If he skipped his laxative, the morning after was spent in desperate straining, his bowels blocked. So he dumped his Elavil after six weeks, and coasted on the afterglow left in his neurons - until the sadness returned. Then he came crawling back to Elavil, insomniac and maniac, because this medication strikes a mean bargain. Tom finally accepted it as easily as his morning cornflakes, and the side-effects became tolerable. Like a young movie star discovered in a cafeteria, Elavil was earning a few bucks working in a research study on tuberculosis when an observant egghead saw it was making his guinea pigs happy.
Half are in drug limbo, while Elavil survived to do battle with SSRIs.
At 50 he is a chubby and anxious sort. He is not elated or even particularly happy. But in his drugged state, self-consciously trying to pass for normal, he can fool anyone who doesn't look too closely into his eyes. Consuming 150 mg of Elavil for 3,560 consecutive nights so far, Tom must surely have set a record of some sort. He considers it manna from heaven on his good days, and a chemical strait-jacket or a bloodless lobotomy on his bad days.