A Letter Unopened
I had a dream last night. In the dream a close friend of mine died. I would've been more upset if not for the fact that as soon as he died I immediately forgot absolutely everything I knew about him. Seriously, I forgot his name, what he looked like, even how I knew him in the first place. So I went along to his wake, hoping that nobody would find out about my embarrassing memory lapse. I needn't have been concerned at all, as nobody else seemed to be bothered by the fact that it was a wake. It was a party in a fairly large house with several stories. Upon entering I was confronted by a crowd of rambunctious women, to whom I was, of course, completely invisible. So basically it was the average college party, only with more middle aged women. Upon leaving I realized that I was coming out the back entrance to Logic House, where the music department is located. I began to head home, when an interesting development occurred. For some reason the subject of my dream became a documentary on the generations of immigrants who spent their lives building Maynooth. Going back to the eighteenth century.
Within the dream, I recall someone showing me a pencil, which they proceeded to cut in two, by slicing down along the lead. I was told that I could do the same with my life. Opening it up to understand what was inside. However it occurred to me that this was utterly pointless. The pencil was ruined; it couldn't be used to write with anymore. I believe this part of the dream was something to do with the futility of introspection.
So, what's the point of my writing all of this, you may ask? It's because I fear it's evidence that my brain is turning to mush, and that if I were to burst my tympanic membrane it might all just drain out through my ear when I tilt my head.
Faces Are Strange
Have you ever really looked at noses? If you spend a certain amount of time looking at your nose in a mirror it should occur to you how ridiculous it seems. The same thing applies to ears, but more about that later. My nose is, of course, more prominent than most, owing to it's high bridge. This really serves no purpose, though. Many cosmetic surgeons would remove this bump by filing down the bone. So the question remains, what is it's purpose? Why do people evolve such noses? Or, depending on your point of view, why has God chosen to bless people like me with this extra piece of bone? Similary, why do people like Debbie Harry, and, um, most of the inhabitants of the Far East have proninent cheekbones, while I'm able to lead a fairly full and healthy life without them? What purpose do they serve? What purpose do chins serve?Oh, the questions, I have so many questions.
In other news, I finally recieved my grant cheque today. Joy! This means I can finally buy all the things I always wanted.... like love.
Current Mood:Chuffed to bits!
Current Music:John Cage: 4' 33"
Fun Condensed Into Small White Pills
So it would seem that I'm actually getting off quite lightly in terms of side effects. I guess I am a fairly healthy young man, and as such would be less susceptible to this kind of thing. I've been feeling fairly lousy over the past week: anxious, nervous, panicked, etc. But apart from the incident on Monday night, this is all fairly normal for me. Some people describe horrible panic attacks for the first two weeks, one describes 'devastating headaches with nausea and visual apparitions', others mention lack of libido, however aside from mild headaches the only thing I seem too be quite lucky in this respect. My search has also yielded this page which gives the cold hard facts about SSRIs. I am frightened. I should've given this more thought.
Oh, and thanks to both neuro and the freak for giving my blog the plugging it so richly deserves. Because let's face it, it's great and it's made your life is so much richer. Don't you just feel better about yourself each time you visit?
The Adrian Mee Collection
I couldn't resist the urge to put my name into into a search engine and find out if there are any other Adrian Mees out there, Dave Gorman style. The results of my google search are more horrifying than you or I could possibly imagine.
Zookeeper, Those Two Monkeys Are Killing Each Other!
My second visit to the psychiatrist today. Oh, joy! I've been assured that the drugs should have no long term side effects. Why would he lie? What would he have to gain? Anyhow, either way, I'm willing to stick with them for the next month or so in order to find out precisely what effect they will have on me, and what benefit they might be to my situation. Apparently I'll have to wait until about this time next week, as they don't really take effect until about 12-14 days of taking them. I feel kinda drowsy/woozy today, that soft, tired, down that I used to feel all the time when I was in school. I'm inclined to blame this on the Cipramil, but then again, I'm inclined to blame everything on the Cipramil.
And it's the college's open day, so we had a bunch of stroppy schoolkids come into the lab and stare at us like a bunch of colobus monkeys... though I managed to contain the urge to throw my own feces at them. That is, for now...
Q. Why do bees buzz?
A. Because they're not properly tuned in!
I Have Heard The Good News
Having re-read that second entry, I realized I phrased some of it badly, so just to avoid any confusion: NEVER consume alcohol before donating blood! It's a bigger sin than playing football near Mr. T's bins. Anyhow I recently read Love and Death: The Murder of Kurt Cobain, a thoughtful birthday gift from Mr. Anonymous. So... who killed him, you may ask? The short answer is that we all did. Kurt Cobain died on the cross so that the sins of mankind would be forgiven. He is our saviour and our redemption.
