#almost one week back on my meds and I’m feeling so much better. antipsychotics my beloved <3

[prans-micellar-water]

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[dropintomanga]

On Depression and Taking Antidepressants

So this post isn’t going to be manga-related, but more about a psychiatry report about the causes of depression that has made a splash among researchers and peers. I wanted to talk about it because of my personal dealings with depression over 20+ years and a subject that can generate a bunch of debate - the usage of antidepressants.

An article published in the journal Molecular Psychiatry last week found that the idea of a chemical imbalance as the cause of depression has no validity. The article stated that low levels of serotonin (a chemical in our body linked to mood) does not lead to depression. People with low serotonin still function as well as people with higher levels. What made this article stand out was it was a peer-reviewed umbrella review with multiple researchers going over everything possible with regards to serotonin’s impact on depression. It’s considered to be a striking blow to the continued viewpoint promoted by medical professionals and psychology books for decades that depression is caused by a chemical imbalance.

When I was diagnosed with depression in 2000, I was told to get on Prozac right away while talking to a psychiatrist since I was also having suicidal thoughts. I took the medicine at first, but nothing seemed to have improved. I would get a dosage increase over time. I still felt like crap. I was later prescribed Zyprexa as a supplement alongside my Prozac. However, I felt that either medication didn’t work. A friend at the time said the medication was working because I was at least trying to enjoy my life. I later decided to stop Zyprexa because I never felt that I was better and I think it had allegations of being a dangerous drug to take. I continued Prozac, but was prescribed another supplement psych pill, Wellbutrin. Around that time, I started to feel much better and decided to stop taking all psychiatric medication. However, I never talked to my psychiatrist about them. It took me a couple of years to come clean about not taking medication under my own willpower.

To be honest, I don’t know if taking antidepressants helped me as much as it did for other people I knew. I did, however, subscribed to the chemical imbalance theory about the cause of my depression from studying psychology in college. A part of me still thinks I’m a “high-functioning” person. My mother thought I was born differently. Looking back as to how my depression started, it was because I kept failing college courses in the first university I attended despite my best efforts and worried that no one would care about me anymore. I was afraid of being yelled at for being a failure. I won’t lie that some of those insecurities still haunt me today since competition feels forced onto almost everything in life.

I’ve been med-free for maybe 10-15 years and can say they never helped. I now see kids at a young age being prescribed antidepressants/antipsychotics and told that their heads are messed up inside. I hear about ADHD being misdiagnosed on several youth whose problems are related to societal and environmental factors. I’m scared to hear this because children are humans too and are often very vulnerable to stress and trauma.

Over the years, I’ve read how the cons of psychiatric medications (i.e. powerful side effects) outweigh the pros. With notable exceptions, I don’t think everyone should be prescribed them when their mental health is suffering. And even if they do take meds, I don’t think they are a long-term solution or the only solution when long-term issues like bigotry/racism/poverty/abuse affect the person taking them. 

If you’re taking psychiatric meds and want to get off them, please talk to your doctor first and foremost. One thing I regret is not talking to my doctor earlier because I read stories about medicine withdrawal and heard how frightening it can be. I never went through any of that at all and count myself extremely lucky. I also realize that there’s certain doctors who gaslight their patients into taking all kinds of medication with ridiculous promises of a 100% cure rate.

I’m glad the research paper got published because the mainstream view of “chemical imbalance causes depression” still seems prevalent. My feelings of sadness don’t stem from my brain being messed up. They stem from frustration and anger of how some people treat one another and how we’re being set up to fight one another for the sake of a few powerful people. My emotions are valid.

Sure, I might be “mentally sick”, but I’m also having a human response to terrible circumstances. I was recently told by my primary doctor to get some psych meds for stress and I was like “Thanks, but no thanks.” I’ve been trying to reframe the good kind of stress (related to things I care about and want to do) as there’s definitely an anti-stress bias in the United States. It’s okay to be nervous about something you love because you want to put the utmost care in expressing your love for it. You show that you care and are willing to go beyond certain limits to do what you want to do. 

I don’t want to say I’m glad that I got clinical depression because I don’t want to wish this on anyone else. I’m just making due with what I have. So to anyone who struggles with depression, I want to say that I don’t think it’s all in your head. The world is shit. Life is shit. People may be gaslighting/grooming you. Medical professionals may not have the right answers for you. Know your rights as a consumer/patient as mental health systems are still crappy. Find alternative outlets full of people (i.e. peer support) that genuinely do care. You have some say. You have some choice in how to decide your life.

I don’t want people to rely on pills that kill off whatever humanity that’s still left of us after already being told to ignore our honest emotional reactions to the troubles of life for the sake of a “collective” that doesn’t care about our wellbeing at all. I hope you read summaries of that paper and stay mentally healthy. You’re more than just your diagnosis and/or your circumstances. 

One of the researchers on the “chemical imbalance /= depression” paper in  Molecular Psychiatry, Joanna Moncrieff, has a wonderful response post about her work and how to address depression going further.

[angelicjadamv]

The story so far

One month after graduating high school in 2015 I was finally able to move away from my family. I was 18 and moved to California for college. Fortunately one of the scholarships I earned was accompanied by a summer program that started in the middle of the summer before fall semester. Shortly after settling in a safe, stable environment for the first time in my life I started to get better. A lot better at first. Then life happened, as it does, and 18 years of repressed trauma and abuse broke me. My nervous breakdown ruined my fall semester, I couldn't go to classes or take exams or function as a student anymore. Until this point, being an exceptional student was all I had and basically how I survived. My safe and stable environment now was dependant on maintaining a certain GPA, among other requirements I could no longer meet. I failed one of my main courses because I had a 0 on 2 exams, including the final. When I went home I was put on antipsychotics. Returning to campus for the 2016 spring semester, I attempted to seek more therapy. I wasn't successful in finding a good therapist (for me, therapy is a personal thing. Just because someone isn't a good therapist for me doesn't necessarily mean they are a bad therapist). I did continue to see my 2 psychiatrists (emergency and regular) often as they attempted to adjust my medication to find something that work. My agoraphobia worsened, I stopped sleeping, I could barely eat, I was manic one moment and dissociative the next, SH and suicidal ideation worsened. I was a burden to my friends and loved ones. I made it through this because I had a beautiful support system that I will forever be grateful for, but I ended up taking a leave of absence academically for my second semester, earning no credits and putting my scholarships at further jeopardy. I was allowed to stay on campus because it was clear I was dangerously unstable with no safe environment to return to and because I had incredible advocates looking out for me. I had realized that I wasn't going to get better in time to salvage my academic career and my life, and was mostly clueless as to how I would survive. I had had an internship in my field since I started college, but I earned basically no money. STEM internships aren't really made to be livable for undergrads, so I had mostly been working for experience in a field I would no longer be able to progress in. Bummer. My physical health had taken a huge dive for all of 2016. I basically always knew I was chronically ill, but I had been abused and gaslit my entire life to believe and act like I was fine, I was just a weak baby, I didn't know what real pain or suffering was, seizures were to be ignored, no I didn't have migraines or pinched nerves (um hello SCOLIOSIS), etc etc. And 2016 was the year my body finally started to break, so I knew "regular" jobs weren't going to be a viable option for me, at least not for long.

And thus I became a survival SW. I stayed in college for a final semester, because I didn't want to miss my friends, I loved my campus and didn't know where else to live, I still needed a lot of campus resources. I also kept my internship as long as I could, because I knew I would miss it for the rest of my life. I didn't really go to classes, again, because as much as a desperately wanted to and as much as my advisors moved heaven and earth to try to make it work for me, I couldn't handle it. I was finally able to find 2 great therapists who I started seeing regularly who actually knew how to diagnose and treat me, one at school and one outside. This is also when I met Daddy (Jace) online. After talking for what is probably a stupidly short time, we fell in love and started dating. This is honestly my first real relationship and time actually catching genuine feelings for someone, something that I hadn't thought I was capable of. Despite being happier than I had ever been in so many ways, my mental and physical health was still steadily declining. My migraines and pain were getting worse, I hadn't been able to eat normally in months and relied entirely on medication to eat or sleep at all. Many people recommended mmj at this point in my life, but I was afraid of how it would interact with my other meds. I only smoked occasionally at parties at this point (because no way was I spending my super duper limited money on weed). I wonder if medicating with something that actually worked well for me, like weed, would have allowed me to finish college. Oh well I guess. Because of my inability to attend classes, I had to take another leave for the fall semester 2016. I worked at a strip club briefly, but my health couldn't handle it for long.

I didn't want to go home for the first winter break in 2015, but campus closed and I had nowhere else to go. It was turbulent. When summer 2016 came, I still didn't go home despite having no place to stay. Until a month or so later, it was revealed to me a relative had terminal cancer. I had to go home again. It was worse than turbulent. When winter 2016 came, my relative was in much worse condition. They only had a few months left, and this was probably my last chance to say goodbye. This visit was by far the most traumatic, and more because of my parents than watching a loved one die. At least Jace was able to come meet me for the first time in person. He also got to meet my relative before they passed 🖤

Freshly fucked up by family, I retuned to California at the beginning of 2017. I was mostly taking a break from SW because of my health and was working vanilla jobs as I could (so not much). I had a pretty decent job that I was really good at and had been promoted, but then my relative passed. I started losing consciousness again ( I had many seizures and fainting spells in my childhood and during high school) and had to quit my job. the funeral was in spring 2017, I flew to Jersey to be with Daddy for a few days and then he drove me several states over for the memorial. That was the last time I saw my family. I wanted to transition to online/content creating, but I had no tech knowledge or equipment (even my phone was a potato). In high school I wasn't allowed to have a smartphone, most social media other than what was heavily monitored (and still had 0 experience with platforms sw is popular on besides Tumblr I guess), I didn't really know much about cameras. Way too sheltered and broken to feel like I could start anything. I was now seeing my outside, or I guess regular and only, therapist twice a week and doing treatments that while working for me were insanely (literally) hard. I had been able to get an apartment with roommates at a super discount in return for taking care of their crazy dog, which was a win win for me (he was a good boi just crazy from a bad past and had the worst separation anxiety). The agreement was that I would live with them until the lease was up in September, and then we would reevaluate the situation. Then they both got promoted at their mega corporation jobs. And after their wedding found a really gorgeous apartment in a much fancier part of the city, and paid to break our lease early in June leaving me homeless. I had been fired from my last 2 jobs (probably for being disabled because California is at will employment but who knows I might have been fired from the nanny job because the husband wanted to fuck me). I had no money or anywhere to go. All of my friends were almost as broke as me, so while I had offers to couchsurf at a few of their places they had other roommates who would have been pissed and in a few months they would be going back to school anyways. Daddy and I had been trying to save up to move in together for months, but he was going to move to California. We didn't have any money for that, so instead he asked me to move in with him in New Jersey. Leaving meant I lost my health insurance and my therapist. It was supposed to be much more temporary and we were supposed to move back to California much sooner than we were able to. I try not to be mad at those roommates because being angry doesn't change anything, but it really sucked.

