Psych has been dosing me off Paxil for the last few months or so; been taking something new to fucking replace it. Now have finally stopped Paxil for the first time since 2001. It’s the first week. I’ve been wanting to record the progress but that desire had diminished. My emotions are insane and embossed with sadness. Brain feels those uncomfortable jolts of electricity. Like a nine volt being stuck on the tongue. That’s the best I can describe that side effect. It’s nothing new, but happens when your body goes through it’s first withdrawl. The brain wants to seize up and you throw up. I seem to be doing what I did when first adjusting to Paxil; frantically writing classical music. Back then I was writing/sequencing piano pieces for two and three keyboards on a freaking Korg Trinity to HDrecorder. Thinking back it was more of an exercise to stay the same … hmmm. Sane. Can’t listen to that shit anymore, and haven’t in fifteen years. There’s too much panic in those recordings. It reminds me of a desperate attempt to hold on whatever I could grasp, then devour in a self planned sabotage. Getting adjusted on an SSRI is basically having your brain fragmented then “optimized” for the drug. It’s done wonders for some. Then again it’s just me being defiant as protection. There was a fear I would loose any creativity or change completely in the first three months. Obviously I’m afraid all ideas are going to leave me without the SSRI adjusting the brains structure. So, without planning, I find myself again, in a fever of recording. Yes, and everything seems harder to work out now. Perhaps burnt myself out with that fear being constant as conditions changed in mood. What an interesting twenty years. “Just try not to analyze it for too long.” Then my eyes start to tear up without warning. It’s strange that I’m processing sadness physically before mentally. Then it’s the same fucking thoughts. I realize that in this time of my life, everyone I know and love will die sooner than later. Again, obsessed with death, and of course my own. Even random suicidal thoughts seems to be acceptable if I’m messed up enough. “No, they’re not a bad person, just romantic at heart and fucked in the head.” I have no good excuses yet not entirely bad intentions.
I hung out with a friend yesterday. While wondering if being around anyone was all just a mistake, I silently panicked. Rather, it felt like a suggested dream as I mentioned, “this is all too abstract and fatigue to be real.” I found myself explaining this nonsense in third person, described myself there as another me, without being the me on this server/plane/ … points collapsing every moment in life. Is it really all that quantized? I feel no automation in my consciousness. Then my mood changes like the swing of a 1000 brass pendulum. Holy shit what have I done with my life besides being obsessive? Damn! Glad I’m too dizzy to explain.
So Paxil killed your sex drive.
This last month is also remembered for the masturbation fest that has been happening. It’s been difficult to orgasm in almost all relationships and it really bothered the fuck out of me. Now I barely have to walk funny to have one. The difficult part is trying to last as long as my expectations. Funny, I recall Burroughs commenting in Junky how easily it was to achieve orgasm during a certain withdrawal while incarcerated, I believe … Memories always decieving us. penis us. too much porn for fifteen minutes. If I’m not touching myself, writing music, sleeping, shitting, pissing I get on YouTube and watch fucking movie reactions cause life can be lonely sometimes. More than you’d wish to imagine. He starts off by going, “what’s up everyone! My name is Melloooooooooooowwww!” Idfk, cheers me up sometimes. Right now I feel like the kid not picked in any sports teams.
inwex 