19:41 - November 27, 2002
the perfect cycle
What I meant to say was that the cycle is perfect. Perfect probably meaning helpful, but within my pessimistic and (non) drug-addled mind, rather disturbing as well. But I didn't really expect anything different, not if I had really looked. It starts by gradually slacking off on the pill front due to laziness, carelessness, or misplaced egotism. Soon, you have stopped altogether. (Didn't take one last night, so why tonight? or tonight? or tonight?) Some 3 days later it magically dawns on you that, hey, you have QUIT, and the Psychosomatic Devil kicks in with a vengeance. The 1st week, nothing. Then the Devil comes sneaking in, in her prime. 'You stopped taking your Paxil; you must be going through withdrawal.' whaZAAMM! The nausea the first night is the worst because you actually thought you were going to get off scot-free. You cannot even think about eating, either that or all you can stomach is something citrus, usually a whole lemon or lime. The acid neutralises the grungy stomach. When you wake up the next morning, all chipper, you get all cocky because you think you've survived it. Then the headache comes, and the stomach grunge bubbles in the background; it's all physical, right now. You can distract yourself quite easily by running around outside or talking to people; not paying attention. Physical is easy compared to what happens next. Until now it's simple withdrawal effects, same as any other drug; it'll go away with time. And then your head begins to go all wrong. Things stop making chronological, or even just logical, sense. Everything frozen in the moment, lit bleakly in grey. It's difficult to breathe every time you think about breathing because breathing doesn't make any sense. The act of drawing air into and out of your lungs should not be enough to sustain a living organism, and certainly not if your throat is closing.. shit! The headache protests, the stomach turns ballet twirls except not as eloquent as any of that. You contemplate ceasing to exist... not death, just ceasing to exist, because there's a difference, and just as you're about to give this quitting shit up for good (what's the POINT?) your real body returns. You've forgotten what it's like to have sensations like this. Every spiritual, but especially sexual (because Paxil dulls that especially deathly) awakening you've been missing bursts to the surface. Every ecstatic feeling previously skirted over comes bubbling out.

Of course you cannot bear to take a pill now. You will be killing your own vitality, your own sexuality, your very being, yourself.
But your stomach turns and turns and turns and your mind is submerged in sewer water.
Hide this bottle. It holds too much weight.

----

This is the stage I'm at now. I have awakened again. And I feel like eighteen kinds of shit. So today when I was skulking around trying not to puke and was just about to go get the bottle of pills, I stopped, and in keeping with the mantra ('fuck Paxil') I said 'Fuck Paxil' and ran some errands. I felt better until I stopped at the piercing place, and after he was done I felt shitty again (maybe due to huge gauge metal needles going through my skin, but I digress) and I wanted some Paxil. so I said, 'fuck Paxil' again, and decided I was not going to take the Buff Bus home because the Buff Buss is horrible and depressing, so I walked down 28th street which is really US Highway 36. The sidewalk runs the opposite direction of the oncoming traffic and it was cold and I was shivering and idly thinking about how easy it would be to just step off the curb and die. I had to walk on the inside edge to keep myself from being tempted. (This has nothing to do with being suicidal, by the way, it's just always how I've been. I would never trust myself to stand with my toes over the edge of the Grand Canyon even if I had perfect balance. I would not go on the roof of anything high enough to ensure death if I fell off. It's not being afraid of falling; it's being afraid of jumping.)

I go to Houston tomorrow for Thanksgiving so I probably won't be around again until Sunday. The closing remark from last time still stands; if you see me on Paxil, beat me to a pulp. I'm trying not to even take it with me.

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