APRIL 29TH, 2014

4/29/14 5:29 PM

I’m back on my couch.

4/29/14 5:44 PM

I don’t really know what to say. Today I kind of feel like shit. I don’t know what it is; it was just kind of off.

I woke up this morning at 6:30. My alarm was blaring, and, yes, I didn’t pick up my sleeping medication, so I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night. I’m starting to feel it physically. Like, my body is just extremely restless. Maybe it’s because I actually started taking my antidepressants.

I usually lie and tell my psychiatrist that I take the meds he prescribes—sometimes it goes to the extent of telling him that I don’t think my latest medication is working. I want him to change my meds without ever trying the first ones he prescribed. It’s kind of weird. I don’t do it to be weird. I actually don’t think I know why I do it. Because I continue to do it. When he switched me from Remeron to Citalopram, I wasn’t taking the prescribed dosage—I wasn’t taking the Remeron at all.

I told him, “Doc, I just don’t like it.”

He asked if it made me groggy.

“Yeah, I just have difficulty waking up.”

I actually have no clue.

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll switch you over to Citalopram.”

I say, “What the hell.”

He switches me. A month goes by. Next appointment. I look at the bottle and it’s still unopened. I walk into the doc’s office. He asks, “How is the Citalopram?” Only after checking my weight, blood pressure, and my tremor.

“I don’t know. It’s okay.”

He suggests upping the dose.

I willingly oblige.

I get the script. I fill it maybe 3 weeks later. Well, I dropped it off that day, then I went to pick it up three weeks later and there was a whole debacle. Whatever.

So, I went to see Doc on Tuesday, and he gave me a new script of the same medication because I didn’t have the energy to pull my usual charade. I dropped the script off, but haven’t picked it up yet. Something after my appointment made me want to take my medication, so I finally opened my last bottle. I think that is why I feel this way today. I feel this way because I am hoarding serotonin. My brain has too much happy in it and I’m not used to it. It makes me want to smile uncontrollably, which is a problem because it gives me horrendous cottonmouth. Cottonmouth aside, it also does this thing where I feel like the serotonin is specifically being stored in the front hemisphere of my brain. I feel an extra layer today. It is almost as if I have a plate under my forehead. It feels a little harder than usual. I just tapped it to make sure.

I don’t know if the cottonmouth is from the Citalopram, the Concerta, the cigarettes, or the weed, but I will say, it sucks. So does this brain block.

I think of something that I want to say out loud, but I just don’t really have the energy to do so. I want to say it, but my jaw has become so lax that I cannot move it enough to speak.

Sometimes at work I think they know I’m on drugs. I kind of come off as a drug addict. My mouth is always dry. I smoke a lot of cigarettes. I’m quiet until you get me talking, then I don’t shut up. I jitter. They legitimately gave me a 3-square radius to greet people in. I complied only after I walked off a 9-tile square and asked if I could do laps in there while greeting. They said yes.

I don’t think they get me. Or I shouldn’t get high before work—one or the other. Speaking of that, let me get back to my uncomfortable sleep and how I was almost late for work.

4/29/14 11:56 PM

I now sit here in a white cotton-knit tank top and mint jeans. Anchor socks too. I have this newfound obsession with patterned socks. It’s gotten bad. Like maxing out a Gap credit card on socks.

Like I promised—this morning I was going to wake at 6:30. I had to move my car because of construction at 7:00. I knew that if I set my alarm for 6:30 I would eventually get out of bed. I figured if I am up and in my car, I would go to the gym.

The master of the universe had other plans. Like I said, I was awoken at 6:30 by my alarm. I pressed snooze.

6:39. Snooze.

I do the math half asleep in my head. 6:39 plus 9. We are at 45? No, 48. That gives me another 11 minutes to get to my car and move it.

6:48. Snooze.

If I lay here for 9 more minutes, I will get up at 6:57 and move my car. That gives me 3 minutes to get dressed, grab my keys, and walk out.

6:57. OH SHIT JACOB GET UP!

I scrambled to get my clothes on. I threw on jeans and a T-shirt. I get to my car and as I start it, I realized that I needed more sleep. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep that well, but I needed to sleep more. So no gym.

I went back inside and set my alarm until 8:00. That would give me an hour and a half to get out of bed, eat breakfast, poop, and shower.

Let’s just say I snoozed it until 9:17. I had 13 minutes to poop and shower. Fuck breakfast. I didn’t need it anyway. I also wanted to get high before work. I feel that I need to get high before work because I go to work high every day. If I go in not high, I probably wouldn’t do my job as well. At least that’s how I justify it to myself.

So as I was pooping, I ground up a nug and packed a bowl.

As excrement exited, THC entered. I started to feel more at ease. Halfway through the bowl, I came to see that I had been denying my body its basic urges.

I got horny. Sometimes weed makes me horny. Maybe that is too personal? Oh well.

I decided to throw on some porn. I finished wiping, washed my hands, grabbed my computer, and went to the gay category on Pornhub.

Found two men fucking. Mildly attractive. Afterwards I hit the bowl one more time and grabbed my junk. I checked the time before I started. It was 9:23. Let’s see if I can get this over with by 9:25. I spit in my hand and went to town.

I was in the shower by 9:25.

Something that I have noticed when I take my antidepressants—when I cum, it isn’t that fun. It’s kind of like I feel horny and I crave the feeling of sexual release, but when it is released, what I’m looking to be released is not released. Maybe that’s why I feel this way? I can’t release.

Anyway. I got into the shower after mopping up the mess on my bathroom counter, flushing it down the toilet with my residual poop, and closing the toilet. I pressed play on my iTunes and I jumped in the shower.

It was too hot. I burnt my chest and a little bit of my wiener. I turned it down but started lathering up right away.

Left arm.

Chest.

Neck.

Right arm.

Dick and balls.

Butthole.

Ass cheeks.

Rinse the soap.

Legs.

Feet.

Face wash.

Rinse body.

Shower off.

I am very meticulous about the way I get ready. I towel off and lotion up. I hit my bowl one more time.

At this point I am already high. But I needed to get higher. For some reason it just wasn’t enough. I get ready and wait to put on my work shirt. I always wait until the very end to put on my work shirt. I don’t want it to smell like marijuana. I kill the bowl. Throw on my blue tee, do my hair, spray some cologne. Put on my shoes. Feed my dog and put him in his cage. Out the door.

It’s 9:40. I had work at 10. I work 30 minutes away. I was going to be late.

I wouldn’t fret usually, but today I was fretting because I called into work on Sunday. I had work at 9 and I called at 8:45 to say that I had been throwing up all morning. In all actuality, I laid in bed next to my best friend after she and I destroyed our livers the night before. I was still drunk and could barely figure out how to call into work.

But that’s another story. I couldn’t be late today. I couldn’t be late because I was too busy masturbating and getting high. That sounds like such a loser’s life.

“Oh, sorry I’m late. I had to take a couple bong rips before rubbing one out. NBD. It won’t happen again.” The last part would be a lie. I am always late. I used to be early for everything. Maybe it’s the depression?

I am never early now. I’m always late. I don’t do punctuality. I do blame the marijuana usage, but I also blame my inability to motivate myself sometimes.

Maybe I should get to the point? This is my problem. I don’t know how to start anything. I don’t know how to open up. I am opening up to myself and don’t know how. I guess I should just start with a year ago—my 23rd birthday.