Into the void...
“That night she sat for hours, too numb even to drink, teaching herself to breathe in a vacuum. For this, oh God, was the void. There was nobody who could help her. Nobody in the world. They were all on something, mad, possible enemies, dead.”
-Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49
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2002-10-29
2:22 p.m.
I feel like absolute hell. I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, I have another one this afternoon, and I’m going to positively lose my mind if nothing is accomplished soon because my anxiety is about to make me spontaneously combust. Now that I’m completely off the Paxil and on the Wellbutrin, I think it’s safe to say that the Wellbutrin isn’t doing shit to help me.
Once again, I find myself in the unfortunate circumstance in which nobody seems to understand exactly what’s wrong with me and nobody seems capable of understanding exactly how bad it is. Even the doctors don’t seem to believe how bad it is. I realize they can’t go around saying to patients that their case is the worst they’ve ever seen, or else they’d lose half their patients to suicide; nonetheless, it’s extremely exasperating to see their blank faces looking at me asking ridiculous question after ridiculous question when they can't understand the answers I’m giving them.
So I constantly feel like I can’t breathe.
After three years of being on the same two medications, I don’t think I really remembered to the full extent how bad everything was for me before I was on them because I had adjusted to life beneath the veil of those two medications. Now that the visor has been lifted from my eyes and I’m forced to stare straight into the sun again, I’m reminded how painful it can be and how devastating it can feel to know that I may be permanently blinded at any moment and condemned to eternal darkness if I can’t find something to replace that initial safeguard SOON.
Without medication, I can’t go on with my life.
I’ve already made a trip to the hospital and stayed home from work for two days even though I really fucking HATE to stay home from work because I feel so damn guilty about it that it’s almost as bad as going in, and all this is just because I’ve switched from one medication to another without so much as a breath of fresh, unmedicated air in between.
I’d hate to see me without any medication at all.
If I were anyone other than myself, I’d really hate to be around me these days. I’ve got to be the most miserable fucking person in the right now. Every time something happens -- good or bad -- I feel like I’m either going to puke or cry. Then, for the next hour or so, I feel like I want to scrape my esophagus out with a fork before wrapping my hands around everyone else’s throat, picking them up off the ground and shaking them violently, screaming, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” right in their insidiously pathetic and completely oblivious faces, even if there’s nothing wrong with them, even if I’m just a little out of sorts, even if they’re really being quite nice to me.
If medication is what attributes the barely recognizable glimmer of worth to my life, what do I do when it stops working?
