your feelings, I think I’ll be better able to communicate with you. You see, I gave some thought to your suggestion(s), but instead of acting on them I murdered a dog. You see, there’s this big fucking Rottweiler that lives around the corner in this big-ass country-club yard with a huge iron fence around it. Dog’s got this heavy collar that looks more like something out of a bondage gear catalog than a standard dog collar, hooked to a chain with links heavier than Puff Daddy’s necklace that leads back to a pounded stake in the ground made of iron. I’ve seen this plagiarised post before, but I’ll repost the rest for the benefit of those who have not seen it yet. Every day I walk by on my way to Parker Slim’s and that big black fucker comes charging at me like some kind of freight train, dropping froth in white foamy blobs from in between the gaps of his pointed yellow fangs. He roars and snorts and comes charging at me like he’s going to open a new ventilation window in my guts. But his chain’s a little bit shorter than his otherwise fenced boundary, so each time he gets jerked back when the chain pulls taut, just like a man hanged from the gallow’s pole. He trips, falls on his ass and eats turf but gets back up, springing and charging, snorting like a bull, trying to jump against the restraint of the chain tethered around him, ready to work up that supernatural chain-ripping strength just because he wants to fuck me up *that bad*, barking, roaring, just apeshit. Normally I just laugh but not today. Today I was ready. I had a filet mignon wrapped around an M-100 and a lighter ready, and I tossed him the steak and gunpowder cocktail. He snaps it up and pulls it down his throat into his stomach and that’s when it hit. By the time I got up from the ground, having finished laughing uproariously I was a mess and figured I’d better get my punk ass home before somebody sees me looking like this or the owner comes out to investigate what’s going on with his pet. So with every item of clothing soaked in blood and juices, decorated with shreds of flesh and pieces of dog, I stagger home to my piece of shit apartment and head for the bathroom. It’s even worse than I thought; I look like something out of Pulp Fiction or like an employee who just got off work from the local slaughterhouse and didn’t stop to change or wash up. I get the hot water flowing out of the sink faucet, strip off my t-shirt, my khakis, and toss them into a heap in the corner. My sunglasses, my jewelry, my watch, I rinse each item under the faucet and set them to dry on a towel that started off white but is rapidly turning pink. The shoes come off, and I wipe the gore off of them with another washcloth, and toss that into the heap also. The shit has soaked through and turned my socks a blotchy pink as well, so I shuck those off too. Staring at my reflection I see something out of a horror movie. I run my hands through my hair and a scattering of bits of flash and organ fall out onto the bathroom counter. I sweep them into the sink and the blood washes down, leaving these now-cleanly-washed gibblets of flesh piled up around the drain. There’s no way I’m getting back to presentable short of a shower or bath, I realize, so I turn on the water in the tub and it starts to fill. I check my reflection once more and am about to step out of my boxers when I hear a shrill voice. "Jeff?! Is that you? Did you spill something red in here?" It’s the girlfriend, Angela. I don’t even need to answer, her snoopy ass will seek me out anyway. A second later, the bathroom door opens, revealing me to her in my dogs-blood-and-boxer-shorts ensemble. "The fuck do you want, Angela?" I ask her. Her mouth opens in shock and surprise at the bathroom carnage. Fucking bitch; she really gets on my nerves. I didn’t let her move in because of her looks or her brains; basically I let her move in because she was pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe her bullshit that the kid was mine. "Jeff! My God, what happened?" "Get the fuck out of here, bitch! I’m tryin’ ta take a bath, yo!" I slam the door right in her face, then a second later, think better of it and open it again. "Hey, get me a forty ounce from the fridge!" I tell her, then slam the door again. The bath is ready by now and I shut the water off. I’m about to get in when I realize that whore Angela isn’t bringing me my forty, so I dip under the bathroom counter, where I keep a big Listerine bottle full of Jose Cuervo. I slug some of it back, belch, and set it on the rim of the tub as I get into the water. Less than five minutes later, before I’ve even managed to drink back half the bottle, that cunt is at the door again shouting "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeff!" I jump out of the water, wrap a towel around my waist, grab the bottle, and fling the door open. "Christ, Angela, what the fuck do you want?!" I’m dripping pink