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This hasn’t exactly been a productive week, writing-wise (or any-wise, for that matter). It probably didn’t help that I began the week with a Sunday-through-Tuesday bender, but what’s really messing with me is making the transition from self-medicating to professionally-prescribed medicating.

I’ve been seeing a therapist for the past couple of months — my “crazy” was getting to be too crazy even for me to handle — and Wednesday I finally got to see the psychiatrist. The verdict? Bipolar disorder (I know… everybody seems to have that these days). In any case, showing up with a hellacious hangover and a pretty bad case of the shakes left me “open to suggestion”, to say the least, so when it was suggested that I lay off the booze and give modern psychiatric medicine a chance, I agreed. For now, anyway.

Want to know how a sick alcoholic brain works? The whole way to the pharmacy to get my prescriptions filled I had the tune New Kind of Kick by The Cramps playing on an endless tape loop in my head.

It’s not the same as booze — not in the least. But it’s not a complete disappointment, either. I drank (and will most likely drink again) mainly for effect, but I’m also addicted to the act of drinking. I love pouring a drink, the clink of ice, the burn in your throat and belly as the whiskey goes down, the tingle in your toes you get from a good high-proof bourbon, the full-body shiver and all-over warmth, the immediate sense of calm and relaxation… that’s what made me an all-day sipper. And a full-time drunk.

The pills, on the other hand, just seem cold and clinical. Like the difference between making love all night and a quick jackoff to a porno — the effect is similar, but not quite as rewarding. That said, it’s better than nothing.

It also seems to be messing with my “muse”, which is making me a little nervous — and something I won’t put up with for long — but I’m hoping that’s just a temporary thing. I do have some new ideas bouncing around in my brain that could be poems if I could just catch the little bastards — just have to break in this new catcher’s mitt first.

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