  My jaw hurts, and now, oddly enough, my ear. See now, I had my wisdom teeth removed when they were still impacted, which meant surgery, stitches, and a lot of post op drugs.
There was a lot of pain-in-the-assness involved afer, though, when I hyper healed, produced a lot of scar tissue on the insides of my mouth, and began biting them a lot, causing infection, and a lot of annoying pain. Seems that I must have been biting the inside of my face a lot, becuase it hurts like hell, and now my ear hurts. That's what I get for having my wisdom teeth removed in a mall. But I still have the teeth, in a little home-ec made medicine pouch, which hangs around the neck of my favorite stuffed animal of all time, Blind Bear.
I don't want to be on medication anymore. That is to say, I don't want to be on prozac anymore, or any other supposed medication that is designed to 'help' with the mood disorder that occasionally seems to encompass my entire life. The side effects are lousy; I'm jumpy, paranoid, and sometimes the prozac winds me up like several cups of coffee followed by a couple of jolt colas. This is not the worst of it. On paxil, I was hallucinating, on Celexa, my short term memory was all but anilhilated, Zoloft also screwed with my memory.
Effexor did nothing side effects wise, but it did nothing for symptoms either. (It was a fuck you to effexor when i took them all at once during the summer of hell, i reckoned that if one a day didn't work, perhaps fifty might. ) Zips me up, makes for interesting problems in the mental process, creates the effect of trying to communicate through warm oatmeal; that's what these drugs have done, not to mention the stunning and horrid process of becoming unaddicted to an anti-psychotic that was wrong prescribed and inadquately doled out. All of this, and many more depressingly physcial side effects to boot, in exchange for having my moods somewhat, sort of regulated.
Reminds me of Olean. This was a company that produced potato chips. Someone had the brillant idea of using a fat enzyme that couldn't be absorbed by the human body, thus rendering their potato chips fat free. There's always a tradeoff, though. Each package of chips had the ominous phrase written in red after the ingredigents: May cause anal leakage. No fat, but you're going to leak out of your butt, because, after all, the human body can't absorb the fat we put in there, so yeah, here are some Depends.
I sort of feel that I'm exposing myself to terrible consequences of being on a litany of new and exciting drugs. I'm waiting to find out what the long term effects are, and what effect being on this pharmacutical rainbow will be on my body. I know my short term memory still has pretty substantial holes in it. I'm waiting for my fingers to turn green and rot off, or something. I was even told by my optomitrist that the fact that I need glasses is something most likely caused by anti depressants. It's depressing. Which, considering, is not particularily benifical. I know that if i went to the doctor, and told them my deal, they'd up my doseage, or prescribe something else.
I'm not sure if i can go through another 4-6 weeks of adjustment to a new drug, waiting out the side effects that happen initally, trying to deal with the side effects that come in as a permanent addition to the little pill's original intent, and then, after about two months, trying to determine if the drug is actually doing its job in stablizing my sadness. There would certainly be time lost at work, time spent throwing up, pissing out of my bum, and various other slightly infirming symptoms, and weeks of them.
So, not an option. Upping the doseage to get the crying under control may be an option, but I'm sort of inclined not to. My interest in taking the damn things is definitely decreased. last week and a bit I have been experimenting with not taking them at all. Not an option, either. In fact, the non compliance with my precription may have just caused my lack of interest in taking them, if you follow the convolutions. Work, and home, however, have been good. I do spend one of my days off almost exclusively in bed. Works, I feel pretty ready to go after this rest period, but it seems excessive. Silly thing to worry about, but that's me in a nutshell, worrying about every little thing until it finally slams into my skull that worrying is about as effective, and as useful as teaching a fish to whistle.
Supposed to write a story for Kurt. Anyone have any topic suggestions? 