bloody water all over the hallway now; Angela is standing by the kitchen counter. "You can’t treat me like this, Jeff! You can’t talk to me like this! I’m your girlfriend! I’m the mother of your only son!" Blah blah blah, it’s always blah blah blah with her, never fuckin’ says anything unless it’s another goddamned complaint or a request for money. She picked the wrong fucking day to start shit with me, though; a smart woman woulda gotten me my forty from the fridge and stayed the fuck away. "I treat you any goddamn way I like. See this?" I asked her, gesturing around the apartment with the Listerine bottle, "this is Jeff’s house. In Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the rules. That’s the way it is. You can have it with or without a beating." I guzzled another swig of the tequila. It was starting to warm me up a little. "Where’s that fucking brat of yours?" I asked her. "Mine? Hector is your son too, Jeff!" Dooooshhhh! I bring the heavy Listerine bottle down on top of her head. Tequila spills all over but she goes down like a rock. I jump on her, pinning her arms under my knees, draw back my right fist and piston it down onto her face. She turns at the last second and my fist strikes one of her sharp-ass teeth, opening a cut on my knuckle. "Fuck!" I shout. I throw the bottle across the room, and this time send my left fist slamming down into her grill. "Fuck!" I shout again, and begin a rhythmic cadence, military-style, alternating one fist and then the other, punctuating each wet smack with a cry of "Fuck!" After she stops moving and struggling, I sit back, breathing heavily. I examine the cut on my knuckle from her sharp rat teeth, which has begun to leak a small trail of blood down my hand. Dog’s blood, girlfriend’s blood, now my blood, all mixed in with spilled tequila and bathwater, just a huge liquid mess. "Daddy!" A voice; I pivot my head around. It’s that bastard brat Hector. "What are you doing to Mommy!?" he shouts, racing over. His foot catches a wet patch and he loses his balance and trips, falling face down in pinkish tequila mess. He starts to cry. Growling, I get off of Angela’s motionless body and stand up, then reach down, dragging Hector up by his shirt. "Huh?! Huh?! Shut up, you little bastard shit!" I tell him, then send him back to the floor with a left to his jaw. I bend down and pick him up, holding him by his shoulders, his face a mess of blood, tears, and tequila. Looking around the room I spot the coat hook on the closet door, and march over to it, holding Hector at arms length from me. With all the force I can muster up, I slam him up against the brass hook, which pierces his upper back. His eyes bug out and he gasps, a blood bubble popping on his lips. "Stick around," I tell him, then laugh loudly. He goes limp but remains tacked to the closet door. "And I ain’t your fuckin’ dad either, you little son of a bitch!" Angela is starting to regain consciousness, I see, moving her head slightly. I detour back into the bathroom, go under the sink again, and come up with a box of lye flakes, which I bring out to the kitchen. Kneeling over my girlfriend, I open the box, and shake the deadly corrosive flakes over her swollen and bleeding face. The sounds that come out of her start off like a scream and almost immediately become something far worse, a hideous keening wail that doesn’t sound like anything that would come out of a human. Her entire face has begun to bubble and melt off, flowing into the mixture of fluids on the floor. I get up, set the box of lye down, and listen to her screech for another minute or two as I catch my breath. "This is Jeff’s house!" I scream, to the world, "And in Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the fucking rules!’ So you see, Mr. Kadatcha Man, I’ve been thoroughly occupied today. Perhaps tomorrow? Even Morgan Sales admits to being able to copy and paste. That’s not an achievement. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.os.windows-xp DISCLAIMER: This post does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of
… read more »
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Really, why should you suffer just because the bitch has an unbearable mental condition? Depression is, after all, merely an outward expression of a request to hasten death. Mr. Kadatcha Man, Now that I understand how you vocalize your feelings, I think I’ll be better able to communicate with you. You see, I gave some thought to your suggestion(s), but instead of acting on them I murdered a dog. You see, there’s this big fucking Rottweiler that lives around the corner in this big-ass country-club yard with a huge iron fence around it. Dog’s got this heavy collar that looks more like something out of a bondage gear catalog than a standard dog collar, hooked to a chain with links heavier than Puff Daddy’s necklace that leads back to a pounded stake in the ground made of iron.