Moving in with Daddy meant we could start our blog! And I was super happy at first, the happiest I could ever remember. But the years had been too hard and my health started to get worse than ever before. Without treatment and so traumatized, my brain and body were constantly at war. I would wake with splitting migraines, throwing up, my chronic pain became completely unmanageable. I started to need weed all the time because it was the only thing that stopped my cyclical vomiting episodes and kept me out of the hospital. My antipsychotics and other meds had been high-key fucking me up (probably shouldn't have been on them in the first place, thank you doctor who also ignored my seizures even when I had one in front of you) and were almost impossible to come off of because the withdrawals. (Seriously, kicking xanax was easier for me than my antipsychotics.) I'm not anti medication or anything, I just know the ones I was on were not good for me anymore. I'd actually like to be on something again, I just need a doctor who actually understands PTSD and DID.

My health continued to be shit for most of 2018, with several ER visits for severe dehydration from vomiting for days on end. We started to make videos and do snapchat and online sessions to be able to make ends meet. Despite being in the worst situation and thus everything being a trizillion times harder, we really loved (and still love 😇) doing SW and creating content. Our fans and clients have been there in some of our darkest moments, just being lovely or pulling through for us when we needed it most. During 2018 and 2019 I became actively suicidal for the first time since I was 13. I struggled with self harm again. I have gotten worse than I ever thought possible. But I wouldn't have made it at all if it wasn't for SW, this community and our supporters.

At the beginning of 2020 we were finally able to move back to California. Obviously, the pandemic severely disrupted many of our plans, especially regarding my recovery. Despite things being delayed or shifted, we are in a much better place currently. I have what I need to get better and I can build a support system again. I will get better.

Talking about things is hard for me. Being open and honest is hard for me. For 18 years I was trained and abused to not be sad or show negative feelings, or talk about upsetting things, and it has been killing me slowly my entire life. I genuinely don't want pity or to make others feel bad, but I do want to give you the chance to get to know me. I don't always talk about things so much. But I'm trying to get better at it.

[curiouserandthatmuchcuriouser]

I don't talk a lot about this on social media, but two years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Next month is Bipolar Awareness Month, and even though it's not here quite yet, I'd like to share my story. We all fight secret battles, and the first step to breaking the stigma of mental illness is starting a dialogue and finding compassion for others as well as ourselves.

Around December 2018, I started feeling... different than I normally do. I didn't understand what was happening at the time: I'd never had so much energy before, and at first it was exhilarating. I was running around, talking a mile a minute, suddenly completely free of the social anxiety that's plagued me my entire life, completing chores & errands in record time, and feeling on top of the world. My mind was overflowing with creativity, ideas for poems and essays and songs and even a full musical of my own design (in hindsight, it's all nonsense of course). My appetite slipped away and I suddenly felt free from the constraints of sleep, even though I'd never been more productive. I barely ate or slept, but I wasn't hungry or tired. I lost so much weight and I barely noticed.

At the same time, my moods were swinging all over the place -- I was irritable, I was ecstatic, I was angry, I was morose, I was playful, I was paranoid. I was charismatic, I was churlish, I was ambitious, I was friendly, I was sullen. I was crazy. Naturally I was too busy with my newfound productivity and "creative genius" (lol) to even notice the mood swings. I was an artist! With an artist's temperament! And there was so much to write! I started carrying around yellow sticky notepads in my pockets so I could write down my "brilliant" epiphanies (hint: it was more nonsense) wherever I went. I filled them up within days. My handwriting changed, became sloppier, messier. So many thoughts, I couldn't get them down fast enough.

My thought process, my inner monologue, became fast, then rapid, then downright muddled. It was like a movie playing at warp speed in my head, all day, every day, and most of the night too because who needed sleep when there was so much to think about? I developed a horrible sense of grandiosity. It was my newfound purpose in life to help people, personal cost be damned. I gave the coat off my back to a homeless man begging for change at the dollar store. I impulsively blew through what little savings I had on… I don't even know what. On useless crap that I didn't need.

Paranoia overtook my psyche. I was certain that some of my friends were conspiring against me in various ways, and I wouldn't (couldn't) shut up about it to anyone who would listen. I was suspicious of the world at large. I started walking around with a knife tucked into my boot (thankfully I never used it). I drove too fast, recklessly, getting lost on familiar streets (that's not poetic license, I actually found myself getting disoriented in familiar neighborhoods and needing the GPS to find my way home). I was crying while driving, sobbing and squinting at the cars ahead of me. Everything I experienced was fast and bright and sharp in the most confusing ways.

I still thought I was invincible. I was not invincible. In fact, I was 24 years old and I was experiencing my first manic episode, and it ended up being the scariest period of my life thus far.

I couldn't focus on my job anymore, a job that I loved, a job that I had worked hard to get. I would sit down to read an email and the words would swim before my eyes like a school of fish. If I tried typing anything, at least half the words would be misspelled and I'd have to start over. I wasn't getting any work done, not really. I couldn't sit still. I started pacing around the office every chance I could get and taking long walks at night in the winter chill (which I barely felt). I was feverish with mania. I was aggravated by random things and I would lash out at random people, even family and friends (perhaps especially family and friends). No one understood what I was going through, least of all myself.

Finally -- I don't even remember how I realized something was off since I was so far gone at that point -- a lightbulb went on in my head amidst the chaotic movie screen of jumbled thoughts and I realized: I'm not usually like this. I feel... sick. And when a quick Google search of my symptoms suggested "bipolar disorder," I knew I had to get help. One thing led to another, and in January 2019, I ended up moving back into my mom's house and taking medical leave from my job, the job that I loved, to do outpatient group therapy five times a week for several weeks at a nearby hospital… only to quit that job, the job that I loved, almost immediately upon returning to it because I didn't realize beforehand just how long it would take for me to recover.

I was so ashamed about quitting that job, and I still carry some of that shame around to this day, but the circumstances were completely untenable. I was on three different kinds of antipsychotics, which were expensive and caused me to gain close to 100 lbs during the time I was on them. The other side effects of those meds, like the drowsiness and the brain fog, were awful. After five-times-a-week group therapy, I graduated to once-a-week individual therapy (so proud, I know). It took me weeks to regain the ability to read more than a paragraph at a time, which was torture for me, an English major and avid reader. Television became a crutch, an easy way to pass the restless hours. I slept as much as possible during the day because I was so deeply ashamed of how far I'd fallen.

Eventually, I did recover. Considering the state I was in, I am *exceptionally lucky* and I think about that everyday. The meds, the therapy, and time did their job and helped me get back to myself. I still occasionally struggle with symptoms of depression and mania, and I always will. I'll never be the person I was before my diagnosis, but that's okay. I know who I am now, even the dark parts, and I know how to take care of all of me. That's the most important piece of the puzzle: self-awareness and self-care in equal measure.

Looking back, it truly feels like a different person inhabited my body during those awful months. An insane person, one I'd be embarrassed to know, let alone be. My brain became a snapping turtle, and no one was safe. I lost friends, people I trusted who just couldn't see past the actions and harsh words that my illness caused, even after I sought treatment and tried to make amends via heartfelt apology letters and frantic explanations. There is a fine line between accountability for past mistakes and reckoning with mental illness, and in some ways I still feel like I'm walking that line. But at least now I know I can let go some of that shame.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful network of family, friends, and mental health professionals who supported me every step of the way and saw me through to the other side. I love you. I wouldn't be myself without you. Thank you.

If you or someone you love struggle with mental illness, don't try to sweep it under the rug. Know the signs, and seek treatment. Help is available. Getting better is possible.

We all fight secret battles. Let's lead with compassion.

[southsidestory]

you have bipolar disorder? how did you get to that conclusion? did you go to a doctor? i don’t want to self diagnose but i’ve read up on it a lot and it seems like my grandfather, father, and i have it. its made life super difficult. I even stopped writing ff bc when i posted, people wouldn’t understand how depressive episode make you not want to do anything for literal months at a time and would berate me for not updating 1/2

2/2 and my family is Mexican so they believe that mental illness is an American Thing, so i cant really go to them for help, and i wouldn’t even know where to begin with a doctor. what was your experience with it?

I did go to a psychiatrist, yes, but I had been experiencing symptoms since I was 12. I was 26 when I was finally correctly diagnosed. Before that I’d been misdiagnosed with MDD (major depressive disorder) and put on a cocktail of meds that mostly made me worse. Being correctly diagnosed is hugely important, and I highly recommend that someone see a psychiatrist rather than self diagnosing. 

But. Not everyone has the privilege of easy access to a psychiatrist, and it sounds like you’re in that category. And I can say from personal experience that I knew I was bipolar before I was diagnosed, because it runs in my family and my symptoms were astoundingly obvious by that point. Since you asked, I’ll tell you about my experience.

As I said, I started experiencing bipolar symptoms when I was a kid. I also have PTSD and GAD, and my anxiety has been with me all my life, but my depression started when I was 12. A nurse practitioner put me on the antidepressant Lexapro, which made me worse--because antidepressants don’t work for bipolar people. Our brains aren’t wired for it. So I quit taking Lexapro and didn’t attempt to treat my mental illness with medicine for the next ten years. 

