With Prozac capsules, white and green
first pressed on me at age 13
A toast of Ensure was raised by all
to celebrate my debut at the overmedicated ball.

Mr Lily's potion was not the cure,
not at 80, not at more.
His position was usurped by a tricyclic,
which for reasons unknown did not make me unsick.

So back on the 'Zac, it was time to augment
as serotonin alone is mighty bland.
Fenugreek or thorazine turned out to be overkill,
I was asked to try this salt in my hand.

Zoloft is a lovely potion-
the first weeks are like MDMA.
Sad the honeymoon must end with her fucking your brother &
leaving you drenching the sheets where you lay.

Speaking of "lay", however, I remember her fondly.
Zoloft is remarkable for syndrome Cold Fish.
With Effexor & Lexapro we could wipe out the species-
take this disclosure as you wish.

Of Remeron, I cannot recall
whether I stopped eating long enough to have sex at all.
And while the sexual side effects of Wellbutrin are legendary,
on an SSRI augment they continue to elude me.

Orgasms on anti-depressants are contra-indicated,
But generally so are Drano milkshakes.
Quit your bitching- I haven't cum for 5 years!-
If that's what it takes, that's what it takes.

Sid & Nancy Rolled Up Into One with Strains of Vivaldi in the Background

10:39 pm

At nine this morning my girlfriend found me passed out on the couch covered with blood. My take on the whole situation is that, since we had decided that my drug-induced spats of nodding out and cigarette dropping in the bedroom were, in fact, becoming dangerous (an entire cigarette burned down to the butt on the keyboard of my laptop, and a few burn holes in the sheets and carpet don't much compare, eh?) I had gotten up, either in my sleep or xanaxed to the gills (I am a genuine somambulent, thank you very much), I had wandered into the the living room to smoke. Not being able to find a workable lighter, I had naturally started the gas stove top to light my vigarette. I would be willing to bet that I dropped that cigarette but mistaken thought I had finished it. Naturally my nicotine cravings were unsatisfied, so back to the stove I went. Then I dropped the second cigareete, hit my nose on something or stuck my finger up there looking for gold, passed out, and bled all over myself. I'm not sure of the exact order of events. I'm prone to nosebleeds, so that event shouldn't trifle anyone.

I can, however, sympathise for my dear Girlfriend who, needing to pee at the wee hour of 9am, happened to find me and the couch covered in blood and passed out cold. That is to say, I was passed out cold and covered in blood, the couch (okay, futon) is inanimate, so its unresponsiveness bothered noone, but it was sufficently bloodstained that we flipped the futon mattress lest any of the Men in Blue (or the MIB, who I've been expecting for awhile) come around knocking on doors and asking questions after some silly girl is kidnapped and strangled running through the neighborhood streets at night, as I like to do in the summertime.

I was also dissassociating last night, which I've found to happen when I mix mind altering drugs or do a lotta lotta opiate. I was, for instance, swearing something at my computer whilst in a completely different room. I also remember an instance in which I was at some important departmental meeting whilst physically located in my kitchen over the stove.

I am also back to bingeing and purging nearly everyday and back to just about normal weight, all of which irritates me immensely. I mean, sure, EffexorXR was doing possibly irreverable nuerological damage, but I will testify that I never weighed more than 122 pounds while on it. Oh, wait, I forgot. I'm supposed to be in recovery from an eating disorder. I'm on Lexapro now, demanded because it's just about the only modern anti-depressant I am contraindicated for that doesn't lower your sex drive *that* *much*. And Buspar. My new psychiatrist seems harmless and educated and she is a lesbian, but she's really stuck on this idea that Lexapro and Buspar are the magic appleseed for bulimia.

I beg to differ. God, maybe I should just give in and let them put me on depakote. I lose my keys and wallet thrice daily, I have a collection of half-pairs of gloves and mittens, maybe it *would* be a good idea for me to try to take another pill at regular intervals.

BTW, boys and girls, if someone ever prescribes you Skelaxin (US patent) for a muscle relaxer, tell them to fuck off unto from whence they came. It costs a dollar a pill, at 8 pills a day. And it doesn't works. And it makes me much more aware of my esophagus than I ever care to be.

All apologies for having written this exclusively in American, I am too lazy to go to the other room and look up the chemical names of these drugs, and certainly too lazy to go in their and fetch extra "u"s to insert after my "o"s.

