I’m reaching through fog these days.  This fog has names like Cylexa, Zyprexa, Prozac, Xanax, Abilify, Ambien and Klonopin.  Its suppose to make me better.  The jury is still out, but everybody is “proud” of me for seeking help.  Feels more like giving in . . . drinking the Kool Aide, so to speak.

The pharmaceutical industry is pretty smart.  It seems the chemical treatments available for those of us that have been deemed “different” due to temperament or emotional response must be introduced into and removed from the body slowly.  I currently find myself in the process of determining the perfect medicinal cocktail for my particular dysfunction.

There is nothing attractive or romantic about madness . . . true mental, emotional and physical torment.  You know the kind that they use to hold you for 72 hours without your consent.  Ya’ have to be careful what you say or write or do.  Mustn’t be perceived as a threat to oneself or others.  There is no “get-out-of-jail free” card for that one.  There is nothing intriguing or interesting about being incarcerated for 30 days ‘cause you have good insurance.  A three-day stay is worthy forgoing at most any cost.

Dude, insanity is not cool.  Mania is not a gift or manifestation of talent or self.  The crash-and-burn is much too frightening a price to pay.  When its real the panic will paralyze you, the anxiety cripple you.  Should I be able to make “it” go away, my differences made same, would I?  I guess in some very real sense, I’m trying . . . trying to fit in or at least get by.  There is nothing quixotic about being broken inside.