I also started having hypomanic episodes as a young teenager, but I didn’t recognize them for what they were. I wouldn’t sleep for days and I’d be highly productive and feel great, so why would I complain about that or think it’s a problem? But the longer I went untreated the more severe my episodes became and the longer they lasted, and by the time I hit my 20s I was in a really bad place. Depressed 85% of the time, hypomanic 10% (although I didn’t know that’s what it was), and “normal” about 5%. My depressive episodes often lasted for months at a time, briefly broken by a week or two of hypomania, after which I’d plummet right back into depression.

I went to a psychiatric nurse practitioner when I was 22. He assumed I was depressed and put me on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. That mostly made me worse. The only thing that ever really worked was Abilify, which is an atypical antipsychotic shockingly used to treat bipolar disorder. That really should have been a fucking clue, but I went improperly diagnosed for another four years.

Being on a cocktail of the wrong meds made me worse, which led me to stop taking my meds cold turkey, which is always a bad idea. In April 2016 I had a horrible mixed episode, although I didn’t understand what it was then. For those who don’t know, a mixed episode is when someone is manic and depressed at the same time, and it’s pure hell. During my episode, I broke up with my partner right before our first wedding anniversary, quit my job, and almost committed suicide. (Then I moved back home and my mom promptly died, but that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms.)

Fortunately my partner and I got back together, and they helped me figure out what was going on. They’re also bipolar, but unlike me they were diagnosed as a kid, and our symptoms presented differently so that’s probably why neither of us saw it for a long time.

I finally saw a psychiatrist at the beginning of 2017, and I went in already knowing what I was going to hear. My mom had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder a couple of years before she died, so I knew it ran in my family. My symptoms had worsened significantly and my hypomania had finally become so distinct and unhealthy that it couldn’t be overlooked anymore.

None of my previous health care providers had ever asked me, “What do you feel like when you’re at your happiest?” If they had, it would have probably been obvious that I suffer from bipolar disorder, not unipolar depression. Because my “happiest” looks like extreme periods of creative productivity, days or weeks of insomnia, and some very bad decision making lol. Usually followed by a crash landing back into depression.

So I guess that’s my question for you. What do you feel like when you’re at your happiest? If your “up” periods sound like hypomania or mania, which I’m sure you’ve read about, then yeah there’s a good chance you’re bipolar. :/

And if you are bipolar, I cannot stress enough how important it is to get proper medication. I don’t want to scare you, but something like 20% of bipolar people die from committing suicide. And those are just the successful ones; the number who attempt, sometimes multiple times, is much higher. This is an extremely dangerous, disabling, potentially deadly illness. Although you can learn helpful coping strategies in therapy, and a good support system is also very important, the #1 thing you need to treat bipolar disorder is medication. It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that, for 99% of us, cannot be effectively managed without mood stabilizers and/or antipsychotics. Every bipolar person I know (my mom, my aunt, my partner, and one of my friends) didn’t get better until they were on meds, and it was the same for me.

All this to say, if you suspect you’re bipolar, I encourage you to do every single thing in your power to get to a psychiatrist. I’d like to say your family might come around, but if you say they believe mental illness is an “American Thing” then I believe you. In which case, you need to advocate for yourself now and worry about their opinions later. Assuming you’re an adult, which I’m *really* hoping you are. If you’re a minor, that makes this much harder.

When you say you’re Mexican, I don’t know if you mean you’re living in Mexico or living in the US. If Mexico, I can’t point you toward resources, but if you happen to live in the US, most major cities have FQHCs (federally qualified health centers), which are aimed at serving poor people, and many of which provide mental health care services.

If you do have access to a psychiatrist, I can give you some pointers on what to do before your first appointment. I went into mine with a list of symptoms and how long I’d been experiencing them, family history of mental illness, previous medication regimens, and a summary of my trauma. When I handed it over to my psychiatrist she was like “Well it’s quite clear that you’re bipolar. I’m sorry you’ve been misdiagnosed for so long.”

If you’re comfortable DMing me, please feel free. Regardless, I hate to hear that you’re struggling, but I do want you to know that things can get better. I honestly feel like I lost the years between age 12 and 26, because I spent them so miserable, but since getting properly medicated my life has turned around completely. I want to see that happen for you too, nonny.

[tay-centricpsychosis]

I’ve been debating whether to start a blog for a little while now, but I’ve been writing some stuff in preparation of it for about a week. Following is everything I wrote:

Writing is difficult, but I said I would with my psychologist, so I guess I’ll start a journal or something of sorts and see if the words flow. I’m 25 now, the years have gotten away from me a bit, time really does seem to fly, especially looking back on it. Last year I had a couple of psychotic breaks. As a result of the psychotic breaks, I got diagnosed with Schizophrenia. My psychologist thinks it was drug-induced psychosis. I don’t really know which it was because I’ve been on antipsychotics since the second admission to hospital, but I also haven’t been taking drugs since the second admission to hospital, so whether it’s the lack of drugs or the addition of prescription drugs that’s keeping me symptom free, I don’t know.

 I’ve been having a debate with myself over whether or not I’m actually schizophrenic or whether it’s drug-induced psychosis. In support of schizophrenia, I had what could be described as a prodromal phase where I seemed to lose all capacity for study and work, where I was isolating a bit, and generally disengaging with life. On the other hand, that could be due to me smoking weed almost every day for about two years. Now I seem to have what could be described as negative symptoms of schizophrenia; apathy, anhedonia, poverty of thought, reduced social drive, loss of motivation. On the other hand, these symptoms have also been described as side-effects of the antipsychotics I’m on. Part of me wants to stop the antipsychotics now to see if the negative effects are alleviated, and if the positive effects (delusions, hallucinations) return. Then I’d have an answer to the question of whether it’s drug-induced psychosis or schizophrenia. On the other hand, I’ve only been on the antipsychotics for about six months now, and treatment protocol for schizophrenia says that staying on the antipsychotics for one to two years after first-episode psychosis improves long-term outcomes. If I stop the meds and I need the meds, long term outcomes are worse, but if I stay on the meds and don’t need them, they’re making my current situation noticeably worse: A real catch 22.

 I suppose the negative symptoms aren’t too terrible at the moment, anyway. I’m managing to hold down a job, though it doesn’t take many hours in a week. I’m writing a bit, though I doubt it’s any good. I manage to get my ten thousand steps most days, though I’ve been very lazy this week. I’m worried that they’ll be a severe detriment to my schooling once I go back, but that remains to be seen. I currently sleep about twelve hours a day, which will be a severe detriment to my schooling, however, I’m currently writing this at nearly 8AM on no sleep, after waking at 5PM yesterday. I’m hoping I can make it through the day on no sleep, go to bed early tonight, and work my way towards a better sleep routine in preparation for school. So I guess I have plans for the future, which is good.

 I’m currently trying to drink less alcohol, and I’ve stopped smoking. I used to have a pretty severe drinking problem, I’d drink a box of wine in about two days, two to three times a week. Last night I was going to buy a bottle of whiskey and get drunk, but stopped myself halfway to the liquor store. Writing always makes me want to smoke, but I’m currently resisting the temptation to go buy a pack. Quitting kind of sucks, but I decided that despite whatever hardships I may face, I still want to live, so quitting both booze and cigs is probably in my best interest.

   I miss drugs, I never really did a lot of different drugs, just weed and LSD. I was quite regularly smoking weed, and I guess I’ll miss how it seemed to make things more interesting. I’ll really miss LSD, it seemed to make life worth living, and made everything better. I was suffering from some fairly severe depression for a while and an LSD trip pulled me out of it. I was thinking about microdosing LSD to try and pull me out of the anhedonia and apathy I’m currently feeling, but I don’t think that’s a good idea, and the antipsychotics negate the effect of LSD anyway. I was a lot more creative on LSD as well, but I’ll probably try and be creative later in these writings too. We’ll see how that goes.

 I tried to have a nap, but then I got an idea. Rather than writing this all and keeping it to myself, maybe I should start a blog instead. I’ll call it ‘Tay-Centric Psychosis’, I always wanted to start a movie reviewing blog, and maybe I could incorporate that too. It might be a good exercise to keep me writing, and might help me become more involved in life, a record of my existence, it might help keep me grounded in reality as well. It might help me be more social too, since that’s a space that I feel I’m severely lacking at the moment. I don’t know, it might even help someone, I don’t know how, but it’s a nice thought.

 I woke up at 7PM after 17 hours of sleep yesterday, my plan to not sleep and fix my sleep schedule did not work. I’m committing myself to waking up before noon this week, no matter how many hours of sleep I get. Hopefully writing it down here will keep me committed and honest. Orientation week for Uni is next week. I’m hoping to be up at 9 on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday to make the most out of the orientation. Then it’s back to Uni the week after, and I really want to commit myself to the work and hopefully succeed this year. I assume it’s going to be a struggle for the first few weeks going every day, since I haven’t actually been to a lecture in quite a few years, but hopefully I can fall into a routine and be better for it. I’m worried I’m putting too much pressure on myself going back to school this year. Just living seems to be pretty difficult at the moment, so putting Uni and holding down a job on top of it seems like a recipe for disaster. I got a tarot reading, though, and it said if I put the effort in my schooling will be successful. Kind of nervous to see how this year goes, but as long as I stay out of the hospital, I guess it’ll be better than last year.

 We watched The Lighthouse the other night; it was pretty good. I enjoyed the director’s previous film The VVitch too, this one had a lot of the same sort of feel going on. A very competent horror film with some particularly brutal moments. Great performances from both Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, Willem Dafoe in particular. Spilled beans/10.

 I watched Pain and Glory, a delightful film about a director, heroin addiction, and back pain. I haven’t seen any of Almodóvar’s other films, but this one came highly recommended. Antonio Banderas gave a stellar performance, and Penélope Cruz was stunning as always. Beautifully shot, with a great soundtrack, it was gripping the entire way through. Sciatica/10

 First two days of sleeping better seem to be going soundly, as discussed with my psychologist I’m trying to get into the habit of going to sleep at 11:30 and waking up at 8. Day one of this schedule has gone fine. Hopefully by keeping track of it, I’ll encourage myself to stick to it.

 I don’t know, the boringness of my life is what’s keeping me from making a blog, I doubt anyone would find it of any interest since it is basically just skating by on a definition of life at the moment. It’s still probably a good idea, and who knows what people find interesting these days. I think if I wrote about what my actual delusions were some people might find it more interesting. There was a lot to it, though, and I guess I’m worried about being judged for them. Maybe some other time.

