I'm Sticking to Red Wine

Last night I watched an old Simpsons episode where Homer eats blowfish and thinks he's going to die. The confronting mortality thing hit me really hard for some reason. I was almost moved. By a cartoon.

I must admit that I am psychologically unwell. I suppose it's not really the thing to go into here, but let it suffice to say that I've been at a low ebb for a while now. I'm reticent even to speak of it because mostly I just want to kick myself and say "shut up and get on with your life," and because I strongly disagree with our fetishized culture of victimhood and the way people talk about their "struggle" with such and such disease/disorder.

I have qualms about treatment as well. I don't really buy the ethics of psychopharmacology. I've been on pills before, and that time they were just flung at me, free of charge, and I thought it was creepy. Beyond that, I simply cannot ignore the socio-political implications of having millions of people zoned out on Paxil. I resent the philosophy that motivates this type of treatment; that if people just have the right prescription, they'll be able to fit in to this lovely little society of ours and feel better. Is it so ridiculous to suggest that this absurd and fucked up world is just as much a culprit as neurochemistry? That people have trouble dealing with reality because reality is immensely troubling? When I was on medication it made me care much less about the things that matter to me (care much less about anything really) and that was disturbing. The things I care about (and the thwarting thereof) may upset me but at least I care about them.

I think this may sound exactly like what I didn't want it to be; the ramblings of some self-absorbed prick. For that, I apologize to the Gods of Blog.