I’ve seen this plagiarised post before, but I’ll repost the rest for the benefit of those who have not seen it yet. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Every day I walk by on my way to Parker Slim’s and that big black fucker comes charging at me like some kind of freight train, dropping froth in white foamy blobs from in between the gaps of his pointed yellow fangs. He roars and snorts and comes charging at me like he’s going to open a new ventilation window in my guts. But his chain’s a little bit shorter than his otherwise fenced boundary, so each time he gets jerked back when the chain pulls taut, just like a man hanged from the gallow’s pole. He trips, falls on his ass and eats turf but gets back up, springing and charging, snorting like a bull, trying to jump against the restraint of the chain tethered around him, ready to work up that supernatural chain-ripping strength just because he wants to fuck me up *that bad*, barking, roaring, just apeshit. Normally I just laugh but not today. Today I was ready. I had a filet mignon wrapped around an M-100 and a lighter ready, and I tossed him the steak and gunpowder cocktail. He snaps it up and pulls it down his throat into his stomach and that’s when it hit. By the time I got up from the ground, having finished laughing uproariously I was a mess and figured I’d better get my punk ass home before somebody sees me looking like this or the owner comes out to investigate what’s going on with his pet. So with every item of clothing soaked in blood and juices, decorated with shreds of flesh and pieces of dog, I stagger home to my piece of shit apartment and head for the bathroom. It’s even worse than I thought; I look like something out of Pulp Fiction or like an employee who just got off work from the local slaughterhouse and didn’t stop to change or wash up. I get the hot water flowing out of the sink faucet, strip off my t-shirt, my khakis, and toss them into a heap in the corner. My sunglasses, my jewelry, my watch, I rinse each item under the faucet and set them to dry on a towel that started off white but is rapidly turning pink. The shoes come off, and I wipe the gore off of them with another washcloth, and toss that into the heap also. The shit has soaked through and turned my socks a blotchy pink as well, so I shuck those off too. Staring at my reflection I see something out of a horror movie. I run my hands through my hair and a scattering of bits of flash and organ fall out onto the bathroom counter. I sweep them into the sink and the blood washes down, leaving these now-cleanly-washed gibblets of flesh piled up around the drain. There’s no way I’m getting back to presentable short of a shower or bath, I realize, so I turn on the water in the tub and it starts to fill. I check my reflection once more and am about to step out of my boxers when I hear a shrill voice. "Jeff?! Is that you? Did you spill something red in here?" It’s the girlfriend, Angela. I don’t even need to answer, her snoopy ass will seek me out anyway. A second later, the bathroom door opens, revealing me to her in my dogs-blood-and-boxer-shorts ensemble. "The fuck do you want, Angela?" I ask her. Her mouth opens in shock and surprise at the bathroom carnage. Fucking bitch; she really gets on my nerves. I didn’t let her move in because of her looks or her brains; basically I let her move in because she was pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe her bullshit that the kid was mine. "Jeff! My God, what happened?" "Get the fuck out of here, bitch! I’m tryin’ ta take a bath, yo!" I slam the door right in her face, then a second later, think better of it and open it again. "Hey, get me a forty ounce from the fridge!" I tell her, then slam the door again. The bath is ready by now and I shut the water off. I’m about to get in when I realize that whore Angela isn’t bringing me my forty, so I dip under the bathroom counter, where I keep a big Listerine bottle full of Jose Cuervo. I slug some of it back, belch, and set it on the rim of the tub as I get into the water. Less than five minutes later, before I’ve even managed to drink back half the bottle, that cunt is at the door again shouting "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeff!" I jump out of the water, wrap a towel around my waist, grab the bottle, and fling the door open. "Christ, Angela, what the fuck do you want?!" I’m dripping pink bloody water all over the hallway now; Angela is standing by the kitchen counter. "You can’t treat me like this, Jeff! You can’t talk to me like this! I’m your girlfriend! I’m the mother of your only son!" Blah blah blah, it’s always blah blah blah with her, never fuckin’ says anything unless it’s another goddamned complaint or a request for money. She picked the wrong fucking day to start shit with me, though; a smart woman woulda gotten me my forty from the fridge and stayed the fuck away. "I treat you any goddamn way I like. See this?" I asked her, gesturing around the apartment with the Listerine bottle, "this is Jeff’s house. In Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the rules. That’s the way it is. You can have it with or without a beating." I guzzled another swig of the tequila. It was starting to warm me up a little. "Where’s that fucking brat of yours?" I asked her. "Mine? Hector is your son too, Jeff!" Dooooshhhh! I bring the heavy Listerine bottle down on top of her head. Tequila spills all over but she goes down like a rock. I jump on her, pinning her arms under my knees, draw back my right fist and piston it down onto her face. She turns at the last second and my fist strikes one of her sharp-ass teeth, opening a cut on my knuckle. "Fuck!" I shout. I throw the bottle across the room, and this time send my left fist slamming down