Talk about the “well-documented nightmare of getting off antidepressants” !

It wasn’t well documented at all in fucking France in 2006, the year I send 9 years of pointless psychoanalysis, a psychiatrist and Rivotril to fuck themeselves altogether. Rivotril, my last drug, apricot flavored dirty shit… ‘took me two long years to come out of what ?, 15 years of legal drug-addiction.

You know what a “pusher” is ? They pushed me : scientists, family doctor, family, tv, books into this. I wanted to be free and happy, they gave me 15 years of prison instead. All my youth.

The doctors keep saying here to this day that “There’s no way you could get hooked on those medicines. No way”. 2 fucking years like a legume, patiently and painfully climbing the walls of the pit. I’m allergic to doctors, I would truly appreciate to kill them with a fork.

I also know for a fact now, that not one of my doctors was an accomplished adult, all of them where motherfucking morons with problems far greater than mine… And a sick taste for money and a narcissistic taste for prestige.

Effexor : could never remember its name, always called it Ferox. Why is it we never know what we’re saying, when we’re saying it ? (Freud doesn’t have the answer to this).

Now, I don’t do drugs anymore (‘xcept pot, and it has to be real good or no, thanks),
I don’t smoke cigs anymore (used to smoke 40 a day),
I don’t put makeup on (used to Dietrich, at the end),
don’t pluck my eyebrows (they’re nice, why did I ever bother ? Oh, yeah… Those Madonna days.. 🙂
stopped popping my pimples (obviously related to the self hatred and nervousness from addiction),
don’t straighten my hair (what a waste of time…),
don’t color my white hair (if we can’t resist to that, we can resist to nothing and we’re dead !),
don’t wear bras (a study proves that they make the boobs fall tragically and the reverse too),
I wear Iron Maiden T shirts (gad, their music sux),
I do sebum only (I may wash my hair 2 or 3 times a year with shampoo),
and I’d kill anyone unpolite to me – Psychokiller like a David Byrne (I used to be a carpet, you could clean your shoes on me, I would make a cancer, but I wouldn’t say a word : thanks to Prozac, Effexor, Lithium, Xanax, Lexomil, etc, etc, etc).

Now I’m abnormal allright – I hate society of course -, and I’m so glad to be myself at last, I don’t have to work on me anymore and wait for the big day. Abnormality brings also abnormal friends, what a relief !

I hope all the people who have lived what I’ve lived have survived and will hit back, for everyone’s sake.

I’m glad to see that you can track these comments… in German.

Long live weltschmerz!

My feeling is that, when your sister (who happens to be your best friend) dies at an early age, it is entirely correct to be depressed and angry. If I didn’t feel that way, I think I would be a monster. One of these days, I will come out of it, but in the interim, I think my grief is appropriate and necessary.