eff and def

anger - and why play at passive fragments for some kind of pathetic poetry fodder?

i'm, fucking, angry - at what i don't know - it's one of those nasty spokes in the cycle that's teetering like a drunk's pedaling, canter, third wheel thwacking me upside one of my heads that's in the wrong place again

i want to blame everything on medication, presence or absence, but i don't dare do that and shirk responsibility... but why not, what's it matter? maybe i'm starting to feel feelings that were covered up by pills now reduced to fractional dosages - that scary acronym SSRIs - more likely it's nothing to do with that though, it just is what it is, and i got wrapped up writing a review, but it was dawning on me that something i initially felt driven to write was taking A FUCKING HOUR per paragraph, and that's when i started getting frustrated, and thinking well then, do something else, but wanting instead some kind of vindication for seething through this shit

i dunno - dunno why i'm typing either, a phenotype, dunno why i'm posting, a prototype, dunno why anything, alphabet soup, it's a coincidence, a pornographic mashup as well, the green forest - the green forest - maybe it is lack of meds, there's a certain flavour to this frustration i don't remember ever getting when i had as much as 50mg of that stuff in my system, but it's hard to tell what the mg/kg portions might be at this stage, given response curves and half-lives and rogue metabolisms

maybe i'll not even try to resist succumbing, maybe i'll lie down in anger - even when there's no prospect of falling asleep, just lie angrily on the couch and stare stonily at the ceiling and feel discontent with life the universe and everything, but particularly my own life and myself and all the effort i've gone to, to arrange things in aesthetic orders that were on the wrong track, that were no damn good, and now i'm stuck in these patterns

fucking hate this shit, i do, i fucking hate it - i hate this person - oh wait, maybe i needn't be saying these things so explicitly, cause then, soon after, i might use it as evidence that i'm getting rapidly unhinged from just taking a few less pills, and blow it all out of proportion, and prematurely end the experiment which i started in the first place in hopes that i'd feel better eventually - i'd hoped that in the long run, detaching myself from the yoke of oppressive chemical regimes with their attendant side-chain effects would be a good thing, provided i could get through a period of instability and of maybe having to deal with some emotions off the spectrum i'd gotten acclimatized to - but of course, it wouldn't be that simple, would it? nah

it's so hard to tell normal depression from abnormal depression, medicated malaise from healthy malaise - if it's physical, why can i be led to believe it's my thoughts, when it's my chemistry? how can it be so subtle that it can trick my thoughts into saying there's no biology behind this, that's wishful thinking?! cause maybe it is my thoughts, maybe it's psychological, maybe it's circumstantial - but i'd rather not have to change circumstance, cause circumstances are so stubborn, i've never made much progress changing my life, but i could change chemistry, that's easy, simple intake of this or that, it appeals to me in my laziness and/or tireness or whatever the fuck-ness, my poor me-ness, cause nobody can feel as shitty as i do, and if they do, and they did more anyway, then fuck them and their smug example-setting charade undergone just to point out how lame i am, which i already knew - fuck us both, to use a four letter word, the "eff" word, that may be an acronym about uncarnal knowledge, or might be a bastardized version of a german verb, but is a miserably worn-out word that ought to be buried next to the "def" plot

wow, it's creepy how i was in an okay mood, had some projects on the go, and then all of the sudden, DRAIN, there it goes, and i'm flipped into ruminating about why i hate everything, yours, mine... if it's a physical thing, like the can i kicked down the road as a missed dosage catching up with me, then it's soooo subtle, how it can disguise itself as the normal functional flow of one thought to another, and not be anything so underlying as shift in chemical equilibrium - like, i suppose, for the last, jesus, six years maybe (?!) i've maintained a steady state of sertraline, faithfully dosed in the morning, never more, never less, and why should i act surprised if suddenly, i've only got 1/3 of the serotonin re-absorption blocking molecules on the job? surely that would result in something that would affect outlook on things, messing with the serotonin, cause they say it regulates a myriad of things under the umbrella of what we call "mood", and if my mood was pretty mediocre to begin with, well, what's the big surprise then, when my brain is suddenly allowed to absorb the amount of serotonin it would have normally back into neurologically-neutral effluent, transmitting nothing nowhere? of course my way of thinking's going to be altered a bit, given to what extent my thoughts are shaped, framed, formed from overlaps of chemical states - and as unimpressed as i am with therapies that hinge on minor tweaks to levels of vitamins, minerals, hormones, that will, presumably, perk you up somewhere downstream, that always disappoint me, these synthetic serotonin-boosting molecules are designed for the exact purpose of changing the brain, so of fucking course i'm going to have my thoughts affected and my feelings shaken up when overturning a state of affairs held for years

it doesn't feel like a good kind of shaking up though, it's just depressing that as depressed as i was, i can be even more depressed if i don't take my anti-depressants - the question is though, is this just like a drawn out amphetamine crash? which would be an appalling thing to have to go through, but the point being that there's light at the end of the tunnel, and i could, if i could see the experiment through, and give it long enough to where i could goddamn well gauge anything, arrive at a more healthy place, of contentment that wasn't dependent on meds, which is more of a kind of keeping my brain in a straight-jacket kind of "contentment", not all that pleasant, and there's consequences to being in a straight jacket and stuff and you know... ....
... ... i feel like my writing process is screwed up, i can edit and clarify if i could climb the mountain of doing that, but the energy required is monumental and i refuse - my head aches and it's clumped up and cluttered with junk, i'm in a haze that's sharp in certain corners that jab into me, bloody me then disappear in swelling tumours before i can locate their edges to sheath - yeah, something like that...

don't wanna make too much of this though, it's probably noise, not signal, and i'm just being verbose because i have no life, haha ha ah   ha    yeah, well