Under a Black Rainbow

'Tis the season for spooky shit and gory stuff and mangled realities. And after all the years consuming all the movies and all the books...the best and most efficient of the horrors is that of the self (should you choose to reflect upon it fully and appropriately). I've spent much of my last 15 years dissecting, trimming, and flat out destroying old bad habits and toxic personality traits. Doing so has made me feel more solitary than not.  I can look back and see the bad behavior and the unintended douchery if I peel back the veil on my own hazy memories to gaze upon the truth. While it's completely ridiculous and illogical, I worry that this phase of my life is experiencing a level of karmic retribution for the things I did as a younger man.  I have an exceptional group of friends who all enjoy many of the same things. And, I've been fortunate in later years to find romantic partners that fit my particular likes and dislikes in lovers, though nearly every instance was

  I currently stand upon the precipice of some good changes. The start of the year had me wound up and anxious - one of the many reasons I also chose to drastically cut down my drinking from "nightly" to "once every couple of weeks or so." My grief was starting to seep back in and take hold of things and my personal constitution couldn't seem to fight it alone. I'm good in tough moments; I thrive in chaos, as my coworkers know. I keep my shit together and I rarely break, but I knew I was close to a very bad breaking point.  So, after chatting with my doctor and a couple therapists, I went on a month-long leave from work and started a daily regiment of Zoloft. The problem with these types of drugs (SSRIs) is that they come with a number of physical and physiological downsides: lack of sexual interest, weight gain, a loss of purpose or sense of spatial ambiguity, and a pretty clear dissociation of your real self (all of which I hated immensely).  And so we add