into her grill. "Fuck!" I shout again, and begin a rhythmic cadence, military-style, alternating one fist and then the other, punctuating each wet smack with a cry of "Fuck!" After she stops moving and struggling, I sit back, breathing heavily. I examine the cut on my knuckle from her sharp rat teeth, which has begun to leak a small trail of blood down my hand. Dog’s blood, girlfriend’s blood, now my blood, all mixed in with spilled tequila and bathwater, just a huge liquid mess. "Daddy!" A voice; I pivot my head around. It’s that bastard brat Hector. "What are you doing to Mommy!?" he shouts, racing over. His foot catches a wet patch and he loses his balance and trips, falling face down in pinkish tequila mess. He starts to cry. Growling, I get off of Angela’s motionless body and stand up, then reach down, dragging Hector up by his shirt. "Huh?! Huh?! Shut up, you little bastard shit!" I tell him, then send him back to the floor with a left to his jaw. I bend down and pick him up, holding him by his shoulders, his face a mess of blood, tears, and tequila. Looking around the room I spot the coat hook on the closet door, and march over to it, holding Hector at arms length from me. With all the force I can muster up, I slam him up against the brass hook, which pierces his upper back. His eyes bug out and he gasps, a blood bubble popping on his lips. "Stick around," I tell him, then laugh loudly. He goes limp but remains tacked to the closet door. "And I ain’t your fuckin’ dad either, you little son of a bitch!" Angela is starting to regain consciousness, I see, moving her head slightly. I detour back into the bathroom, go under the sink again, and come up with a box of lye flakes, which I bring out to the kitchen. Kneeling over my girlfriend, I open the box, and shake the deadly corrosive flakes over her swollen and bleeding face. The sounds that come out of her start off like a scream and almost immediately become something far worse, a hideous keening wail that doesn’t sound like anything that would come out of a human. Her entire face has begun to bubble and melt off, flowing into the mixture of fluids on the floor. I get up, set the box of lye down, and listen to her screech for another minute or two as I catch my breath. "This is Jeff’s house!" I scream, to the world, "And in Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the fucking rules!’ So you see, Mr. Kadatcha Man, I’ve been thoroughly occupied today. Perhaps tomorrow?
Even Morgan Sales admits to being able to copy and paste. That’s not an achievement. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.os.windows-xp DISCLAIMER: This post does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of either myself, my company, my friends, my goldfish or my neighbour’s dog; don’t quote me on that; don’t quote me on anything; all rights reserved; this post is distribution copyrighted to the extent that you may distribute this post and all its associated parts freely but you may not make … read more »
Response:
Connie, Thank you so much for your post – finally some rational people! Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate.
Oh, I understand jokesters. More than you might think. Rather than ignore them I like to use the power of prose to attempt to startle them back – makes for an interesting discourse. However, this particular post really was a cry for help, and I’m glad you responded with empathy. How long has she been on Zoloft? It may take a month or two to kick in. How many other meds has she tried?
I’ve been with her for 3 years. She was first prescribed with Prozac and her dosage was gradually ramped to 60mg over 2 or so months. By the end of that 2 months, she was quite repaired and we did spectacularly well together – she was happy! But shortly after starting the 60mg (say, the 2 1/2 month point) she began to head downhill until she was broken again. We took her back to the dosage she had done very well at for 2 months, 40mg, but she remained totally broken. We then got a referral from our doctor to a psychiatrist because my girlfriend was doing stuff like leaving, hiding in her car in the middle of nowhere for 5 days at a time, and coming back for food. The new psychiatrist is slowly ramping her up, this time on Zoloft. She’s up to 50mg now, and has been on it about 3 weeks. I see signs of improvement, but I’ve spent more time with her when she was broken than when she was fixed, so I’m trying to find ways to get her to participate some in life when she’s broken. Is she in any kind of therapy?
No. Do you think it helps? She didn’t need any when she was on Prozac and fixed. It’s certainly a great recurring revenue stream for the mental heath field, but I’ll do anything for her that helps her. Good news is that help is available, bit it may not happen very quickly. It’s more of a process, and for some people keeping their depression in check has to become a way of life.
Yes, I have learned that. You will not be able to reason, or rationalize with her, to get her to do things, like clean up the house… in a hurry, and by pushing, the way you would with non-depressed person, you will either make things worse, or alienate her, or even contribute to the depression worsening.
Yes, although I don’t understand why depression allows her the energy to spend endless amounts of time playing on her computer or watching the Lifetime women’s network on TV, and absolutely no time bathing or doing the dishes for once. It seems to me an awfully convenient malady. I wouldn’t mind it myself, if I got to goof off all day. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, but you know what I mean. For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I’m hoping that the meds will work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer.
