A Communion of Xanax

Posted on September 18, 2002 in Depression

I noticed that I’ve stopped picking at my fingers. I think I lost the energy for it after yesterday when I was mad at myself for not making money; mad at Lynn for not telling me the truth about the money and a little matter about some pages she’d checked for me; and mad at the hacker who was blocking access to Dalnet; mad at ICQnet for allowing services to lapse again; mad at the fellow who wrote this web site about skinning because he had suddenly taken it down, leaving me facing a blank wall stenciled with the words “Sorry, the skin tutorial is down right now.” Every time I overburdened my system memory and crashed out of MIRC, I came back to ICQnet to find an entirely different group of people from the ones I’d left only a few minutes before. Only at Peersupport, where I found snaily^, did I find stability and a friend who’d listen to my griefs.

The wild-haired demon I named Frustration screamed and shook me from within. I broke a xanax and ate half. Fifteen minutes later, I took the other half, entering the benzoid communion. Today seemed like a good day to remain in bed. My body was not ready to die and I didn’t want to think about not thinking. I got up this morning and sat in front of the monitor for awhile, watching people fling rebuttals in the online intifada known as Dalnet #politics. When I realized that the blank parking lots between the words made for happier viewing than the comments, I pulled the blue comforter over my head because it was cool enough for it again. I felt limp, like a depleted serum bag sucked dry by vampiric disease.

I dreamed of rainforests and crystal cities in the sky. I populated my dirurnal slumber fantasies with the faces of folks. My visions were crowded by people, making demands on me, telling me their stories, asking me to lead them or to save them from the blue-suited monsters who worked for the Pentagon. I woke alone a little after five in the afternoon. Lynn came home early because she had a ministry class. We ate dinner, she went to her class, and I tried following another set of skinning instructions. When all failed, I reconnected to MIRC and started writing this blog. I did not do it for relief and did not find any. I wrote it twice and then gave up, publishing what you see.

As of this writing, I have not seen a human being other than my wife since early yesterday morning and I have not left the sacred precinct of the house since I returned from having my teeth cleaned on Monday. What I need, I think, is a few hours out of this house, playing word games with my pen over a cup of decaf and a soft cranberry scone.