2003-01-09 - 6:26 p.m.
The image of a nineteenth century German Romantic painting surfaces when I try to conceptualize where I am right now. Friedrich, specifically. That evocative feeling of awe and dread and fear and wonder and mystery. I now have a prescription for Adderoll, which is currently being filled at the Walgreens around the corner. This is the result of several trips to the psychiatrist, undertaken to treat the very real problem of the near collapse of anything resembling organization in my life.
I know several people who have taken Adderoll, and they include some of the most fucked-up, beyond-help people I have had the chance to encounter. (I'm not talking about K., if you're wondering.) Several other people have seemingly been helped by it. Yet of the former, it's difficult to say if the Adderoll made their condition better or worse. The basic problem is mental illness. Which is my problem.