3 years. 3 years I’ve been doing this. It’s dedication. But the toll on me is like the ocean on a rock wall – there is erosion. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression.
We both understand the science stuff. We’ve had a long time to study it. Her depression is not event-oriented. She’s apparently (according to her parents who just thought she was obstinate) had it all her life. Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few things.
Good point. I think I will. I hope some of this helps!
All of it did. Thank you. I owe you a beer. -Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
Response:
Really, why should you suffer just because the bitch has an unbearable mental condition? Depression is, after all, merely an outward expression of a request to hasten death.
Mr. Kadatcha Man, Now that I understand how you vocalize your feelings, I think I’ll be better able to communicate with you. You see, I gave some thought to your suggestion(s), but instead of acting on them I murdered a dog. You see, there’s this big fucking Rottweiler that lives around the corner in this big-ass country-club yard with a huge iron fence around it. Dog’s got this heavy collar that looks more like something out of a bondage gear catalog than a standard dog collar, hooked to a chain with links heavier than Puff Daddy’s necklace that leads back to a pounded stake in the ground made of iron. Every day I walk by on my way to Parker Slim’s and that big black fucker comes charging at me like some kind of freight train, dropping froth in white foamy blobs from in between the gaps of his pointed yellow fangs. He roars and snorts and comes charging at me like he’s going to open a new ventilation window in my guts. But his chain’s a little bit shorter than his otherwise fenced boundary, so each time he gets jerked back when the chain pulls taut, just like a man hanged from the gallow’s pole. He trips, falls on his ass and eats turf but gets back up, springing and charging, snorting like a bull, trying to jump against the restraint of the chain tethered around him, ready to work up that supernatural chain-ripping strength just because he wants to fuck me up *that bad*, barking, roaring, just apeshit. Normally I just laugh but not today. Today I was ready. I had a filet mignon wrapped around an M-100 and a lighter ready, and I tossed him the steak and gunpowder cocktail. He snaps it up and pulls it down his throat into his stomach and that’s when it hit. By the time I got up from the ground, having finished laughing uproariously I was a mess and figured I’d better get my punk ass home before somebody sees me looking like this or the owner comes out to investigate what’s going on with his pet. So with every item of clothing soaked in blood and juices, decorated with shreds of flesh and pieces of dog, I stagger home to my piece of shit apartment and head for the bathroom. It’s even worse than I thought; I look like something out of Pulp Fiction or like an employee who just got off work from the local slaughterhouse and didn’t stop to change or wash up. I get the hot water flowing out of the sink faucet, strip off my t-shirt, my khakis, and toss them into a heap in the corner. My sunglasses, my jewelry, my watch, I rinse each item under the faucet and set them to dry on a towel that started off white but is rapidly turning pink. The shoes come off, and I wipe the gore off of them with another washcloth, and toss that into the heap also. The shit has soaked through and turned my socks a blotchy pink as well, so I shuck those off too. Staring at my reflection I see something out of a horror movie. I run my hands through my hair and a scattering of bits of flash and organ fall out onto the bathroom counter. I sweep them into the sink and the blood washes down, leaving these now-cleanly-washed gibblets of flesh piled up around the drain. There’s no way I’m getting back to presentable short of a shower or bath, I realize, so I turn on the water in the tub and it starts to fill. I check my reflection once more and am about to step out of my boxers when I hear a shrill voice. "Jeff?! Is that you? Did you spill something red in here?" It’s the girlfriend, Angela. I don’t even need to answer, her snoopy ass will seek me out anyway. A second later, the bathroom door opens, revealing me to her in my dogs-blood-and-boxer-shorts ensemble. "The fuck do you want, Angela?" I ask her. Her mouth opens in shock and surprise at the bathroom carnage. Fucking bitch; she really gets on my nerves. I didn’t let her move in because of her looks or her brains; basically I let her move in because she was pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe her bullshit that the kid was mine. "Jeff! My God, what happened?" "Get the fuck out of here, bitch! I’m tryin’ ta take a bath, yo!" I slam the door right in her face, then a second later, think better of it and open it again. "Hey, get me a forty ounce from the fridge!" I tell her, then slam the door again. The bath is ready by now and I shut the water off. I’m about to get in when I realize that whore Angela isn’t bringing me my forty, so I dip under the bathroom counter, where I keep a big Listerine bottle full of Jose Cuervo. I slug some of it back, belch, and set it on the rim of the tub as I get into the water. Less than five minutes later, before I’ve even managed to drink back half the bottle, that cunt is at the door again shouting "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeff!" I jump out of the water, wrap a towel around my waist, grab the bottle, and fling the door open. "Christ, Angela, what the fuck do you want?!" I’m dripping pink bloody water all over the hallway now; Angela is standing by the kitchen counter. "You can’t treat me like this, Jeff! You can’t talk to me like this! I’m your girlfriend! I’m the mother of your only son!" Blah blah blah, it’s always blah blah blah with her, never fuckin’ says