What Goes Up

7:31 pm

Yeah, so the no-smoking thing lasted 18 days. That's the longest I've gone without a cigarette since before my 14th birthday. Good try, mate. A step in the right direction, and all that. Meanwhile homelife has reached the equilibrium that I tend to drag it into. I adore my girlfriend: she's witty and thoughtful and adorable and all the other nausieating adjectives I've used regarding her since the conception of our relationship. The problem is that she is kind of a mess too. She doesn't publicize it as loudly (or really at all) as I do, but living together you know when your other half is down down down. What really frightens me is that we cannot both seem to be happy at the same time. If I'm okay, she's down, if I'm a complete fucking mess, well, she bites the bullet and takes care of things. One special tidshit of news is that my eating disorder recovery seems to be going down the tubes, literally. I was going weeks, or at leaast multiple days, binge and or purge free and now I've done it like 5 or 6 times this week. I personally blame this on the writing of my candidacy paper. Or maybe the fact that two purges in 3 days helped me uncommit to quit smoking. Whatever it was, writing these huge papers requires holing one's self up in a world of unreality scrunched over books and desperate that you've missed an important article and facing a screen that somehow refuse to become filled with words. I finally have a meeting at the back clinic today. Maybe they can just shove that damn disc back in where it came from. Or they'll take another 5000 dollars worth of MRI's and send me home with a script for some addictive drug that last me 3 days of dissassociative bliss. Oh well. The good news is that my father is overnighting my Windows 98 disc to my department, should be there today and I will once again have the freedom of using more than 30 percent of my screen, I'll be able to see icons and everything. . . (ahh, the joys of safemode when you've inadvertently deleted your system.ini file) My love to all out there in cyberland, and now I shall go take a dump.

Day three. Figured I'd write while my computer was behaving and letting me use all sorts of letters, numbers, and punctuation-type doodles.

I don't need a cigarette.
I don't need a cigarette.
I don't need a cigarette.
Nobody needs a cigarette.
If I smoke a cigarette, I'll be dead in ten years.
I'm 27 years old. If I were going to go out, now would be the time, all Janis-Jimi-Jim style. Not waiting for a lung transplant at 35 with a phD and leaving a 4 year old kid and the love of my life because I am too Instant Gratification Girl couldn't stand the thought of biting her nails to bloody stumps and ingesting gallons of mints and gum and gaining 20 pounds.

Just a thought. Now I need to go do laundry, because my girlfriend is out of underwear.

1 have no eyes

Fuc ths Eye have no eyes on my eyboard. 2 consonants from my surname wll not appear except amdest the mddle of a random text. managed to wrte a great entry here cuttng and pastng (w/out the plus/dash/equal button) eyes and other consonants but then eye realzed eye was not properly sgned n b/c my password has number. Had to open other browser to fnd a number to cp and logn. Hard to wrte dssertaton w/ lmted vowels and consonants though spose can do w/out one lttle number. Payne 'n ass. Not even pnched nerve. No fags 2 days now. After more than half my exstance 1.5 pacs or more a day 2 days free. Emphysema. And no fucng commas. That was the real tool. No commas sends a man over the edge.

.75 mg triazolam and 10 mg cyclobenzaprine later

7:57 am -

Good Sign Making typos Bad Sign Appear to be catching them. Good Sign Vaguely drowsy. Even IV it takes a few minutes. Highly irregular. Bad Sign If the triaz was for real I would have passed out and lit the house on fire on 150% of maximum adult dosage. Bad There are still cigarettes to be smoked and entire house to be fumigated with Febreeze upholstery freshener. Bad I have a doctor's appointment in 6 hours now. Bad Lexapro takes a long lime to start working. So when the fuck am I going to start working. BadThe sun is up Good I give up to Morpheous. Maybe he'll fucking take me under for just the right amount of time this morning.

7:14 am -

Whoops. Close call there. Not addicted to dope. Apparently, if you mix up the particular opiates enough, you can stay on the nods for weeks at a time and quit with nothing other than the pain of death wrapping its way up from your ankles.

Actually I think I'm addicted to benzos. Hopefully the same rules as above apply: some diazepam here, lorazepam, alprazolam there, clonazopam. No unexpected tonic-clonic episodes on the 11th floor of the uni library while doing research for my designated professors this term.

Did I mention I missed my new psychiatric intake by 24 hours and now have to wait until March 3rd to be seen? Let's see: I've been on Zoloft, Effexor, and now Lexapro in the past 6 weeks or so. I just increased my escitalopram (lexapro?) dosage last visit. So what the fuck do I do for the next 5 weeks?

My preferred pharmacy bought a cheap new generic triazolam and filled my prescription with it. Pretty cool. I can now take the sleeping meds I once thanked the gods for at triple dosage in the middle of the day and feel nothing. After I finish this, I intend to inject .75 mg of this alleged triazolam along with 10 mg of cyclobenzaprine. The cyclo will put me to sleep. The other drug takes up space in the syringe,which is important to a person trying to intigrate a large number of personal possessions and prescription drugs into a very small apartment.

Holy fuck. My computer says it's the sort of time when non-academic employed people get up. I was going to ramble about how my grandfather is still dead, how I am 27 and have emphysema (the 5 "please"s on the answerphone message left by the internist prior to the rest of the sentence "quit smoking now no matter what you have to do" made it clear). Pulmonary obstruction. Put it into a website and see what you find.

So I have to smoke the last of these cigarettes, even though I just lied and told my girlfriend I wasn't still up to smoke them, and slap on a patch. I have an appointment in 7 hours to see whether I am full of shit or last week's MRI reveals some actual reason for the pain in my hips, ass, and back I can remember from 18 years ago.

Hoping you see some sunshine over there on the other side of the world and the other side of this meteorological belt. We had some on Saturday. I saw it through the window.