 I keep in touch with a person I met in the hospital, she called me last night and we had a bit of a talk. She’s one of the few people I’ve had any meaningful conversations with in the last month or so. She considers me to be high functioning in my disorder, which is nice to think about. From what I’ve read, if I do have schizophrenia, I’ll probably deteriorate as I get older, which is an unpleasant thought, but focus on the positive and for now at least I am holding down a job and getting my 10,000 steps a day. If I’m active and properly engaged when I go back to school, honestly, I’m probably doing better than I have in the past 4 or so years, despite the disability. We’ll see, I guess. I bought a parking permit for school today, which if I’m to get my money’s worth out of it, requires me to go every day I have lessons, so I’m hoping that serves as encouragement to stay engaged this year as well.

I’ll probably write more in the future as things progress, but I guess it’s a start to start my blog. I think people will find my psychoses interesting if I go into detail about them, which I might do. Anyway, this is my first post, and hopefully I can develop my blog further.

[scruffandyarn]

That One Time Scruff Wrote an Avengers Fic (part 5)

That One Time Masterlist

Bucky x enhanced!female!reader

Warnings: profanity, mentions of medication (including antipsychotic medication), medical testing

Thanks, as always, to these wonderful human beans:  @siriuspiggyback (you are the absolute best) @fangirl-library (you kick-ass, wonderful person) @written-loki-imagines (thank you for your fantastical support)  @bkwrm523 (where would I be without you in my life) @thejamesoldier (you’re amazing and deserve every good thing) @samingtonwilson (you’re super duper awesome) @invisibleanonymousmonsters (thank you so much for all your inspiration) @feelmyroarrrr (this is all your fault, still love you)

@shirukitsune @electraphyng

Word count: 1688

Previously:

“How are you feeling?” Pepper sat down on the bed next to you.

“My head hurts.”

“I can go grab your–”

“I–I’ll be alright.  I’ve got to wean myself off of them.”  You sat up and cringed at the stab of pain behind your eye. “Then I get to go without them for two weeks.  Might as well start now.”

“Are you going to be okay…” Pepper looked at the two doctors.  “She gets headaches if she goes hours without her pills, and you want her to go without them for two weeks?”

“It’s just to get it out of her system.  Once it’s out, we’ll be able to see how her brain functions without interference from the medication so we can figure out a better way to regulate it.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?  When I suggested that they could help you, I didn’t realize you’d have to go without your meds.”

“I’m gonna at least try.”

Now:

Once you and Pepper left the lab, you both headed towards the elevator.  Waiting for you was Bucky.  And his nervousness was clear.

Shit.

“So...what we were talking about this morning…?”

“Do you think it could wait until she can sleep off her headache?”  Pepper didn’t wait for him to respond before leading you into the elevator and down to your room.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

“Thanks.”  You headed into your room and she pulled the door shut behind you.  All you wanted now was to sleep.

“How did the green one’s testing go?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Loki’s voice.  “What the hell are you doing in here?!” He’d apparently been waiting for you in the attached bathroom.

“I wanted to see if I could be of service.”

“What service?”  There was something devious in the way he was looking at you.

“Part of the reason I am the God of Lies is because I can also tell when a person is lying, not just because of my silver tongue.  I believe I can help you with your gift.”

“It’s not just lying, though.”

“I understand that, my dear, but I can tell you are very nervous right now.  But there is a spark of hope in you at the idea that I could help.”

“Could you make the pain go away so I don’t have to do these tests?”

“It is possible that through training, you could learn how to filter out the emotions of others.  You’d still be able to determine what they are, but perhaps you could protect yourself from having them take over your mind.”

“And I wouldn’t have to take medication anymore?”

“Not for this.”

Your elation was gone almost as quickly as it arrived.  “I don’t know if I should trust you.  If you help me, what do you want in return?”

“You don’t think I could do this from the kindness of my heart?”

And there was the lie you’d been waiting for.

“No.  You want something out of this.  What?”

“I merely want to see if your powers could be expanded.”  It didn’t feel like a complete lie.  It also didn’t feel like the complete truth.

“Expand?  How?”

“Have you ever tried manipulating the emotions of others?”

“That’s not something I can do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never done it before, so yeah.  Pretty sure.”

“I see.”  

“How are you supposed to help me if you have no powers?”

“Just because Allfather removed my powers does not mean I am without access to other sources of magic.”  At your blank expression, he continued.  “Spells? Incantations?” He sighed.

The expression on his face and the feelings you were getting from him spelled trouble.  “I don’t think I want your help.”

“How about this--if you work with me for a week and you see no improvements, then I will leave you alone about this matter.  However, if you do notice improvements, then you will owe me a favor and we can continue your training.”

“I don’t want to owe you anything.”  That was a terrifying thought.

“Very well.  We will speak no more on this matter.  I hope the good doctors are able to come up with something soon to help you.”  He nodded and then exited your room.

What kind of favor could Loki want from you?  You were just a simple empath.  You didn’t really have any other skills.  Well, at least none that could be useful to a god.  Right?

Shit, this was making your head hurt worse.

You could face over three weeks of increasing pain in your head, or, you could sign yourself up for owing a trickster god a favor.  Neither sounded like a pleasant option.

Rubbing your temples, you decided thinking about any of this could wait until after you slept this headache away.

Unfortunately, the headache you’d gone to sleep with was the same one you woke up with.  Someone’s room was on either side of the one you were occupying--boredom from the left and gloomy from the right.  This was going to be a nightmare, going without your pills.

Since you were staying here for at least three weeks, maybe Tony could provide a room that was a little more isolated.  Maybe he had a room that was Loki-proof.  Maybe a room where you could avoid Bucky for the duration.  You weren’t sure you could handle much more of the heartbreak you felt for him.

As you rubbed your eyes, you heard a knock on the door. The energy on the other side was tired, but not anxious. “Come in.”

Pepper pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Hey, sleepyhead. Are you feeling any better?”

“Maybe?” You sighed.

“What is it?”

“I hate to be a bother—I am very appreciative of the accommodations being made for me, but, would it be possible for me to get a room that’s further away from anyone else’s room?”

“Oh! Of course! In fact, we can move you right now. There’s a perfect spot on the floor above us.”

You snatched up the toiletries you had taken from your suitcase. Pepper grabbed the clothes you’d worn the day before and shoved them in your suitcase. Together, the two of you made your way towards the elevator.

She showed you down a long hallway, all the way down to the very end. “Will this work?  There’s three empty suites between you and Bucky.”

“Bucky?”  Shit.  How were you supposed to avoid him now?  “Is there a way to be three rooms down from anyone else?”

“Unfortunately, no.  I get that you’re not ready for the Winter Soldier conversation with him, but this is the only one available that will give you some space.  I think, though, if you just level with him, let him know you don’t want to do it, he’ll back off.”

“Okay.”  You dropped your stuff on the bed.  “How do I lock the door?”  You figured that’s how Loki gained access to the room you’d been in previously.

“Just tell F.R.I.D.A.Y.--she’ll lock the door for you.  You can let her know who you want to have access to your room, even.  I completely forgot to tell you all about this before, didn’t I?”

“So F.R.I.D.A.Y. can make it so that only you and I can unlock the door?”

“Would you like me to adjust your room’s settings now, Emoji?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh my god.  I told Tony to put your real name in the system.  I will chew him out--”

“Don’t worry about it.”  You smiled up at her.  “If Tony Stark thinks I’m a superhero, I can live with having F.R.I.D.A.Y. calling me Emoji.”

Pepper returned your smile. “Ready to eat?”

“Definitely.”

The next morning, you dutifully cut your dosage of Clozapine and atenolol in half.  You pocketed 4 codeine pills, hoping that would be enough to get you through the day.

“Good morning, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” You smiled up at your ceiling even though you were pretty sure there were no cameras installed.  

“Good morning, Emoji.  How may I help you?”

“Would you be able to tell me if anyone is in the kitchen or dining area?”

“Both rooms are vacant at the moment.  Would you like me to see if anyone is available to join you?”

“Oh, no. No thanks. I think I’m going to need as little human contact as possible while I’m doing all these tests.”

“Understood.  If you’d like, I can sync up with your tablet and inform you from there when it is clear for you to eat.”

“That would be fantastic!”  You dug through your bag and pulled out your tablet.  “Do I need to do anything?”

“Just turn it on and I will be able to complete the process.”

If you truly thought about it, it should probably concern you at how you were happily following the directions of an AI.  “Thank you, so much.”

“You’re very welcome.  Is there anything else I may assist you with?”

“Where are Bucky and Loki right now?”   Confrontation was not your speed.  Avoidance, however, was.

“Sergeant Barnes is currently in the gym and The Trickster is out with his brother.”

“Okay, great.  Could you maybe keep me updated on their location so I can avoid them, or is that too much?”

“I can send that information to your tablet as well, if you’d like.”

“You are a lifesaver, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You help keep Pepper safe, which makes Tony happy.  I am more than happy to assist you in any way I can.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Or, maybe this could be a complete and total nightmare.

As soon as you finished eating a bowl of cereal, Sam and Natasha both walked in, both of them feeling grouchy.  After they greeted you with a head nod, you put your bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and turned to scurry out of the room. That was the moment Steve came in.

“Were you able to meet up with Bucky yesterday?”

You could tell he was waiting for you to lie.  “No, I didn’t.  The testing Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho had me do wiped me out, so I slept most of the afternoon.”

“Oh.” Now he felt sheepish.  “Will you have time to meet with him today? He’s really upset about what might be going on in his head.”

“I can try.  I have to go back to the lab now, and I’m not sure what all I’m gonna have to do.”

“How long are you going to be undergoing these tests?”

“Probably three weeks--maybe four.”  A headache was just beginning to take hold of your brain.  You reached for a pill, but stopped short.  You needed to save those for when it got really bad.  “I’m gonna head to the lab now.”

“Alright.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else before darting out of the kitchen.

