Reading on Xanax

There are some things that calm me and my dopamine-overproducing mind: poetry and benzodiazepines. Suffice to say that when combined (either when reading poetry on Xanax or in this case poetry about the effects of Xanax) spikes start to strike.

It seems overly corny to say that Megan Boyle is someone you would like to chat with over a beer – but that is however the way I have been feeling reading her blogs, following her on Twitter and reading her posts on Thought Catalogue. The girl has something to say.

d39312ff10c7c452c9f6c495b4d3cca4

The texts in “selected unpublished blog posts of a mexican panda express employee” are overly self-indulgent and navel gazing – in fact she makes Lena Dunham, aka Hannah Horvath in HBO-show Girls, look like a world-engaged, philanthropistic Earth-woman. But as Boyle notes: “i should make a blog post of all the thoughts I had while walking to school, i’m having good thoughts today, all seem interesting. i wonder if that would be interesting to read, or too self-indulgent, maybe both, i don’t know. i like reading things other people might describe as “self-indulgent”. what other people define as “self-indulgence” just seems like honesty to me.”

images

And Boyles selected unpublished blog posts are indeed honest, touching and heart-rending. The jottings coming from living a somewhat tedious college-life in Baltimore with too much time spent alone span from everything from notions about life without the internet to a list counting “everyone i’ve had sex with” and daily accounts of intake of food and beverages. At times Boyles imagination runs away with her – can a cat die of a catnip overdose? How would it feel to have sex with rice noodles (no sauce)? And what does the bohemian rhapsody actually mean? Boyle is funny. And this combination of humor and hardcore essential thoughts about life and death makes the unpublished blogs absolutely worth reading.

I will encourage you, dear reader, to take a Xanax and top it up with a Campari, lean back and read this beautiful poem/blog/aphorism:

 

what xanax makes me feel like

 

sort of like the few minutes before falling asleep, but if I was fully conscious during those minutes

everything is neutral and on the same level

i don’t feel nervous about anything

sort of like being in a bathtub, my brain gets put in a bathtub

everything seems equal, i don’t know, i keep having that thought

when i try to think about things that have made me feel bad in the past i just think “those things are okay now”

it feels sort of like being slowly fucked in oppressive heat

where the goal of sex is to distract each other with your genitals, not necessarily have orgasms

you just look at each other and forget what you’re doing but you keep doing it

it feels like watching cooking shows all day on a Saturday and having that be your entire life’s purpose

sort of

there are better ways to describe it

i wouldn’t want to attempt to read “swann’s way” while feeling like this

one time I went to whole foods and bought two different kinds of lettuce on xanax

i bought something else too