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Sunday, 7/7

I remember why I hate SSRI’s – specifically, and completely.*

I thought it might be a good idea to double-up on my sertraline dose. It’s okay, I’d been weaning myself down for nine months or so anyway, so there was no chance of it being a danger.

But oh.mi.god. This twitching, shaking, bone-clacking almost-coming-up like the worst batch of MDMA you’ve never had in your life; coupled with the mongy, dopey, confusion is the actual worst.


*apart from my previous drug-wife: Escitalopram. You were sweet and clean and never tried to set fire to my central nervous system.


Wake up, bleary-minded. Bed is warm with the press of bodies (wife and cats) and the light is just ’round the corner from arrived. Pray. Water. Then strong coffee. Try not to trip over the cats now chirruping about the kitchen floor. Get washed, open the windows. Take a moment to be an outside creature; wordlessly snuffing at the ozone and looking at the plants. More nicotine and caffeine in equal measures. Make sure that everything and everyone is fed and watered before the business of the day starts properly. Later I’ll boot up the laptop and check the world hasn’t done anything stupid while the sun hasn’t been around this side of the hemisphere. Morning injections of data supplied through the crackling radio, or from the email lists. At some point stretches, and a (very) brief attempt at some yoga.

And lastly; a little white pill.


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