Overmedicated and functioning... Kinda...

I'm a slave. The no-named legless zombie, pulling his limp carcass across great distances, never attaining the satisfaction of ever feeling full. I have this delusion that oxygen becomes sweeter with the conquering of the academic world, this will surely carry over to my professional pursuits...fuck... No rest for the wicked little things tearing at my temporal lobes. I feed them insatiable amounts of caffeine seasoned with amphetamine salts, and the taste of their efforts slowly fade to the liking of chewable aspirin.

I live with the desire to attain motivation from within, but cutting back on the medication gives me migraines. I can handle the usual headache, but the bastards that start knocking at my brain-door break through in well armed trigger-happy stacks, throwing lead in all directions. Poorly constructed analogy aside, the pain brings me to my knees. I feel like peeling my head open like a banana, the pressure is awful. I don't want to end up letting my gradual tolerances turn me into some toothless Appalachian hillbilly, so I'm cutting back. good for me.

I've started to do some research on nootropics, and I have to say some of the supplements I've recently invested in took me by surprise. NADH seems to work wonders even through the second week. I think I might actually be able to cut back on my dosages. I don't want to fully rid myself of the meds, because they genuinely help me through the day.

People tend to belittle individuals like me for medicating myself. Their take on this is that it's unneeded, and I'm weak-minded for even considering the approach. My reply is that there is a constant need for balance. If there is an existing medication that can aid you in your life, and it works for you, take it... There are people on this earth with chemical imbalances inherited by genetic dispositions, diet, and life's fucked up experiences. Why stick your nose up at their happiness?

Please don't preach therapy. Therapy is shit. I would laugh at you if you told me that an individual, more fucked up than myself, could coach me through the fucked up shit hidden in my closet of skeletons. I have a shrink. He looks like Stephen Hawking, and his rolling briefcase contains 20 different prescriptions and 2 manila folders. I swear the last time we delved into my issues he was sleeping with his eyes open and half-cocked. One person does not need a full 20 seconds to ask one question consisting of 5 words...

Just wish me luck, I'm seeking balance...

Pulse-^-