Fluoxetine Dream Routine - Comments welcome

Robbyn

Robin sat in a chair, its uncomfortable plastic shape becoming familiar at this stage; it was his third time here. He felt considerably better than he did the first two times, perhaps due to the medication, perhaps due to him actually doing something, other than decaying at home, lost in thought, worry and paranoia.

Dr. Silman sat across from him, scribbling, as he had been all the times Robin had saw him, and, as always, the window behind the good doctor was wide open. The sounds of traffic from the bypass on the other side of the horse-filled field behind the clinic drifted through, the effect was calming.

‘Well,’ began the doctor, and at the exact same time Robins phone buzzed in his pocket, on silent mode, a text message, his hand twitched, the rest of the doctors words were lost to Robin, he wanted to look at the message, he knew who it was from.

Robin stared right into the doctors eyes, but he was not looking there, his thought were miles away, in the city. Dr. Silman’s words were background noise, though the words ‘breathing space,’ and ‘fluoxetine’ registered. He thought of the rest of the day, and suddenly he was seized by an urgent need to leave.

‘Robin?’

Robin blinked. The drone of traffic returned to the room, although he knew it had never left.

‘yes?’

‘The medication, is it having any effect?’ the doctor said, clearly repeating himself.

‘Yes,’ Robin replied, truthfully, the medication had started having a noticeable effect in the last week, it had been surreal, ‘I can continue on it, can’t I?’

‘I think that would be for the best,’ said Dr. Silman, beginning to scribble again, this time a prescription, which he handed to Robin

‘Thank you,’ Robin replied, relieved, standing to leave. He needed to leave, already his hand was wrapped around his phone in his pocket.

‘Oh and Robin,’ began the doctor, Robin halted, “I’ll see you again, in a months time, just to check up on things”, and with a warm smile, Dr. Silman continued to scribble.

As soon as the door shut behind him Robin had his phone out, the message icon on the screen informed him it was indeed, from Jacky, just like he though, he opened the message.

“I miss you babe xx”

Robin felt lighter, a feeling like relief, Jacky’s texts always had the same effect.

He typed a reply “miss you too, I’ll see you soon xxx”

The sense of urgency became more pronounced, it was a need, although his anxiety was dulled by the message, he held the prescription tight in his fist as he hurried past the lines of dull faces in the waiting room.

On the steps outside the clinic he found his mother, smoking, as usual, how ironic she should smoke outside a health clinic, Robin thought, not that smoking bothered him, he was used to it, besides, it calmed people, especially his mother. At least for a while.

‘Ready?’ she asked, as she turned on her heel, dropped her cigarette butt, and headed back towards the car, she hated this.

They sat in his mothers two door coupe, waiting. Robin looked out of the passenger side window, fully aware of her stare, burning into the back of his neck.

‘You’re not going to tell me what it is are you?’ she asked, the same question she asked the last two times they had been to the clinic.

‘Its to do with me, it’s personal’ Robin replied monotonously, bracing himself mentally.

‘And I’m your ****ing mother, Robin, I don’t understand why you can’t tell me, I don’t know how you can expect me to watch you take those ****ing anti depressant happy pills every morning, and not know why,’ she shouted, almost pleadingly, it made the car unbearable. She was different this time, it wasn’t anger, it was desperation.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Robin, just as tonelessly. His mother lit another cigarette, briskly turning the key, firing up the car and speeding out of the lot, muttering.

The truth was he didn’t even know himself, sometimes he felt so utterly desolate, underneath everything was a constant sadness, every sad thing in the papers, in the news, on the radio, had a profound effect. It was suffocating, he couldn’t explain, who would take him seriously? Dr. Silman had put it down to depression, he didn’t understand, he had asked barely three questions and prescribed pills, and easy solution, although they did help, even if only a little, that much was undeniable. Robin was another member of a depressed nation, lost in a sea of pill-happy nobodies, Dr. Silman probably treated ten more like him.

The drive through their tiny town took less than five minutes. Robin barely breathed until he could leave the car. He entered his house, greeted by the dull thumping of his brothers tasteless music, emanating from his room, lair, Robin thought.

He was halfway up the stairs and he heard his mother slam the front door as she walked in, she continued straight to the kitchen, no doubt for another cigarette and gossiping phone conversation with another member of the nosy brigade.

Shutting his door behind him, turning on his own music, Robin felt relief, almost detachment, heavy guitar riffs drowned out everything.

Robin upended his over-the-shoulder schoolbag onto the floor, he held no sentimentality for anything that fell out. He began to pack for the city. He ticked off an imaginary checklist in his mind; train ticket, keys, phone, money, clothes, he had everything.

He sat for a while, a rare moment, when his mind was clear, when he knew exactly what he wanted, the music was soothing, he checked his watch, he had a half hour, time to go.

Switching off the music brought him back to the real world, brought back the urgent need to leave, the need to escape from here. He slung his bag over his shoulder and left his room, he made as far as the front door when he turned back.

‘I’m leaving,’ he shouted back into the kitchen, he heard his mother pause mid sentence.

‘Goodbye Robin,’ she shouted back, and then ‘I love you.’

‘Bye,’ he replied, and left.

The walk to the train station took barely twenty minutes, a little longer than usual. He had to collect his pills.

Across the village he saw only strangers, although he had lived here for more than a year he knew nobody, he went to school in a different town; there was no school here. They all seemed so unlike him, so different to him, nobody said hello. He was foreign to them, “from the big city,” he appeared strange to them, with tight jeans, pierced lip and long hair, he was nothing like them, nothing at all like them. What could he do? He couldn’t open their minds for them, and for that he hated them, they were narrow minded, shallow in their own way. The fact they felt the exact same about Robin made him wonder, who was right?