anything unless it’s another goddamned complaint or a request for money. She picked the wrong fucking day to start shit with me, though; a smart woman woulda gotten me my forty from the fridge and stayed the fuck away. "I treat you any goddamn way I like. See this?" I asked her, gesturing around the apartment with the Listerine bottle, "this is Jeff’s house. In Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the rules. That’s the way it is. You can have it with or without a beating." I guzzled another swig of the tequila. It was starting to warm me up a little. "Where’s that fucking brat of yours?" I asked her. "Mine? Hector is your son too, Jeff!" Dooooshhhh! I bring the heavy Listerine bottle down on top of her head. Tequila spills all over but she goes down like a rock. I jump on her, pinning her arms under my knees, draw back my right fist and piston it down onto her face. She turns at the last second and my fist strikes one of her sharp-ass teeth, opening a cut on my knuckle. "Fuck!" I shout. I throw the bottle across the room, and this time send my left fist slamming down into her grill. "Fuck!" I shout again, and begin a rhythmic cadence, military-style, alternating one fist and then the other, punctuating each wet smack with a cry of "Fuck!" After she stops moving and struggling, I sit back, breathing heavily. I examine the cut on my knuckle from her sharp rat teeth, which has begun to leak a small trail of blood down my hand. Dog’s blood, girlfriend’s blood, now my blood, all mixed in with spilled tequila and bathwater, just a huge liquid mess. "Daddy!" A voice; I pivot my head around. It’s that bastard brat Hector. "What are you doing to Mommy!?" he shouts, racing over. His foot catches a wet patch and he loses his balance and trips, falling face down in pinkish tequila mess. He starts to cry. Growling, I get off of Angela’s motionless body and stand up, then reach down, dragging Hector up by his shirt. "Huh?! Huh?! Shut up, you little bastard shit!" I tell him, then send him back to the floor with a left to his jaw. I bend down and pick him up, holding him by his shoulders, his face a mess of blood, tears, and tequila. Looking around the room I spot the coat hook on the closet door, and march over to it, holding Hector at arms length from me. With all the force I can muster up, I slam him up against the brass hook, which pierces his upper back. His eyes bug out and he gasps, a blood bubble popping on his lips. "Stick around," I tell him, then laugh loudly. He goes limp but remains tacked to the closet door. "And I ain’t your fuckin’ dad either, you little son of a bitch!" Angela is starting to regain consciousness, I see, moving her head slightly. I detour back into the bathroom, go under the sink again, and come up with a box of lye flakes, which I bring out to the kitchen. Kneeling over my girlfriend, I open the box, and shake the deadly corrosive flakes over her swollen and bleeding face. The sounds that come out of her start off like a scream and almost immediately become something far worse, a hideous keening wail that doesn’t sound like anything that would come out of a human. Her entire face has begun to bubble and melt off, flowing into the mixture of fluids on the floor. I get up, set the box of lye down, and listen to her screech for another minute or two as I catch my breath. "This is Jeff’s house!" I scream, to the world, "And in Jeff’s house, Jeff makes the fucking rules!’ So you see, Mr. Kadatcha Man, I’ve been thoroughly occupied today. Perhaps tomorrow? -Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
Response:
My Girlfriend Just Sits on the Couch – What do I do? cram an aluminum baseball bat up her ass. she’ll get off the couch pronto…
i can’t get the bat out of you , duh
Response:
You two live together? Have you tried some form of couples therapy or counseling? Might help. You also might want to wait for the Zoloft to kick in. She’s only on 50mg, she may need more. If she’s only been on it a short time, you probably won’t notice any mood changes anyways til it does. I’ve been through this w/my wife’s depressive states; and she’s been through this with my own. Good luck (and email me if you want). — "It was when I found out that I could make mistakes that I knew I was on to something." Ornette Coleman
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – My girlfriend has depression. She’s now being medicated for it (50mg Zoloft and it hasn’t quite kicked in yet). She’s been medicated before but they haven’t found the right meds for her yet so her behaviour hasn’t really changed. When she’s depressed, she acts very lazy. She sits on the couch or in front of her computer and will let the dishes, the dog’s defecation, clothes and things she tosses on the floor pile up into huge mounds all over the house. I am running myself ragged cleaning up after her, telling her to bathe, making sure she dresses properly before she goes outside, etc. How do you get a depressive to clean up after themselves – to, say, do the dishes and occasionally vacuum? Every time I approach her about it she says "You OBVIOUSLY don’t understand depression" and huddles up in a ball on the couch. Sometimes she screams at me and tells me she hates me. After another few months of this I may reach my own tolerance point. But I stick by her because I know without a doubt that she would become a street person if she was on her own. So please tell me – what do I do to get her to start taking care of her environment so I don’t have to spend half my day cleaning up her messes? Thanks, Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
Response:
Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate. Please, Don’t lose hope. And you only got 4 responses, so please don’t jump the gun. It may take a day or two to get more responses…
He should jump the bitch, then use the gun. Good news is that help is available, bit it may not happen very quickly.
