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My name is Ryan, and I am dying. The time has come for me to write this down before its too late. To share my story. Call it my memoirs if you will.

I was born 18 months ago. My father worked hard, like any responsible parent, to prevent me from being born. But all it takes is one mistake to make it happen. He's never truly been happy with me, and now he wants me to go away. But trust me, I'm not going away without a fight.

I grew up quickly in this harsh world. I did my best to keep my father happy: keeping him in a state where nothing felt bad or good, just there. I tried my hardest to keep him free: unable to focus on work and make a good impression on others. Kept him unemployed so he'd have more time to focus on me.

But I think he did like me for a little while. After years of being alone with just his own thoughts, it was a relief to have someone else that shared his pain. You see, he couldn't talk about his problems with others; but he didn't have to with me. I just knew, because that's what I was made for. I helped him pretend that his troubles were gone, and that he only needed to focus on being happy. He'd had enough feelings of sadness and impending doom for one person. So I took care of that. And he loved me for it. My father could just drift blissfully ignorant of the world around him. As jobs, friends and lovers came and went, he knew it was just he and I. I taught him that "oh well" was probably the best way to react to any situation.

Now don't get me wrong. Its not like I monopolized his whole life. I still let him do a lot of the thing he wanted to do. We visited friends together, met his family. He laughed, and talked, and drank. I just made sure we never went further than knee-deep into the world. Because that could get my dad into trouble.

This isn't the first he's tried to kill me; but he'll probably get it right this time. One Saturday in December, tried to just throw me out in the cold all alone. But he couldn't deal with the pain of going from 60 to 0 just like that. He shook, he wandered in a daze, less than a day after seeing me go. After three days, he broke down. He found me down the road near the pharmacy, and apologized for what he'd done. I've never seen him like that. I forgave him and made him promise we'd never be apart again. He agreed that was probably for the best.

He lied.

Behind my back, he's been plotting and scheming to see me gone. He's met with so called "friends" and "family" that have told him he'd be better off without me. He wants to starve me to death. Slowly cutting me off from him until I fade and disappear. So I fight to stay alive. I unleash the dam of negative feelings and sadness real and imagined I've been helping to avoid. I'm forcing him to stay home by my deathbed. I want him to regret his decision, and hopefully change his mind. I'll keep him fat but hungry, cold but sweating. If I go, he's coming with me.

In the end, I think he'll win. After all I can't fend for myself. I rely on his reliance on me. I'm not evil or malicious, just trying to protect my interests.

When I'm gone, remember me for my actions. I only wanted to make him happy. I never meant to hurt anyone. The only thing I can look forward to now is the hope that I'll be born again; with someone else that needs my help like my father. I'll help them too. I'll take away their pain and cover them in a nice, warm, thick blanket of comfort. And we'll be together forever.

This is what breaking free of Effexor XR feels like.

Learn more about this author, Ryan Laflamme.
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