Dr. Jekyll’s Experiment On Human Duality
The Log-book of Dr. Henry Jekyll
October the 24th 18-
Introduction by Terry Gorski
I have always found the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as a metaphor of addiction. I have posted the first chapter. Tell me what you think.
I am addicted to the formula.
It has been a week since my last excursion, and I am suffering withdrawals. Sweating, nervousness, a tendency to fidget. These are the first signs, but they are going to get worse. If this follows the pattern of similar addictive drugs, the cravings for the adrenaline high which the HJ7 invokes will be maddening.
It is as if Hyde is actively fighting for his liberty.
I must break this. I can remember the ghastly events during his nights out, and nothing is worth bringing him back. Physical pain can never hope to measure up to the soul’s damage.
I locked the drawer. That which holds the formula. And I have placed the key in the drawer above. I have no intention of opening either drawer, the first is locked solely because I do not know the effects of the drug. Should I become mad and try to force it open, the solid oak will stay true to its cause. The key is shut away, so that I do not have to look at the infernal thing. What you cannot see, you cannot think of. Were that were true.
I wish with all my soul that I could escape from this room, and go elsewhere. I care not where. Any place that does not reek of ether and calcium. Some place where I would not look at myself. Where I won’t have to see my face dissolve into the devilish countenance of Hyde. But were these effects to worsen, suspicions would be aroused. It is doubtful anyone could think the truth, but the mind works in devious ways. There is a tendency for the just to divine things that they have no right to know.
Thus, I remain in my laboratory, waiting for these damned cravings to go away. Writing in my log does not seem to be alleviating any of the stress. I had full intentions of writing about the weather, or politics, or some other mindless topic which would distract me. Nevertheless, my mind refuses to quit. The thing a body cannot have is what it wants most. I will maintain my composure. Though I might sweat all the sodium out of my flesh, I will mot take that draught.
Ironically, as I thirst for the formula, I deny other sustenance. My appetite has failed me for the last day. I pick at whatever food I receive in meals, to keep Poole happy. Poor man. He has no idea what his master does in his study. He cannot know. He would not accept that his good friend has become an addict, as any beggar on the streets.
This writing is worsening my condition. All I continue to think of is that damned drug. I will write to-morrow. Perhaps then things will seem in my favor.