Certainly not on usenet. It’s more of a process, and for some people keeping their depression in check has to become a way of life. You will not be able to reason, or rationalize with her, to get her to do things, like clean up the house… in a hurry, and by pushing, the way you would with non-depressed person, you will either make things worse, or alienate her, or even contribute to the depression worsening.
Yah, murder by nagging. For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I’m hoping that the meds will work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression. Being that your girlfriend is afflicted by it, and not an expert, she may not be of a whole lot of help in explaining, at least in a way that makes sense, what it really is. There is a lot of good info about depression on the internet, and since you posted here, I’m assuming that you do have full internet access.
The scientific conclusion can be summed up thus… "Her head is fucked." Also, how long have you known her? Has her behavior suddenly changed? Did you guys move-in together recently, and then this started? I don’t know how old you both are, but I’m assuming pretty young? Early 20s’? Did she move out of her parent’s house to move in with you? Sometimes depression is brought on by major, traumatic (even moving, change of jobs…) events in life… In other people, they’ve always ‘been that way’. How much do you know about her past behavior patterns?
Maybe she’s been shagging on the side and got a dose of the clap. Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few
things. Like bathing. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
Wow. Now I’m starting to lose hope. The advice I’ve gotten from three of you now is: 2. Copulate with my girlfriend. When she’s in this state, she huddles in a ball and won’t let anyone near her. I could take her by force but that’s not my style, and it’s also called rape. I want to help her. I came to this newgroup and posted in good faith. If this is the best that the collective group can come up with then I guess there’s no solving this dilemma.
Sure there is. Take her to Holland. You can take a leisurely stroll down Stoofsteeg and Korte Storm Steeg while the Dutch doctors inject her with Nembutal… Pentobarbital for the morons. If you’re in America, just ask Jack Kervorkian where the local whore-house is before he does the deed. Or you can do it yourself by ordering here… http://www.sav-ondrugs.com/shop/templates/healthnotes/Drug/Barbiturat… … just don’t forget to find an escort agency that does in-calls. Really, why should you suffer just because the bitch has an unbearable mental condition? Depression is, after all, merely an outward expression of a request to hasten death. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
Sorry Jeff, Your first line of responses was from our ‘resident jokesters’ here, who don’t quite care that those aren’t always all that appropriate. Please, Don’t lose hope. And you only got 4 responses, so please don’t jump the gun. It may take a day or two to get more responses… How long has she been on Zoloft? It may take a month or two to kick in. How many other meds has she tried? Is she in any kind of therapy? Bad news is, that there is no pre-packaged solution for depression. The causes of it are different in different people, and the way people respond to treatments has a lot of variations too. Good news is that help is available, bit it may not happen very quickly. It’s more of a process, and for some people keeping their depression in check has to become a way of life. You will not be able to reason, or rationalize with her, to get her to do things, like clean up the house… in a hurry, and by pushing, the way you would with non-depressed person, you will either make things worse, or alienate her, or even contribute to the depression worsening. For the time being you may have to take on the function of the primary house caretaker, until she gets back to her feet. I’m hoping that the meds will work this time, and it will only be a month or two longer. But in the meantime, learn more about depression, on a clinical level. This will be an important step for you, to come to the ‘clinical, or call it scientific understanding of depression. Being that your girlfriend is afflicted by it, and not an expert, she may not be of a whole lot of help in explaining, at least in a way that makes sense, what it really is. There is a lot of good info about depression on the internet, and since you posted here, I’m assuming that you do have full internet access. Also, how long have you known her? Has her behavior suddenly changed? Did you guys move-in together recently, and then this started? I don’t know how old you both are, but I’m assuming pretty young? Early 20s’? Did she move out of her parent’s house to move in with you? Sometimes depression is brought on by major, traumatic (even moving, change of jobs…) events in life… In other people, they’ve always ‘been that way’. How much do you know about her past behavior patterns? Also, if she is seeing a therapist, you may ask to come along for a session or two, where he/she can give you some pointers on what is going on with your girlfriend, and how to help her, or how to get her to do a few things. I hope some of this helps! — Connie =^..^=
