The first question I ask on being offered a new approach to palliative care for bipolar disorder, is can it be found in a cool context (academic, historical and or popular for preference)? I did some sensible reading too, especially around its use as monotherapy, which is where I’m at. It passes muster as an option.
Uh. Yeah. No cool located. Have a gander at this little slice of tedium.
As for reality (what fragments I can see), well it’s far too soon to tell you anything other than that medication intersections can be very fucking uncomfortable, which is hardly news. We really are bulletproof cyborgs compared to the muggles in terms of the wild, wild medigoround ride. Diarrhoea? Yay, weight loss possibility. Brain zaps? Shhhh honey, mommy’s being a lightsaber. Brb barfing up my lunch. And. So. On.
So what are you up to this weekend?
Oh it’s another packed and glamorous weekend in the blahcave. Let’s see…. I’m hanging out with my homies – the big white telephone, gallons of water, ginger tea, the couch etc. It will feature much gazing towards the horizon in the hopes that there actually is one. Dear Santa, please could I have a pair of sea legs…
And so on. And on. And on. Literally ad nauseam and incredibly lifelike figuratively ad infinitum.
What happens to your leftover meds? Theoretically, mine go to my psychiatrist to give to other broke ass cash paying patients like me. Honestly, I give her the ones that wouldn’t fit neatly into an overdose (even though an OD on my psych meds isn’t in the game plan at all). Yes babies, I went there. Admit it, you’ve stashed pills too, at least once in your life and I’m betting that a good few of you have sizeable stashes of meds at various levels of expiry right now. Because how the fuck else are we supposed to roll. There’s more than enough commonality to declare it all a social problem if you ask me.
See, society? Look what you made us do, when you left us having to weave our own safety nets from the debris you give us…
It isn’t what anyone plans or imagines for themselves, or their children, or whoever. And no matter how much love and time and money any of us give it, there is ultimately sweet fuck all to be done about it. Anyone feeling the urge right now to say
– it gets better
– it’s a manageable disorder
– you got this
– there’s been so much progress in the field of medicine
– it’ll be ok
or any of those flavours, kindly make your way to the back of that queue there. The Medication Nation Army will be along to deal with you shortly.
Shrinks one and two were meeting to discuss me yesterday, wonder how that went. I have a lurking fear of comments like, “she’s such a drama queen of a hypochondriac!”
I’m spaced right the fuck out right now, in all this meds stuff; I wonder where the hell my centre of gravity is. Actually I’m going to just shut the fuck up and hit publish.
Don’t console me. Don’t make me regret airing this load of laundry. Please.
Oh yeah. Fuck Christmas.