Anxiety and Hunter S. Thompson or Fear and Loathing In My Head

Wednesday, April 20, 2011
MedicatedAnxiety, the constant companion to my other neurosis, is always likely to rear it's ugly head in it's most heinous form when I am in a big city. Don't get me wrong, I love cities. The hustle and bustle combined with the severe anonymity is appealing to my inner being. Due to my clinical conditions however, I am rarely in a big city with the aid of weapons grade pharmaceuticals.

As everyone knows, these pills only mask the condition and rarely remove them from your psyche. You may be cool on the outside (or so you think) when inside you are a seething mass of judgmental violence and self loathing. You know that only the fine research of the pharmaceutical industrial complex is keeping you from joining those crazy sob's screaming at the world from every street corner. Sadder still is when you are sure they are screaming at you or worse, their special form of gibberish starts to make sense to you. It's as if it is some secret code shared amongst the people society has forgotten.

Then the unthinkable happens. The large percentage of drugs in your system reaches out and grabs your brain and let's through a barrage of visual and auditory stimuli. You go full Raoul Duke on the world. For me it was a painting. Some modern interpretive piece of work featuring a large swatch of black paint cutting through it like a brutal scar across the landscape that is my very confused brain. Jesus Christ that thing was going to give me nightmares. It was about death, or someones death. Hopefully not my own.

This painting was a reflection of my soul. I hoped that no one else recognized me in it. I was cursed and this bastard painter had realized it. He had hung my apprehension in this hallway for the whole wide world to see.

I could hear the world laughing at me as if I had shown up with my underwear on the outside of my pants. Every shameful memory marches front and center, skipping through my temporal lobes as an indictment of my own failures. I went back to my room to hide, the only solution being Xanax. More pharmaceutical help and perhaps I can revisit their world, safely anonymous once more.

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