Response:
Wow. Now I’m starting to lose hope. The advice I’ve gotten from three of you now is: 1. Hire a maid. I like this idea but I cannot afford a maid. And it doesn’t get at the bottom line. It’s just a patch. 2. Copulate with my girlfriend. When she’s in this state, she huddles in a ball and won’t let anyone near her. I could take her by force but that’s not my style, and it’s also called rape. 3. That I should put up with her behaviour in order to "get in touch with my own depressed feelings." I guess when you’re a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. I actually do not suffer from depression at all. I *do* suffer from a girlfriend with depression who I love very much. I want to help her. I came to this newgroup and posted in good faith. If this is the best that the collective group can come up with then I guess there’s no solving this dilemma. -Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
Response:
After another few months of this I may reach my own tolerance point. But I stick by her because I know without a doubt that she would become a street person if she was on her own.
I would like to suggest that you actually "stick with her" not because you are saving her from the streets, but rather because you are using her to help you get in touch with your own depressed feelings. If you understand this, then when you reach your tolerence point you’ll get some medication and therapy for yourself. Sincerely Stewart —
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – My girlfriend has depression. She’s now being medicated for it (50mg Zoloft and it hasn’t quite kicked in yet). She’s been medicated before but they haven’t found the right meds for her yet so her behaviour hasn’t really changed. When she’s depressed, she acts very lazy. She sits on the couch or in front of her computer and will let the dishes, the dog’s defecation, clothes and things she tosses on the floor pile up into huge mounds all over the house. I am running myself ragged cleaning up after her, telling her to bathe, making sure she dresses properly before she goes outside, etc. How do you get a depressive to clean up after themselves – to, say, do the dishes and occasionally vacuum? Every time I approach her about it she says "You OBVIOUSLY don’t understand depression" and huddles up in a ball on the couch. Sometimes she screams at me and tells me she hates me. After another few months of this I may reach my own tolerance point. But I stick by her because I know without a doubt that she would become a street person if she was on her own. So please tell me – what do I do to get her to start taking care of her environment so I don’t have to spend half my day cleaning up her messes?
Giving her a right royal fucking might help. — Kadaitcha Man Moderator: alt.support.depression
Response:
So please tell me – what do I do to get her to start taking care of her environment so I don’t have to spend half my day cleaning up her messes?
Buddy, Rent-A-Maid has come a long way since the 80’s. Give em’ a call and see if they can help. — Amelia
Response:
My girlfriend has depression. She’s now being medicated for it (50mg Zoloft and it hasn’t quite kicked in yet). She’s been medicated before but they haven’t found the right meds for her yet so her behaviour hasn’t really changed. When she’s depressed, she acts very lazy. She sits on the couch or in front of her computer and will let the dishes, the dog’s defecation, clothes and things she tosses on the floor pile up into huge mounds all over the house. I am running myself ragged cleaning up after her, telling her to bathe, making sure she dresses properly before she goes outside, etc. How do you get a depressive to clean up after themselves – to, say, do the dishes and occasionally vacuum? Every time I approach her about it she says "You OBVIOUSLY don’t understand depression" and huddles up in a ball on the couch. Sometimes she screams at me and tells me she hates me. After another few months of this I may reach my own tolerance point. But I stick by her because I know without a doubt that she would become a street person if she was on her own. So please tell me – what do I do to get her to start taking care of her environment so I don’t have to spend half my day cleaning up her messes? Thanks, Jeff —–= Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News =—– http://www.newsfeeds.com – The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! Check out our new Unlimited Server. No Download or Time Limits! —–== Over 80,000 Newsgroups – 19 Different Servers! ==—–
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