I'M NOT ENJOYING THE PICTURE SHOW
First let me say that I sound like I should be locked up when you read this, and I realize this. However, I need to be upfront to get through this. I don't feel like myself anymore, and the person I am is typically VERY blatant and upfront. So with what control over my thoughts and actions I have, I'm going to be honest. Not to mention, I feel if you or anyone you know is interested in taking Chantix to quit smoking, you have the right to hear brutal honesty in one person's experience with it. It's not everyone’s, but it is mine.
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It's funny how when we're in our darkest hours, we are fearless. All of the things that terrify us dissipate and the only thing that remains is the fear of ourselves. I say this as I sit in the dark, something that I am terrified of when alone. When with someone it is nothing, but alone it consumes me. I think you could even put a doll in front of me at this moment and I would not be scared. Actually, I think it would steal my soul at this point, so let's scratch that off the "Exceptions" list of fears when depressed. Everything else - dying naked, the dark, driving off bridges, fire, dying and not being found for days and my cats eating me, sandwiches that I can't see the innards of, and the polka - don't sound that bad right now.
I must first say that in the small piece of my right mind that I have, I know this is the Chantix doing this to me. It's medicinal depression. I started weaning myself off of it yesterday, as I have now been on it a month and find that every day gets worse and worse. There are moments I can laugh, but it's fake. I even outright lied the other day and promptly confessed my sin to my mother. I don't lie. I don't understand the point in lying. I will skim over the truth, smile and pretend to be okay when I'm not, but I don't make up shit. This quit smoking miracle drug works for sure! I don't want a cigarette at all, but I'd prefer to not be alive right now either. I'm not fond of life on Chantix, at least for me. I know everyone has their own experiences and many quit, but I've read that what I'm experiencing isn't all that uncommon. I even saw a commercial the other night for a class action lawsuit against the drug for those families where someone killed themselves on this stuff. Now THAT scared me. The next day I cut my dosage in half because in all honesty, I could understand how in some people, taking this could lead to that.
Have you seen Being John Malkovich? That is what it feels like. I feel like someone gave me a pill...maybe the cookie that Alice ate...and I was prompted to crawl through a tiny door and sit in the dark to watch someone else's life through their eyes. The only problem is that everything the host's body is doing is bad. It's lying, being mean, screaming at people, insulting their friends, clutching the steering wheel so as not to run over someone or run themselves off the road. And inside I'm watching these horrible things and I'm yelling, "What the fuck are you doing? This isn't me!" And every so often I hear it and things are semi-clear and sometimes I will sob. It's scary. It's NO bueno. Bad. Bad. Bad. Then it feels reversed sometimes, like I'm John Malkovich and the visitor through the tiny door is saying bad things, "Stop breathing. Step in front of that car." Tonight I laid on my couch sobbing because I felt that I should not be alive because I am so disgusting. Okay, I just realized how this makes me sound really, fucking psycho. I guess in a way I am, but I know through that small window of clarity, that this is the medication. And you know what? Fuck it! I'm going to be absolutely honest here and just admit that I think this shit taps into the dark shit you have fought through in your life. It drudges up the muck from the bottom of the swamp and slaps it on your doorstep. I'm too out of it to clean it up or ignore it, but I know it will dry up and turn to dust soon. I know I'll be okay and the real me, the one whose summit I’ve reached, will show up again.
And seriously, please don't email or call freaking out about what I'm saying here. I'm not so lost in the medicinal haze that I can't see the reality of it all. It will be over soon. I will be back to me and all will be well, or close to. I'm not looking for anything except to get this out. I've been holding it in for a while now and I feel like it would just get worse if I didn't purge it. I finally told one of my friends yesterday about the intensity of the "scary thoughts" and she is worried, but she need not be. I'm like fucking Luke Skywalker with this shit. At least I know what's causing THIS! Now if only Luke and John Malkovich can work together...
Isaac, I take back my raves of this miracle drug. Yes, I have not smoked in over three weeks, but if you turned into "weepy, sissy girl" on Zyban to quit; I would NEVER suggest you take this shit. I read a lot of stuff online saying that going off of it is worse than being on it. I'm not going to make that assumption and buy into that notion. I’m going to let myself have my own experience with it. I know some people who took it, quit and went off without any noticeable changes. But I definitely think it's a gamble on this.