[leafzelindor]

Real, Or Not - SPN Fanfic

Sam Creations Challenge / Ultimatetrollcolinfirth

↳Prompt:  {Variation} Crazy!Sam {Word} Trust

Month Theme: Emotions

Sometimes he wondered what was him. Was he really Sam Winchester any more? Did Sam Winchester still exist inside of him? The real one, the one who had been born to Mary and John Winchester. The one who had grown up admiring his older brother and been so proud to get into Stanford with a full ride?

What had happened to the Sam who had loved Jessica? Who had wanted to be a lawyer and help people?

He didn't know any more.

Sam stared at his hands quietly and just turned them over. They’d already been so many other people’s hands. He’d been a killer, he’d been a lover. He’d been a brother. He just wanted to be Sam.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice started him and he half looked up, blinking. Dean looked happy, It was weird, and it was good, and he also felt a flicker of fear.

“You’re not Dean,” he said sharply, he was rewarded with a laugh and suddenly another face, a far too familiar face was before him. He rubbed his hands against his eyes and shoved that one away. And then he was alone again. He shivered and shifted to lay himself down. To try and focus on something else. Something away from him, away from here. Sterile and white and lonely.

“Sam?” A soft tap. “It’s time for your pills.” He sighed heavily at that. The orderlies here were all so nice. But they couldn’t possibly understand, they couldn’t do anything to stop it. “Sam? Or is it Gadreel today?”

“It’s Sam.” He said quietly now, shivering as he made himself sit up, turn around to face the heart shaped face of the woman who usually brought his afternoon meds. She was the most patient, the most understanding. Sometimes he thought he knew her. He wasn’t sure why. She smiled and moved over to offer him the little plastic cup. The cup that held his antipsychotic medication. At the very least it helped him sleep, even if he still saw things, lost himself.

“Bad day?” She asked with a smile as he took the pills and knocked them back, he then reached for the little bottle of water to wash them down. He let her check to make sure he’d swallowed. He always made sure to, if he didn’t then Lucifer decided to come and bother him, not letting him sleep. He’d tried, oh he’d tried not taking them. It wasn’t worth it.

“...yeah,” he put the empty bottle down and then moved to lay down once more.

“You should come down to the main room Sam. I bet today Jimmy is there,” she coaxed now. Meg. Her name was Meg. Somehow that seemed right. He didn’t ask though he knew her nametag said something else. Sam stared at the wall across from his bed in utter silence for about 30 seconds now. He didn’t want to see Jimmy Novak right now, he knew that the angel inside the man was trapped there and it was painful to him.

“Just a suggestion, think about it. Come down if you think you want to socialize.”

He could hear her moving now, picking up the tray. Meg wasn’t this nice unless she wanted something from  you. What did she want with him? Not just to be social.

“She wants in your pants, like they all do.” He tried to push down that voice. That voice was the one that made his skin crawl the worst. The things Lucifer had done to him. He curled up a little bit now. “Ignore me all you want Sammy, you know it’s true.”

“Go away.” He hissed to himself, knowing it was pointless, until the medication really kicked in, Lucifer would just hang out and taunt him. That face, that smug voice, the promise of dragging him back into the cage again.

The therapist he was required to work with was sure that this cage was all in his mind, that he’d been in some sort of prison situation and his mind had warped it into Lucifer, Michael, Adam and the Cage. That he was using those visions to protect himself. He knew it was real, all of it, even this. Lucifer was in this room with him, right now.

“I am cutie pie and I won’t be going anywhere. I wish I could touch you again. You always cried so pretty for me.”

Sam shifted and pulled the pillow around his head. It didn’t really muffle the taunts but it certainly made him feel better, temporarily. Somehow, he was able to fall asleep even if his dreams were all a mess this time.

//

“Sammy.. Sammy come on. I didn’t come out here to stare at your back.”

Dean was the constant. Dean never changed. Sam didn’t know why his brother tried to come see him as often as he did. He had his own worries, his own life. Sam sighed quietly and then made himself sit up, then after a moment looking up from the sterile white of his bed to his brother in the doorway. Looking tired and yet so alive. Sam swallowed now.

“Hey Dean…” He said a little thickly. “How are you?”

“Missin my little brother.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. Nurse Meg was there she just nodded and motioned for Dean to have a seat, then she moved to step away. Dean quietly tugged the plain chair near the door at the small table and sank into it with a flop. “Nurse Joy out there says that you’ve had a run of bad days….”

“He’s been here.” Sam said glumly. Meaning Lucifer. “I had to…..Get away.” That was what he called it when Gadreel was in control and he hid in his own mind.

“But it’s Sam right now right? All yourself and nobody else?” Dean asked quietly as he watched his brother. Sam flinched, knowing that Dean had been so used to what had happened to him that it didn’t even surprise him when Sam started to fracture to pieces.

“Yeah,” the word was soft and Sam just felt so, lost, scared, wrong. “S’Cas with you?” “Castiel? I think he’s in the public meeting room,” Dean said smoothly, Sam wondered if it was just humoring him. He knew Castiel had saved his brother from hell, just as he knew that the angel would watch over him. Castiel chose to stay trapped here and watch over Sam, he didn’t have to but he did. Sam sighed and moved to stand.

“Let’s go see Cas,” Sam insisted now and then he moved to push past Dean, for the first time in a week willingly heading for the group therapy room, which during visiting hours often had visitors and games set out. Today there was a movie on the tv, but his destination was Castiel, sitting over by a window with a game box in front of him. Castiel’s blue eyes were bright as he looked up at the brothers.

“Hello Sam, Dean,” he said very politely as always. It was cute how nice he was.

“Hey man,” Dean nodded and moved to sit, he shifted to get his phone out. “Want to see the new pictures I have of Ben?” He grinned as he offered and moved to tap about on the small screen.

Sam twitched faintly as he sank down. Why was he still with that woman? Didn’t he know that it was dangerous to have a family? They’d be taken away, the demons would find them. He was quiet though as Dean showed of pictures of Ben, a cute kid, about ten years old who looked like a little version of Dean himself. Castiel smiled at that and then sighed.

“I got a new picture of Claire.” Castiel said, carefully patting the trench coat he wore over his issued cotton outfit. The only thing that made him different from the rest of the patients here. Sam watched him pull out a new looking photo of a pretty blond girl. He knew that she wasn’t Castiel’s daughter really. No that was his vessel’s, Jimmy Novak’s, daughter.

“She’s getting big.” Dean said with a nod now and smiled at Castiel. It was a polite smile. “How treatment?”

“They don’t believe I’m an angel,” Castiel shrugged and then he looked at Sam. “That I am trying to protect Sam….”

“I told you they wouldn’t,” Sam said now and then he shrugged and tugged over the game box and he started to open it up. “Let’s play a game.”

He pretended not to notice when Doctor stepped over and asked to talk to Dean. His brother quietly excusing himself and stepped away. Sam took a breath and startled as Castiel’s fingers settled over his, giving a gentle and quick squeeze. “It’s all right Sam.”

“Is it?”

The reply was soft and almost lost. He looked into bright blue eyes. He knew what the doctor was saying. Sam wasn’t getting better. Neither was Castiel. They’d come in almost the same time, and neither had improved much, though the medication did keep the worst of his own voices away. Castiel never ever answered to the name on his paperwork, he said that only Sam understood what he was. He wasn’t surprised that anyone else didn’t believe them. Most of the staff humored them, but they both heard the whispers.

“We’re going to escape,” Castiel promised now, his eyes bright. “I’ll get us out of here, I’ve spoken to the other angels….”

“I need my medication though,” Sam whispered softly. “You know it’s the only way I can keep him away.” He swallowed hard. He couldn’t let Lucifer come back. He’d done bad things when Lucifer had gotten into his head. He couldn’t face it again. He shivered a little bit.

“Hey Sammy.”

Dean’s voice was behind him now and he swallowed. Sam slowly looked at his brother, not sure what he was going to say. “Yeah?”

“Doc thinks it might do you some good to take a day trip. Come home with me to see Lisa and Ben.” Dean smiled at him. “He says your meds are really helping….”

“No,” Sam said sharply, standing up, not quite listening to how the chair clattered behind him. “I can’t, I’ll put them in danger Dean. He will know they are there and he’ll send the demons and they’ll hurt them. I can’t.” His words tumbling out of his mouth. He only fell quiet when Cas’ hand curled around his and he could sense the warmth of the angel’s wings curling around him protectively. He swallowed now. “I, I don’t want to.” Dean paused and his eyes flicked to Cas and then back to Sam and he nodded, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “Okay Sammy. It’s fine. Another time maybe.” He nodded, giving that smile that said he was just tolerating Sam’s outburst to placate him. Sam turned and buried his face into Castiel’s neck. He wanted Dean to leave. He couldn’t see him like this. He felt a broad hand slide over his back and he just clung to the trench coat hanging from the other man’s shoulders.

“I think it’s time you went, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was rumbly and protective. Sam took a sharp breath and then closed his eyes. He was safe like this. Nobody could get him. Castiel was a Seraph, he’d protect him. They stood like this for some minutes before Castiel gently nudged him back. He lifted his head and sighed, just letting his forehead press into the other man’s.

“Jimmy, I need you to step back.” It was one of the orderlies, Jim. Sam didn’t want to let go of Castiel, he didn’t like that they were using his vessel’s name either.

“Please, Jim just let me take him to his room. Then I will go to mine, I intend no trouble.” Castiel’s voice was a quiet rumble. There was a pause and then Sam assumed that Jim had nodded because Cas was nudging him to turn around and Sam did. They walked quietly now, Sam clinging still to the edge of the angel’s trench coat, at least until the doorway of his room. He slowly pried his own fingers off of it and stepped in. Letting Jim move over to give him a dose of a sedative. Castiel remained in the doorway even as Jim left and Sam sank onto the bed. He knew he was safe, with Cas watching over him, nothing could get him. Not Lucifer, not anyone else.

“Sleep well, Sam,” Castiel whispered now, and then there was a flutter of wings as Sam’s eyes sank closed. One day it would be okay. One day. After the end of the world, he’d be able to rest again.

