Well We Can All Be Wrong

[Harry Haller]

I suffer from depression, have done all my life, manic depression, its a gift, I am proud to be one, it means that I can go from being on top of the world to downright suicidal in the blink of an eye, and then back again, writing has helped, howling probably has not, I was wrong yesterday, when I got home the house was tidy, freshly tidied, Sian had been busy, most of the day, so it looked, is it the damn medication, or is it living with me, have I infected her with my madness, does she need the medication to cope with me, my mood swings, although I am not nasty, I do change from completely upbeat to downbeat very very often, sometimes hourly,

I cannot get the photo of the youth in Amritsar out of my head, I think I would have curled up into a ball and let the beatings pass over and then hid behind a policeman, I actually cried when I saw it, not out of shock or horror, but because I was not aware such dignity and strength existed, the bloke is a real Sikh, ok, he may do this and do that, and whatever, but when it came time to nail his colours to the mast he did, and he did it with pride, I guess in some ways I can understand why they call the west a disease, I wonder how much my life would have been different without the temptations that swallowed me, I dont know, its a good day, the sun is out, the black dog is gone, lets hope he stays away