Managing the post PhD come down

A brief note on what I did after passing my viva and an example not to follow.

After my viva I sat down to do some marking. (The fact that I was out before the pubs opened might have had something to do with this.) After that I suffered, and still do suffer, paralyzing bouts of anxiety about how I'm going to pay the rent; whether a career in data entry is preferable; wonder if I am capable of writing a novel; wonder what my supervisor meant when, after being asked if he had any advice for the aspiring academic, he said "Don't"; tried working on some publications, gave up because it was pointless, told myself not give up what I'd worked so hard for; tried to stop smoking, failed, resigned myself to cancer as preferable to daily failure and reminders of my moral weakness; squandered money on a martini to cheer myself up, hated myself for squandering money with the added factor of gin induced depression; tried to control my flatmate by instigating a domestic reign of terror whose only form of control was passive-aggression, alienated my flatmate; cried. Still haven't tried pornography and the laundry's still being done, so there's quite a way to go yet.

Of course, I don't plan travel a path lined with piles of fetid laundry, but if any one has the route map, please sling it in my direction.