Paroxetine Hydrochlorate and Iain’s Brain.

Paroxetine Hydrochlorate, Seroxat in the United Kingdom, Paxil in the United States, is a Serotonin reuptake inhibitor. I failed biology A-Level so am unfortunately not really qualified to talk of its specific effects on the human brain in anything other than the most basic of layman’s terms. Another reason I am not really qualified to talk of it is because I have been on it for only 28 days and then off it again for another 14. I know, basically, that it keeps Serotonin in my brain for longer than my body would normally allow, making me more confident, happy and all other things wonder anti-depressives are purported to achieve. How and why Serotonin has this effect on the brain is currently unknown.

When I was on it all I really noticed was some preliminary nausea and dry mouth, and a chronic inability to ejaculate. However, I have been driven, right now, to write about it because I have noticed a difference. Today is the 5th of March 2002, Mother is at work, I think. I have been instructed to cook something for my younger half-brother. I have wandered into my bedroom, where James is playing Counter-Strike on the PC (he is 7, I despair of his future sometimes), I ask him; What do you want for dinner?, he replies; nothing until mum gets home, I say; You have to have some dinner, he replies; Your food is disgusting, I don’t want anything…now go away. I stand there, hot blood making its way to my brain like that slovenly, thick lava during a volcanic eruption, I make my way over to the computer, yank his hand away from the keyboard and violently punch the control-alt-delete combination until the PC resets. I then tell him; Tell me to go away again, and this will be the last time you use this PC. I stand there for a while, displaying a calm exterior; he hasn’t hurt me! Before walking briskly out and going downstairs to play Tetris and listen to the Simpsons on Television.

After a while, he trots downstairs scouring for some Jelly. I make him aware that he will not have anything to eat unless he decides he wants some dinner. I restrain him from rummaging through the cupboards and tell him to go upstairs because he is irritating. I’m told to go upstairs as he slams the living room door on my face. I stand in the kitchen, furiously pondering his ingrained lack of respect (inevitable in our family, unfortunately) petting the cat as my excuse to be there. While I am doing this I realize just how different I am without Paroxetine Hydrochlorate inside me. I have been without it for about two weeks now and today I find myself, within the confines of my mind, calling James all manner of disgusting things. I ponder what I will tell mum when she asks why he has not been fed. I am sorely tempted to tell her that “I’m not going to waste my time and energy on that little ingrate of a shit”. None of this would have happened if I had had my 20mgs, I would have cooked him something anyway, shrugged off his disrespect as the cruel and unabated honesty of childhood, I would not be writing this now because I would not care about it so. Now, I stand there in the kitchen petting the cat and pondering suicide to get out of this terminally ill family. Suicide? Because of something my seven-year-old brother said? It seems I do require Seroxat after all.

Still, at least now I can masturbate, everything has its up side I suppose.