Until my weaning is complete, I'm practicing my mugshots.
********************
It's funny how when we're in our darkest hours, we are fearless. All of the things that terrify us dissipate and the only thing that remains is the fear of ourselves. I say this as I sit in the dark, something that I am terrified of when alone. When with someone it is nothing, but alone it consumes me. I think you could even put a doll in front of me at this moment and I would not be scared. Actually, I think it would steal my soul at this point, so let's scratch that off the "Exceptions" list of fears when depressed. Everything else - dying naked, the dark, driving off bridges, fire, dying and not being found for days and my cats eating me, sandwiches that I can't see the innards of, and the polka - don't sound that bad right now.
I must first say that in the small piece of my right mind that I have, I know this is the Chantix doing this to me. It's medicinal depression. I started weaning myself off of it yesterday, as I have now been on it a month and find that every day gets worse and worse. There are moments I can laugh, but it's fake. I even outright lied the other day and promptly confessed my sin to my mother. I don't lie. I don't understand the point in lying. I will skim over the truth, smile and pretend to be okay when I'm not, but I don't make up shit. This quit smoking miracle drug works for sure! I don't want a cigarette at all, but I'd prefer to not be alive right now either. I'm not fond of life on Chantix, at least for me. I know everyone has their own experiences and many quit, but I've read that what I'm experiencing isn't all that uncommon. I even saw a commercial the other night for a class action lawsuit against the drug for those families where someone killed themselves on this stuff. Now THAT scared me. The next day I cut my dosage in half because in all honesty, I could understand how in some people, taking this could lead to that.
Have you seen Being John Malkovich? That is what it feels like. I feel like someone gave me a pill...maybe the cookie that Alice ate...and I was prompted to crawl through a tiny door and sit in the dark to watch someone else's life through their eyes. The only problem is that everything the host's body is doing is bad. It's lying, being mean, screaming at people, insulting their friends, clutching the steering wheel so as not to run over someone or run themselves off the road. And inside I'm watching these horrible things and I'm yelling, "What the fuck are you doing? This isn't me!" And every so often I hear it and things are semi-clear and sometimes I will sob. It's scary. It's NO bueno. Bad. Bad. Bad. Then it feels reversed sometimes, like I'm John Malkovich and the visitor through the tiny door is saying bad things, "Stop breathing. Step in front of that car." Tonight I laid on my couch sobbing because I felt that I should not be alive because I am so disgusting. Okay, I just realized how this makes me sound really, fucking psycho. I guess in a way I am, but I know through that small window of clarity, that this is the medication. And you know what? Fuck it! I'm going to be absolutely honest here and just admit that I think this shit taps into the dark shit you have fought through in your life. It drudges up the muck from the bottom of the swamp and slaps it on your doorstep. I'm too out of it to clean it up or ignore it, but I know it will dry up and turn to dust soon. I know I'll be okay and the real me, the one whose summit I’ve reached, will show up again.
And seriously, please don't email or call freaking out about what I'm saying here. I'm not so lost in the medicinal haze that I can't see the reality of it all. It will be over soon. I will be back to me and all will be well, or close to. I'm not looking for anything except to get this out. I've been holding it in for a while now and I feel like it would just get worse if I didn't purge it. I finally told one of my friends yesterday about the intensity of the "scary thoughts" and she is worried, but she need not be. I'm like fucking Luke Skywalker with this shit. At least I know what's causing THIS! Now if only Luke and John Malkovich can work together...
Isaac, I take back my raves of this miracle drug. Yes, I have not smoked in over three weeks, but if you turned into "weepy, sissy girl" on Zyban to quit; I would NEVER suggest you take this shit. I read a lot of stuff online saying that going off of it is worse than being on it. I'm not going to make that assumption and buy into that notion. I’m going to let myself have my own experience with it. I know some people who took it, quit and went off without any noticeable changes. But I definitely think it's a gamble on this.
Until my weaning is complete, I'm practicing my mugshots.
