Thursday, November 11, 2010

And so, the Alien cut off his arm, only to see it grow back...

I've been dreaming more and more destructively - two days ago, I had a dream that felt like days, but was likely only minutes in the 'real' temporal flow. I am always looking for someone in my dreams, someone I can never find. I'm running in them, running from the end of the world, from death, from myself...and it's exhausting when what the body seeks is rest in sleep.

I couldn't make it to my classes that day; I was a nervous wreck, sitting alone in my room, swallowing clonazepam, smoking pot to ease myself down - I would have been smoking like a chimney if only I hadn't resolved to quit about two weeks ago (cold turkey...). After the benzos kicked in, and after my second or third whiskey and coke, (Pepsi, actually - Coke tastes like fucking syrup) I was beginning to lose the feeling like I was utterly insane and alone. I talked to my parents; I talked to a new friend of mine, one whom I'm eternally glad to have made amidst the sea of duplicity out there. (If you're reading this, you should be able to guess who you are - I've told you how little reliability I feel in most people in this fucking city, and you're not in that group at all, man.) I talked myself down, they talked me down, and I self-medicated as best I could. I didn't eat anything really that day - I started with an extra large glass of wine for breakfast, along with my multivitamin, zinc, vitamin C, and my duloxetine, (don't you love a pill breakfast..?) the zinc and vitamin C for the MDMA I've found myself dabbling in for artistic invention and inspiration for His Inauspicious Syllogism, (the new working title of Memoirs) as well as when I can't stand reality and myself and everything that exists.

Those of you reading this; you have your own self-medication habits. Some might be healthy - exercise, etc. - but there are many "socially acceptable" forms of drug addiction (thanks, Mark "Rent Boy" Renton for your keen junkie insight) that are equally insipid. My own taking of SSRIs disgusts me; fucking with your brain chemicals when the majority of depression is not a chemical imbalance of the serotonin in the brain, but merely shit life conditions or situations. So don't apply your moral or health ethics over my own.

Twenty-four hours later, seeing the sun sink and rise, I found myself in a place only marginally better than the one I was in, after taking my day-prescription for a zero-sleep night. But it was slightly better. And I didn't feel like I was suffocating. Am I a lost cause or do I cause myself to become lost?

Fuck if I know.