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Comparison between the personalities of the happythe sad and the violent drunk

Is the voice-over being retooled?

This Is My Brain on Chantix

Pfizer says no lawsuits have been filed, but there are certainly injury lawyers hungrily putting up Chantix Webpages.

The subway was now out of the question; it made me too nervous. I stopped going to the gym, too. One evening, I steeled myself to go on a date, but after a few drinks with the guy, I abruptly burst into tears mid-sentence. Another night, at an East Village bar, an older man in a trench coat caught my attention. I chatted him up for a while, until I realized I was actually trying to go home with the shadow cast by a potted plant.

'My dad was a violent alcoholic. I vowed to make my daughter's childhood better than mine.'

With alcohol in my system, I was somehow able to take this hallucination in stride: Later that day I received a text message: I did consider it. I kept thinking that my body was still getting used to being on Chantix and off cigarettes, that I should wait until everything readjusted itself.

A few nights later, a friend invited me to a party and I reluctantly agreed. At the party, I tried to impersonate myself as best I could, but I found myself staring and nodding blankly, actually having difficulty understanding what people were trying to say, and getting oddly touchy at offhand comments.

Comparison between the personalities of the happythe sad and the violent drunk

I was offered a piece of cake on a plate and a fork. How the hell were these pieces supposed to fit together? What sort of maniac would present me with something like this at a party? I abandoned the cake for a vodka tonic, which I drank in silent rage. I left without saying good-bye.

This Is My Brain on Chantix

In the cab, I watched the city slash past the windows and was tempted to just throw open the door. Running up the stairs to my apartment, I barely had the door open before the crying started again. I sat on the edge of the bed, doubled over, and I felt severely ill, as though some freakish primal despair had finally been loosened from my stomach. I had to throw out a bunch of broken CDs, smashed glasses, torn clothes, ripped photographs, and the remaining boxes of Chantix from my medicine cabinet.