[a-woman-apart]

Gratitude

The “season of gratitude” is upon us. I understand that the holiday Thanksgiving has terrible roots, and I am not trying to excuse any of that when I participate with it. For most of us- but especially for me- the holiday has another meaning entirely. We aren’t thanking God for the slaughter of our “enemies”, but we’re thankful for things like home, family, and friends. In my strict religious household, Thanksgiving was the only holiday that we really celebrated, and it was something that I could look forward to each year. The 2017 Thanksgiving to Christmas holiday season was the last holiday season that I got to spend with my dad before he died. Some of his siblings were able to visit around that time, as well as one friend of his that he had known since college.

Even though this will be my first Thanksgiving without my dad, it isn’t hard for me to find things to be grateful for. I am close with my immediate family, even if I feel the need to tread carefully with them sometimes regarding religious and political issues. We’ve not only been celebrating Christmas and Thanksgiving together, but we’ve also been sharing food and fun for all our birthdays (thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law). I have an associate degree under my belt, and I’m looking forward to continuing my education next year. My boyfriend is a constant source of emotional support for me. Thanks to my mom helping me financially, I don’t have to be burdened with finding new or additional work until 2019.

Despite all these wonderful things, I would be lying if I said that I haven’t struggled with my motivation and mood. I texted my sister-in-law and told her I wasn’t feeling well. I complained that I had slept for 14 hours last night, but still felt tired, and laid out a laundry list of things that were bothering me. I had overspent a little bit and was worried about money (yes, this is even with my mom having helped me out). I tried so hard to be happy but continued “slipping up”.

She first probed me on what might be wrong and suggested going to a movie or spending time with friends. Then she kindly chided me by saying that I should focus on gratitude, and stop worrying about things that I couldn’t control, things to which God says, “Let it go.”  I don’t necessarily believe in divine intervention, but I could appreciate the spirit and wisdom of her words. She said to just believe that my needs would be met. It’s true that I cannot control the fact that my bank accounts are looking a little light these days, but I can have simple faith that I will be able to cut back and/or find a solution.

Her words reminded me of something said by Chris Boutte, of The Rewired Soul channel on YouTube. He said that the extent of his theology is that he simply “believes that things are going to work out.” He didn’t even say that his belief is grounded in the law of attraction, as it is for many people, but he did seem to imply that he believes in “karma”, or the idea that if you do good, good things will happen, and if you do bad then you can expect bad things.  Either way, just having a simple hope in the future is so vital, whether you feel that it’s accurate scientifically or statistically, or not. There is so much that is out of our control, that it is just as easy to focus the mind on the good outcome as the bad one.

Of course, it is very frustrating to continuously war with the pessimistic side of my nature, so much so that I sometimes want to give up entirely. It’s worth noting that calling my depression merely a side effect of pessimism is inaccurate. This doesn’t change the fact that it feels like my own brain is working against me. I had been doing so well with my new medication (Effexor) but today I found myself dealing with suicidal thoughts again. They weren’t “strong”- if that’s an accurate descriptor- but they were sort of rumbling under the surface. There were thoughts like:

“If it’s this much work to be happy, is it really worth it?”

“You’ve been volunteering, using your coping skills, taking walks in the sunshine, and taking new medication, and you still aren’t ‘over’ this yet. Will you ever be?”

“Just look at yourself- still can’t get over your depression. Is life worth living if it isn’t the life you want?”

“Look how tired you are. You’ll never make it through next week.”

I could keep going. It just feels like I’ve been coming up against a brick wall.

I tried to refer to Johann Hari’s book, “Lost Connections.” In the book, he talks about taking antidepressants for over 13 years. During that time, he would experience relief from his depression, but it wouldn’t last. His symptoms would return, and they would increase his dose, and each time the cycle would repeat. In the meantime, he kept gaining weight, he was sweating more and more, and his heart would race. If his depression was just a result of a chemical imbalance in his brain, then why weren’t the drugs working? He finally decided that he would devote himself to investigating the “real” causes of depression.

Johann came up with 9 causes of depression, and all the causes except 8 and 9 had to do with the environment, not solely with the brain or biology. He cited things like lack of meaningful work, lack of meaningful values, poor expectations for the future, unresolved childhood trauma, and lack of connection with other people and nature as some of the causes. It is true that when we experience these things, our brains react in response, but the source is outside, not inside. Even when we do have a genetic predisposition to addiction, depression, or anxiety, those genes are often not activated unless something in the environment triggers them.

These reasons explain why so many- though not all- people respond to antidepressants like Johann Hari did if they are treated only with antidepressants and nothing in their lives changes. They either must continuously increase their dose like he did, or like me, must change medications periodically because the original meds stop working. Note, he did not explore the efficacy of antipsychotics or mood stabilizers, so as far as I know those drugs may have better benefits. I know that I have not had mania or major depression since being on lithium, but my anxiety and dysthymia have persisted for years. Chronic low energy and mood have been an unending struggle.

So, if my problem isn’t just chemicals in my brain being too low or out of sync, then what is the problem? As I went through the list, “Lack of meaningful work” and “Disconnection from a Hopeful Future” kept jumping out at me. I love my job, and it is the most convenient job for me to have while trying to go to school, but I have been there almost 4 years and am dying to do something different. I even wouldn’t mind working at another library. I just want a change of scenery or pace. I am thinking of applying for a new job within the same library that pays a little bit more, but honestly, I would rather just go somewhere new.

It isn’t even that the work isn’t challenging enough or that mere boredom is stopping me. I have plenty of tasks to do most of the time. I just designed new brochures, I do some of the displays every month, and I’m still learning new things. Somehow, though, it’s gotten monotonous, and maybe I should stop trying to apologize for feeling that way about it.

The “Disconnection from a Hopeful Future” thing is also rolled into it, but it also doesn’t make sense to me. I have a hopeful future. I am going back to school in the spring, and that will set me on my way to start getting my bachelor’s degree. Ideally, once I have that I’ll be able to get a better job, start making more money, and finally move in with my boyfriend (if we’re still together then). We could even get a nice place together.

Somehow though, my current situation drains me of hope. I feel stuck when I think of 2+ years of working at this same library and commuting to and from classes every day. Even when I zoom in a little bit closer to now, I think of still having to depend on my mom for the next 2.5 months until I can go back to school and get my financial aid refund, and it fills me with dread. I don’t know why I feel so bad about leaning on her, but I do. Even with her help- and the raise I got from my job- I still won’t have a whole lot of money for extra expenditures. That means I can’t get gifts for everyone like I got them last year. My sister-in-law did point out that it’s not about the gifts, and my family never really celebrated Christmas, so I don’t think they’ll really miss them. It just felt nice to do that for them, so not being able to now feels sad.

Even as I write this, I find myself being drawn to the negative. I want to instead pull the post back in the positive direction. Sure, I don’t have a lot of money for gifts, but my older brother and my sister-in-law have invited me to come over to their house for Christmas. It is our tradition to stay up into the early morning putting together toys for the children. It started with my nephew but now that my niece is 1 year old, I believe that toys for her will be included. That already is something to look forward to. Sooner than that still, my mom’s sister is coming in to town and we will all be spending Thanksgiving together. My own sisters cook various tasty dishes, including a delicious mushroom stuffing that my youngest sister makes. The last thing I want to do is take what should be a beautiful family holiday and turn it into a crisis, and that is exactly what I would be doing if I let these dark thoughts take over my life.

Maybe it feels like I am trapped in a routine, but I’m not. Maybe when I need to take days off work because of my health, it seems like a failure, but it isn’t. I can only control how I am today. I can’t guarantee that I will feel good tomorrow. I can’t guarantee that I will even have a tomorrow. All I can do is be mindful and focus on the present.

Because of The Rewired Soul, and a chapter in Johann Hari’s book, I do want to practice mindfulness and meditation a little bit more. Mindfulness is about just learning to bring your mind back to the present, to really be aware of your surroundings and to exist in the moment. Meditation has been proven to genuinely change your brain chemistry and the way that you think, shifting your focus from negative emotions like jealousy, anger and self-pity and putting you into a more open, compassionate, and joyful state of mind. As everything else that he listed, this is only part of a bigger practice of health and wellness.

I do not know where you’re at this holiday season. Maybe the holidays are a source of pain for you, and I can understand why that might be. Maybe you feel like a hopeful future feels far-off and impossible to get to. Maybe you feel discouraged and alone. I can’t really offer a whole lot of assurance for you, because I’m often in the same boat. All I know is that you must keep breathing, and you must treat every day like it is a new day filled with opportunity. This is hard to do when you’re living paycheck to paycheck, or if you or someone you love is sick, you are struggling to make it through school, and/or you’re working at a job that has little meaning for you. Saying to “hang in there” seems like an empty platitude, but if you think about the alternative, it isn’t great. I say this as much for me as for anybody else- giving up will get you nowhere. There’s always something to be thankful for, however small, and it is the small joys in life- not this big impossible feeling of “having arrived”- that are dependable and can help to pull us through.

[escarchitasblogging]

update!!!! and picking up writing (hopefully)

wow. very irresponsible of me to have stopped coming here after writing about being suicidal... makes it sound like i committed. i didn't tho. clearly cause i am here writing this naow

anyways, gonna try to write what's been happening these days as much as i can remember, which had been really hard lately, but nowadays not that much!

firstly, about dissociating. i had some really weird days! right about when i stopped writing. i had never had that happening to me THAT bad before. i was dissociating almost daily the week prior to going to my psychiatrist appointment.

that entire week i felt like my life was a movie, like i wasn't living, but more like "life was living me". which is pretty weird. i felt like an outsider inside myself. my worst episode was the day i had a session with my therapist. that day everything she asked me it was so hard to answer! i felt like i had to look deep deep within to answer her questions, and every time it was so hard because it felt like looking into another person's inside. i can barely remember what i told her that day but i do know it was a super weird session. i was so dissociated even looking around.. vision was blurry. everything felt surreal. like a dream

later that week when i saw my psychiatrist i told her about that, and about other times where i lashed out on friends (for no reason) while having what i call "episodios" (depresivos) and saying awful awful things and then not remembering. at that point, when i told her, i wasn't completely sure if i was dissociating but she confirmed to me that that was what was happening to me. prescribed me an antipsychotic to help and since taking it i haven't felt like that anymore! so it worked apparently. yay for me because dissociating SUCKS.

she also changed my sleeping meds, cause i had been abusing the older ones so i felt like i needed new ones. of course i didn't exactly tell her that. i just told her they weren't working anymore and she switched me to another kind (zolpidem, or ambien). they've been working pretty well! but i liked how zopiclone knocked me out better. with zolpidem it's like you actually have to try to sleep for them to work for you, they don't knock you out. or at least not me

can't sleep without meds anymore, i'm almost scared to cause, like i told my psychiatrist that evening, that little time frame when you're trying to fall asleep, that half sleep state, makes me extremely anxious. still does

she also upped my sertraline dose.

i feel like everything has been working fine but i have a hard time being constant, taking them at the right times (even though i set up alarms) and then there's days i straight up don't take my meds. they make me a bit scared i think. specially the weight gain side effects :D

during that week and as of lately, i took a deep interest in reading and space and filosophy! it's all so interesting. i feel like my filosophy of life has changed even. i enjoy learning new things, like deeply. which i think will help for when i go back to college! i'm excited to learn now

i also came back to santiago and i now realize that might have to do with me feeling better. as much as i like to feel like i don't like being with my mom and sister because they need me too much and baby me too much, i needed them. it's been nice being with them again

another exciting thing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! vi a briceño en vivo. FOR FREE????????? me firmó un disco, "con mucho <3". loved it!!!!!!!

