Wednesday, March 25, 2009

(Don't mind me, just blowing steam.)

At the beginning of March I decided that I was going to stop taking the daily 20mg dose of Paxil that I've been shoving down my throat for the past six and a half years, and began the weaning process of nixing every other dose. Now I'm stuck trying to figure out if my current all-encompassing dissatisfaction with life is because I'm actually pissed or because I'm in a transitional period via my medication.

Ditching the pills has been an odd ride so far. Initially I felt sort of like a woman going through menopause – hot flashes, mild nausea, occasionally blurred vision. I still get the flashes, though they are now accompanied by strange bouts of paranoia, moments where I can't shake the feeling that my entire existence is a waste of time.

Perhaps I simply find myself in yet another of life's long line of depressive ruts. It's not like I've ever been unhappy before. Likely my recent conclusion that my life is going nowhere is simply a coincidence. Or maybe it's been going nowhere for a long time and now that I'm coming out of the pill-coma I've just started to notice it. Man, that's an upsetting prospect.

I'm bored. Bored out of my shit. But even worse than being bored is the fact that I am lacking severely in inspiration. Whenever I sit down to work – open up a story or a design project or, well, anything – I become immediately daunted by the prospect of finishing it. I've never been all that great at finishing things, which has always bothered me, but now I feel like I've gone from "not great" to "fully unable."

Job: going nowhere. School: no less annoying than it's ever been. Location: stuck (though that's not so bad). I just want to do something. And is it so much to ask for it to be a work of undeniable genius? Or at least, you know... better than bad? What's a boy to do? Ride it out, I guess. Had to grow up sometime.