Day: 6

less drowsy--hearing still seems muted--sensation on top of head remains--general malaise just short of lassitude--awareness of being unwhole without clear comprehension--a vague fuddleness--a sense of the meds only holding moor--tethered to the dock of science--chained by a pill--a warring between what was and what is or between who was and who is--a certain cacophony between personalities--and all the while a growing frustration with what I can only call the insipidity of my existence

today feels the least drugged and the most normal and herein lies the fear: this new emotionally dulled self seen and accepted as is--sexual function remains impaired, which in and of itself is unacceptable--the impairment is not physical but mental and it seems upon examination as if the mental wires that ignite orgasm have been disconnected--desire remains but seems rather pointless--feminine charms fall flat--the entire physical and mental landscape has shifted but my memory of the old map is still clear; a cartographer with two versions of me

Still, I am more pleasant to be around and more engaging of others--what is lacking is simply a passion for anything--nothing wrong with the analytical functions of my mind--concentration is fine--mathematical abilities unimpaired--speech centers seem unaffected--touch, taste, smell and sight all seem fine--only hearing appears to me affected--music still feels more architectural than wavelike

the creative functions, of fiction and poetry, are absent, as they have been these last six days