[jojokillah]

Arranging my thoughts

My main focus would be to be calm and not having really bad vibes.

I have bad vibes because i moved in with my gf after i was away for more than a year, and weeks later we broke up. Now i'm spending time writing this post, because she invited me to watch Big Bang Theory out of the blue. There's an episode i already saw like 3 times.

I moved to this city because i had a job offer and she said i can live with her. That was a job i liked, it was my favourite job ever. My plan went like this: I work, i will earn enough to buy the neccessary stuff i need to stay alive, i work 4 hours then i continue building my web application,learn new stuff along the way and will have some decent project to put in my portfolio.

The plan didn't work. At all. I was dirt poor since the beginning of the story. I got the job, borrowed some money from my gf (now ex) and my parents to buy the neccessary stuff to stay alive (meds that changed my life for the better but very expensive since it' not available in my country at all).

I took the most amazing pill ive ever took for work and after some time, reality knocked me out cold. It didn't work. I got scammed. By the vendor who always delivered perfect stuff.

Then i had to rely on a green plant to function as a human being so i had to borrow more money.And more.It wouldn't be a problem, i had the job, i pay it back.

I recovered from the last punch and a month later BAM! Another punch, perfect connection. I lost my job. Due to corona, all universities got closed and i was working at an art university.

From the payment i got (half of what it would be if i dont lose my job), i payed my debts to everyone and had to find another job, fast. Because if i don't, its game over for me.

I knew i couldn't work as a cashier since i hate people and got fired after two days when i was a cashier back then. I couldn't work anything that i could endure and earn as much as i need, but the clock is ticking in every minute. My ex did let me live in a room till i work and do what she asks for, but i lost my income to get the plant and the pills are fake...I still couldn't recover from this..i did not took them for more than one and a half year, so it's not a tolerance problem, and no meds helped me with my depression and non-existent energy that any psychiatrist ever prescribed.Nootropics are the meds i need, but in my country, forget about it. You either get shitty ssris, snris, antipsychotics and tranquilizers. (xanax, kpins etc.).

Once a psychiatrist prescribed me a med, the brand does not matter, it was Vinpocetine, only once, and i had to beg to my regular doctor to prescribe this for me every month, and it was expensive as hell. It sure was a nootropic but i needed crazy amounts to feel slightly better, so i dropped it.

Without any working substance due to no income, i'm failing to do the tasks my ex asked me to do, because im a living dead. I'm diagnosed with MADD (Mixed anxiety–depressive disorder) and SPD (Schizoid personality disorder).

I was desperate and still had some green plant (kratom), so i jumped into job hunting.I found a job that pays well and i can do it, i applied and thought: "Whatever, no way they even care".

I was wrong.I got a call from some guy, who said he liked my introduction on the application form, after a little talk he said he will mention me to the leader as a potential employee, and i still felt like whatever, pretty low change the leader will call me.

I was wrong again, after like 45 minutes the guy invited me to an interview a day after. I got dressed as fly as i could, almost stepped out the door and saw the leader is calling me. I thought: "Yeah, here comes the we found someone better bs, as usual.", but actually he said he is ill so do a Zoom meeting.

I was nervous as hell, since i knew i have a change and i must nail the interview. We spoke for approx. 45 minutes then he invited me to the company to meet with the other tech guys there.

I went there, the technical stuff i have to do just blasted my brain out of my skull like a shotgun. I was as focused as a motherfuckin sniper and still didnt get what the fuck the guy is doing..two guys were there who started this just like me and told so many things and details i asked:

Could i record you guys?

Then a convo started.

-Why?

-To listen it again and again to comprehend what i need to know.

-No, i don't like the idea. Write notes.

(I was pissed tho, cmon, hes talking about software and nothing illegal or anything i could use against him. Why would i do that anyway? I wanna work here. Fuck me, notepad)

-Okay...

(He was talking a lot and i couldnt even keep up, and the best thing: I forglt to save ( i use VSCode a lot and autosave is turned on for me, so by reflex i didn't save manually.)

I went home, they guys said they will put me in a group, this didnt happen, and i messaged one of them, he saw it and didnt reply.

The leader called me the next day.He said there was nothing wrong with me, but im not ready yet, so he will call me in a few days to tell me when should i go in again to learn.

And i'm like...whatever. I highly doubt he will. Or he will call me with the "sry we found someone better" bs.

I just wait, and every second feels like an hour, but in reality, im running out of time, and if i don't get this job, i....

I'm scared to think about it.

[sending-the-message]

My mom never forgave me for breaking her uterus. by AnonymouslyCreepy

My mom never forgave me for breaking her uterus. I think that’s why she won’t give back my baby.

I had my daughter when I was seventeen. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. But who’s ever ready, really? My mom promised me she’d help. “Don’t get an abortion. We got this.”

I believed her too. My mom’s only 37. She always had a ton of energy so I knew she’d be able to chase after an infant when the time came. She was vibrant and smart and charming. I always thought Mom deserved more than she got out of life. See, my mother couldn’t have kids after me. I messed her up somehow. Secondary infertility, I think, is the official term.

After I gave birth, my mom convinced me that I should still get an education. So I lived at home with my mom and baby Nora and attended community college at night.

It was a great set up, really. But two years in, my mom announced she was kicking me out. She claimed I stole her painkillers. My mom has always been a little high strung. These kinds of accusations came up a lot. I was used to it by then.

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll stay at a friend’s house. But I’m taking Nora with me.”

Mom went nuts when I said that that. She threatened to have me arrested. She’d tell police she found coke in my room. She’d black her own eye and say that I punched her. She’d say I was abusing Nora. Who would they believe?

My mom had a point. She had credibility. My stepfather had been chief of the police department before he died. They had a great marriage and they were a very social and well-respected couple. Everyone knew my mom. Everyone liked her. She taught elementary school. She exuded patience and sweetness. She was able to sound sincere when she needed to and firm when appropriate.

That’s why when she left my biological father and remarried only two weeks after the divorce was finalized, no one judged her. My dad killed himself after that, but my mom convinced everyone that he was an abusive alcoholic. I overheard her telling a neighbor that, while was devastated by what happened to her ex-husband, she couldn’t say she was shocked given his “demons.” I was angry with my mother after I heard her say that. I missed my father so much I thought I would die too. But my mother told me that my dad never loved me — that he really killed himself to get out of paying child support. I was only seven and, although I didn’t know what child support was, I figured if my mother said it, then it must have been true. My mom said it was alright though because she’d found a new man to take care of us. And wasn’t I happy about that?

In all honesty, my stepfather was a good man. He was kind to me and he never argued with my mom. Except at night time. I didn’t understand what they were talking about back then. Now I know that my mom was going through some sort of IVF treatment at the time. My stepfather’s health insurance had paid for it at first, but I guess didn’t work, since no baby came. Apparently treatment is expensive and insurance stopped paying after a while. My mom wanted my stepdad to take out a loan so they could try again. He refused and, eventually, everyone stopped talking about it.

On the Fourth of July, my stepfather died. I was eleven. He was on the deck barbecuing with my mom, and I was inside watching tv.

When I heard my mother shrieking I rushed through the kitchen and out through the sliding door to where she was standing with a set of tongs in her hand, looking down. I still can’t stand the smell of charcoal. My mom said he was swatting a bee away and had fallen down the steps. Broke his neck on impact.

It was just the two of us after that.

I admit that I started to feel sorry for my mother then. Two dead husbands. All she had was me. And I wasn’t overly bright or athletic or talented. But I gave her a grandchild. That I was able to do.

And now she won’t give her back.

My first mistake was leaving that first night my mom threatened me. I should have just let her call the police. But I figured she’d cool off by morning. She couldn’t really mean to keep me from my own kid. I’d stay with my friend, Lauren, for a day or two, and everything would blow over.

Well, the next day, my mother informed me via text that she planned to sue for full custody of Nora. I’m not fit, she said. I’m too young to take care of a baby. She’d woken up with Nora in the night when she was sick. She’d fed her and clothed her and read her stories. Now that Nora was two, she needed a stable parent.

“But she isn’t yours” I texted back. “I’m her mother.”

“You don’t know what a mother is”, my mother replied.

That was the last text I got from her.

That was alright though. We’d let a judge decide.

I was smart enough to lawyer up. There’s a nonprofit in my area that helps women in my situation. Free of charge. My mom has more money - she was able to get a better lawyer. But at least I wasn’t alone.

I was nervous though. I had never been to court before. Much less for anything that would affect my entire life. What if my mom was awarded full custody? What if I am unfit?

As I sat in court, I avoided looking at my mother. I fixed my eyes on anything I could except for her. The bailiff’s shiny black boots. The court clerk’s blown out ’80s hairdo. The judge’s name plate. Honorable Saul Oliver Mann. I tried looking at the judge himself but quickly changed my mind. His eyes were onyx-colored. They reminded me of charcoal.

