Over the past year I had been taking various psychotropic medications (legit, I might add) with the goal of making me a more pleasant, palatable person who actually sleeps. I stopped taking them cold-turkey about a month ago, because the shit didn’t work. I was still just as vicious, snide, and moody as I ever was on the inside, but I just couldn’t be arsed to act it out because I had become comfortably numb.

All it did was sedate me. It demotivated me. Granted, I stopped doing the stupid shit that used to get me in trouble (social, never legal) but I just became like Randall Patrick McMurphy just before Chief ripped up the water fountain and escaped. I didn’t do anything. I became a viewer, but was no longer an observer.

I stopped doing the things I used to like to do: I stopped writing my poorly crafted therapeutic essays. I stopped making guitars. My libido dropped off, and so did my business – and at my age I need as much of both as I can get. I stopped drinking too, but that was a toss-up. I was never the most interesting person in the room, but now I was a fucking mannequin.

I was told that these wonder drugs would make me less obsessive, but it turns out that the obsessiveness is what made me into me. And quite frankly, I feel better. Quicker of wit. Sharper. Meaner. Me. The fog has lifted, and I have regained the ability to amuse myself.

I had people ask me if I was depressed after I began taking this shit, but never before. In talking with friends and acquaintances about it now, they said I seemed distant and preoccupied. They thought I was mad at them.


So fuck all that.

I apologize in advance for my future behavior. And if you’re new here and don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, then shut up. You’re new – earn your stripes.

Now someone be a love and go get your old Uncle Zuzax a drink.

Disclaimer: Your mileage may vary. Consult your doctor. Don’t blame me if you quit your meds and something awful happens.