Me, he concluded, whenever he had this internal battle with himself, they refused to accept his difference, he despised their prejudice.

He arrived at the train station, anxiety faded a little when the train pulled in, he was barely an hour away, then he would be ok.

He found a seat in a compartment, alone, a stroke of luck. He leaned back, sun spilled into the train through the window, it was hot and stuffy. Robin opened his bag, and took out the pills, he read the side of the box “20 mg fluoxetine, take once daily.”

Fluoxetine, he thought, the third most prescribed anti-depressant in the world, according to the internet, no doubt effective. It increases serotonin levels in the brain, Dr. Silman had told him, basically like walking along in a sort of dream, robin thought, feeling different then you really should be feeling, but better. It was worth it, although sometimes he wondered if the medication would change him, as a person, affect his judgement, well, that was unavoidable, different feelings meant different choices, the pills would change him, he wondered if Jacky would notice.

He popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it whole, easy now he thought. He remembered the first time, trying to swallow one had been a nightmare, it was a month later. Now he was a pill-swallowing pro.

He lay his head back, and let the sun shine on his face and neck. He just needed to wait now, soon he would be the happiest he had been since last time. His anxiety was replaced with nervous anticipation. This weekend will be good, he thought.

Robin didn’t remember falling asleep. He was awoken by somebody lightly squeezing his arm, he looked up, it felt like it had been hours, the train was stopped, it was a ticket inspector, he smiled.

He presented his ticket to the smiling ticket inspector, who punched it and returned it, heading back out of his compartment, with a chuckle. A nice man, he was familiar to Robin.

From the L.E.D. readout above his compartment Robin knew they were stopped at the stop right before his destination, the end of the line. he checked his phone. There was one message.

“I’m here, can’t wait to see you xx,” it read.

Robin couldn’t suppress a wide grin, his anticipation swelled inside him, he knew what was coming; happiness, the likes of which nobody could describe.

It was a sunny day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He lifted his bag as the train began to move again and exited his compartment to stand at the door. He thought of the pills in the bag and wondered why he needed them so badly, it all seemed so silly, but he knew once the week started again the anxiety, the depression, the darkness, would all come rushing back. Why, or how, Robin couldn’t understand, not at this moment, not now. Each weekend was like it’s own little dream, separate from the rest of the week, different people, different place, different feelings, like an escape.

The train came to a slow, agonizing halt. Robin hopped from one foot to the other, he was animated, ready, he couldn’t wait.

The doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and Robin bounded from the train.

There, at the end of the platform, shoulder against the wall, was Jacky. The one true cure to his depression, the feeling of looking into his brown eyes was impossible to express.

Robin ran to him, they embraced, Robin was truly happy, and he would be for the next day, until he had to leave, and in exactly a week from this moment he would be right here again, doing this exact thing again, and in exactly two weeks, and exactly three weeks, it would continue. The routine would continue, just like taking he pills, going to the doctors, going to school, getting up every morning, but for Robin, it all led up to this.

It’s what he lived for.

Canard

Thinly disguised story. :P

I love it.

Robbyn

It's really not

And woooooop

pickarooney

I keep getting distracted (by external factors) when I try read this. Bumping it so I will remember to try again tomorrow.

pickarooney

First things first - you need to completely review your punctuation. Your commas, full stops, semi-colons are all over the place.

Secondly, there are a few occasions where you've gone for 'bigger-sounding' verbs (emanate, exit...) which really jar. Use either simpler verbs or more metaphoric ones if you must deviate from the mundane.

The story itself is well put-together, fluid and clear, but the ending is a bit 'so-what'. Having given us a detailed look inside the character's head, what are we to conclude from it?

Robbyn

pickarooney wrote: »

First things first - you need to completely review your punctuation. Your commas, full stops, semi-colons are all over the place.

Secondly, there are a few occasions where you've gone for 'bigger-sounding' verbs (emanate, exit...) which really jar. Use either simpler verbs or more metaphoric ones if you must deviate from the mundane.

The story itself is well put-together, fluid and clear, but the ending is a bit 'so-what'. Having given us a detailed look inside the character's head, what are we to conclude from it?

I understand what you mean about the punctuation. I'm way too fond of commas. I do that when writing in general, personal writing flaw I suppose.:o

As for the verb thing, I can understand with the "emanate" example. But could you point out others?

And the story as a whole is just an insight into the character. Sort of a "day in the life of" kind of story focused on somebody suffering from depression, and different factors of their life. What makes it worse, what helps etc. not a defined "beginning, middle and end" type of story.

Thanks for the observations

merc

Great setting up of the situation a little jumpy and kinda rushed throught from where he enters the house till he leaves again.

Have to say I feel very small minded when I relaised Jacky was a he at the end. Think the whole miss you babe threw me of.

Realy like it.:D

Robbyn

Thanks merc

And yeah I was trying to think of something to fill in the house part. I suppose I couldve done more about what he was thinking. Or more about jacky at that point but sure I'll probably write another version of this at some later stage to fix mistakes and redo it

Glad you liked it

Robbyn

I have revised fluoxetine, although I still would like to change the name. Have a look

http://webothcanspeakintongues.tumblr.com/post/663713509/fluoxetine-revised-version-anyone-want-to-suggest-a

EileenG

Much better, and shows the difference a good edit can make.

Make sure you do a couple of edits before you post anything to your blog. You don't want the embarrassing early version being the one that people read. The difference in punctuation and sentence length is significant.

Robbyn

Yeah it really does. I only edited once or twice on the first version of that and not very thoroughly. Thanks

pickarooney

The italicised lines in the revision work really well. It also flows better.