Perhaps the fact that the hero of my formative years was a self-destructive, heroin-addict, punk rocker might have something to do with my warped state of mind. Anyhow, as I was saying earlier, last night I believe I experienced a side effect of the drug: a concentrated burst of anxiety which lasted, basically until I could fall asleep. PANIC, FEAR, DOUBT, etc. The kind of anxiety which it had fended off for the past few days. I often feel like the ground is about to open and swallow me whole, and someday, God willing, it will. Today, despite the increase in the dose, I don't feel any effect whatsoever. Bored, demoralized, etc. Can't get up in the morning, either. When I finally do I reproach myself for being such a useless, lazy fuck. And then another day of shameless procrastination. So, if you were wondering why I decided to go down the route of prescription medication when nothing else seems to work, I hope I have gone some way towards helping you to understand.
Thanks for listening.
There Are Spiders Biting Me
There was a debate on Marian Finucane's radio show this morning over the influence of violent video and computer games on impressionable youth. Sheesh, when I think about the stuff we had to endure when we was kids! Surely the action in Pac-man represents the experience of a drug abuser. He spends his entire existence wandering around a maze, but never really getting anywhere. The maze represents life. He is constantly trying to dodge ghosts, which represent his problems. When he eats those flashing pills he suddenly becomes invincible, but when their effect wears off his problems return worse than ever. The more he scores, the less effect the pills have.
And then we've got Mario, who grows to twice his height upon contact with a special mushroom, and who can shoot fire from his hands when he obtains a certain flower. He's an opium fiend I tells ya! Remember Kirby's Dreamland? A little pink blob with stumps for arms who goes around eating his enemies and then forcibly regurgitating them in the direction of other baddies. What the FUCK was THAT about? Sounds like the product of an LSD trip to me.
Oh, also, I've started taking the full dose of 20mg per day of Cipramil today. But if anything my mood has worsened since the last entry. I consumed an entire box of Pringles in front of the tv last night, and later became very depressed.
Happiness Is A Warm Bed
I'm actually quite happy today, despite not sleeping too well last night. I woke up during the night and immediately became concerned that my nose was larger than it had been before I went to sleep. This is nothing to do with medication, it has happened before. I'm worried I might be growing a trunk. I saw an elephant tied up in the harbour once. I think it was an Indian elephant. Although I'm generally cynical about the idea of describing animals as having human characteristics, this was genuinely the most depressed animal I've ever seen. It resembled nothing so much as an unhappy person lazily eating a plate of chips. Elephants are probably more intelligent and sensitive than we give them credit for. It does occur to me, however, that it probably would be cool to be able to pick things up with my nose.
Oh, and that David Lynch fellow has gone down in my estimations a great deal. Check out his dismissal of the theory of
de-evolution, and marvel at his idiocy.
Regarding the anti-depressant: although, I'm not really supposed to see any positive results just yet, I do genuinely feel better, a little more relaxed. Whether this is the drug taking effect, I can't as yet be sure. I can at least comfort myself with the fact that they were free! Thanks NUI Maynooth!
Reactions
I feel no different. A little tired and finding it difficult to concentrate, but then again, I often do. This is the second day that I have taken 10mg of Cipramil. Yesterday I definitely felt a mild headache and mild nausea, but it soon passed. My main concern at the moment is the fact that I am now 'on' Cipramil, which means that if I wish to stop taking it, I would have to come 'off' Cipramil. This concern is compounded by the leaflet that accompanies the drug, which states: '... used to treat the symptoms of depression and, when you are feeling better, to help prevent these symptom from recurring'. Which looks quite ominous to me, despite the fact that the psychiatrist assured me that they were not habit forming. I also have some concerns about drinking alcohol and donating blood which I forgot to ask Dr. C****** about. I don't feel any better at the moment, and the leaflet actually warns that in the early stages of using this drug the aforementioned symptoms may, in fact, get worse in the short term. I think my anxieties are exacerbated by the fact that I recently read Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs, which deals with drug addiction and withdrawal. The details of hallucinations described in the book are, in many cases, very disturbing. Better living through chemistry, indeed.
Papa's Got A Brand New Blog, Baby!
Hello! My name is Adrian. I am a fairly nondescript member of Irish society. This blog will be an account of those things in my life that make my little heart swell with joy, sink like an autumn leaf, shrivel like a prune or... oh, well you get the idea. I'll also be chronicling my new love affair with the anti-depressant drug Cipramil, my obsession with Mr. Biffo and the theories of de-evolution.