I can’t tell you much about the hearing. It was a blur. I know by the end it was decided that my mother and I would split custody. My lawyer said we could appeal, but I said it was alright. As long as I could see my child.

I remember the day the bell rang. I rushed to the door. My baby was here. Finally.

But when I opened the door to the condo and looked out, I saw nothing. I sighed. I had thought ding dong ditch went out of style decades ago. I happened to look down. And that’s when I saw the package. I figured it had to be for Lauren. I picked it up and saw my name on the postage. That was odd because I hadn’t ordered anything, and very few people knew where I was staying.

But I took the box inside and put it on the table. I grabbed a steak knife and used it to saw through the tape. Finally I got the thing open and had to dig through about a half pound of newspaper to get to whatever was inside.

I think that’s when I screamed. I’m not entirely sure, since I passed out almost immediately.

Lauren must have found us when she came home from work. Poor girl. No one should come home to that. She managed to call the police and the paramedics. I remember waking up at the hospital. Apparently, after I came to, I had to be tranquilized. That day is kind of blurry too.

Lauren sent me a letter a few weeks ago. Although she had to take antipsychotics for a while just to function, she’s doing a lot better now. I’m glad for her.

Unfortunately, the authorities never found my mother. Or the other half of my daughter.

My new roommate Stacy tells me none of this is my fault. But Stacy’s sixth identity, Meghan, thinks I’m at least partly to blame.

I don’t care much what Stacy or Meghan think. I just wish Stacy would stop coughing up her meds so she could get better. I keep telling her the nurses will catch on eventually. She calls me a hypocrite though since I’m storing my own meds like a junkie.

I at least have a good reason though. If I save enough of the pills, I’ll be able to see my baby again.

[psychotic-spectrum]

My experience with medications (long post ahead)

I’ve seen a lot of posts where people tell their experiences with psych meds, and since I’ve tried tons of them, I wanted to make my own post, and maybe help people in the process. All these experiences are individual and they might not be the same for other people, it’s just a guide.

My current diagnoses are BPD and schizophrenia-schizoaffective disorder. My previous misdiagnoses have been depression-anxiety, GAD, bipolar disorder type 2 and a dissociative disorder.

I’m gonna post the generic name of the medication and then the brand name, I’ll use the most popular brand name because in that way people would be able to identify them, but usually I use different brand names where I’m from.

Modafinil (Provigil) It was the first psych med I ever tried, a doctor friend of mine gave them to me after realizing I fell asleep everywhere, even sometimes standing up. At that time it was sold over the counter so I didn’t need a prescription. It was wonderful, I could have so much energy to work, to study, to go out at night, it was a life saver for me because that same year I started to study law and I was also working at the same time so it didn’t matter if I didn’t sleep because I still had energy and I could focus. I still use it today but the similar armodafinil.

Venlafaxine (Effexor) It was the first antidepressant I ever took, it was prescribed to me after I went to see a psychiatrist that had zero empathy and he diagnosed me with depression after talking for about ten minutes. I was really stressed when I saw him, but he decided I had depression even though I didn’t experience any symptoms of depression. He also gave me a “deal”, one box of Effexor and the next one free. Still I took it and it was terrible. I was sleepy as hell and nauseous, I couldn’t eat, I might‘ve lost at least a kilo in the month I took it, and it did nothing for my stress. I stopped taking it after a month and then I felt better.

Escitalopram (Lexapro) It was prescribed to me first by a GP after seeing my colon and stomach problems wouldn’t go away with medication, so she thought I needed something for my mood (I hadn’t been diagnosed with any mental illnesses at that time). It was kinda weird. It made me sleepy but I felt high, like as though I’ve been smoking weed, I felt pretty relaxed and I liked the effect, and I had no side effects. My friends said I talked weird, like a typical pothead, but it was the medication! I was on it for about a year.

Fluoxetine (Prozac) I was prescribed fluoxetine after a visit to another GP due to my colon problems, at that time, I had already seen a psychiatrist because I was in crisis and I had started self-harming (but I didn’t say it to her), she diagnosed me with GAD and increased my escitalopram. I was also seeing a psychologist on and off. When I went to see this GP, she said that fluoxetine was more effective than escitalopram for anxiety that caused my colon problems. Fluoxetine was great, I felt I had more energy, less appetite and I felt happier (by that time I already had mental health issues), but later when they prescribed fluoxetine for BPD, I was in such a high dosage that I started to feel numb, with no emotions. I remember seeing Steven Wilson, one of my favorite singers and feeling like I couldn’t cry with his songs. Later the dosage was reduced. I still take it nowadays but a low dosage. It helps.

Clonazepam (Klonopin) By the end of 2011 I was in a complete breakdown and I started having panic attacks. A doctor then prescribed me clonazepam and it was fantastic, I loved it. My anxiety was gone, I could do the things I wanted to do, concentrate, my mind wasn’t so active. It made me sleepy but it was tolerable. I stopped taking it because I grew a tolerance towards it.

Risperidone (Risperdal) OMG, I have a love-hate relationship with this medication. It was first prescribed for BPD, to control the self-harming urges. It was my first experience with antipsychotics. At first, I hated it, it made me really sleepy and foggy, it was hard to wake up, but I felt I improved a little. The downside? The weight gain. I could never get my pre-medication weight back. I’ve been on and off it since 2012, and now I take it every day for schizophrenia. It has done wonders for my psychotic symptoms, and I no longer feel foggy or extremely sleepy, I got used to it, and it works. It makes me more stable, so there’s no way I’m gonna go off this med, despite wanting to lose weight. It’s more important to be stable than thin. But the current side effects are: akathisia, zero sex drive and I stopped ovulating, so I can’t have kids right now (not that I’m looking for kids at the moment anyway)

Quetiapine (Seroquel)Oh boy how much I hate this drug. It was first prescribed after a psychiatrist changed my BPD diagnosis into bipolar disorder. At first, I was so unwell that I liked being almost unconscious from the drug. I couldn’t wake up on time, I fell asleep at work, everywhere I felt like I had no energy whatsoever. The year I was prescribed this med (2013) I started working two jobs and I had to take tons of coffee and modafinil to be able to perform in those jobs. I grew intolerant towards it, until one day, without asking my doctor, I simply stopped taking it, and I felt so good. I had energy again, I didn’t fall asleep everywhere, I didn’t need coffee 24/7, but I started experiencing weird psychotic symptoms. My doctor then decided to switch it to risperidone, but I was in such a low dose that didn’t help with my symptoms. But I was feeling fine so I didn’t really care at that time.

Lithium Since I was diagnosed as bipolar in 2013, my doctor said I should take lithium, I didn’t want at first, mainly due to the stigma associated with that drug. It was supposed to make me more stable, but I never felt stable with it. I also gained weight and I got acne. It did give me energy though, but since I took it with quetiapine, I didn’t really noticed it that much. I was on it for a year or more, until I went to the hospital and they stopped giving it to me, without knowing that my diagnosis was about to change.

Haloperidol (Haldol) I was first prescribed a low dosage after I started having auditory hallucinations, and it was great, the hallucinations stopped. Since I was only on 1 mg I didn’t have extrapyramidal effects and my muscles weren’t stiff. I stopped taking it later and replaced with a higher dosage of risperidone. When I was hospitalized, they started giving me 5 mg in the morning and 5 mg at night, and I felt completely numb. My brain had shut down. I had no motivation; I felt everything was plain, nothing excited me and also I had extrapyramidal effects. I felt dull, like my wits had gone. I took it the month after I left the hospital and I asked it to be switched to another antipsychotic. Now I take 1 mg prn when I feel psychotic and I haven’t had any side effects.

Lorazepam (Ativan) I started taking it at the hospital, they gave me 6 mg a day. I must admit that I love it. I feel my inhibitions are gone, I don’t feel so anxious, I have no problem showing my self-harm scars and it relaxes me as hell. But I get reaaaaly sleepy. I was supposed to take it when my anxiety was through the roof, but now I take it every day and I crave for it. I take 2 mg a day in the afternoons, and it makes me happy and high. I’ve become dependent on it and I don’t plan to change that.

Lamotrigine (Lamictal) When I was diagnosed bipolar, I took it as a mood stabilizer together with lithium. I didn’t experience many side effects, but I felt like the pill blocked any negative feelings, it’s like, a negative feeling popped into my mind and I could feel the lamotrigine blocking it. I took it for about two years.

Alprazolam (Xanax) When I grew tolerance towards clonazepam, I was prescribed alprazolam for anxiety. I took it every day and it made me feel really good, relaxed, and not as sleepy as with lorazepam. However, I also grew tolerant towards it so it was switched to lorazepam.

Aripiprazole (Abilify) I remember I went to see my psychiatrist almost crying for the gain weight I was getting from Risperidone, and I had done some research and read that aripiprazole was weight neutral. It is extremely expensive though, but I had insurance at that time so I didn’t care. I was only two weeks with it before my hospitalization. After I got my diagnosis of schizophrenia, and since I wanted to stop taking haldol, my doctor prescribed me the highest dosage of it (30 mg), but I still had to take risperidone. Even though it wasn’t that effective with psychotic symptoms, I felt no side effects while on it. I had to stop when I lost my job and my insurance, because I just couldn’t afford it.

Amisulpride (I don’t know the brand name) I don’t have much experience with it, only that I had to take it for a couple of weeks due to increased psychotic symptoms. It made me sleepy and foggy, I can remember.

Bupropion (wellbutrin) Being taking it since 2015, I like it a lot. It gives me energy and helps me to focus, at first I felt tachycardia as a side effect but it didn’t last long. Since I’m on so many meds, I can’t actually tell what it really does, only that it makes me feel good.

Armodafinil (Nuvigil) It was prescribed to me after I grew tolerant towards modafinil. The effect is quite similar, and I feel no side effects. Sometimes, if I’m too medicated with other things I can barely feel the effect. I think it’s more like a placebo to pretend I have energy.

And… that’s it I guess? My current meds are Risperidone 4,5 mg, Fluoxetine 30 mg, Bupropion 150 mg, Armodafinil 75 mg, Lorazepam 2mg, Haldol 1mg prn.

If you have any questions, just send an ask or reply to this post.

[askjennie]

I would love some advice- is this Compete betrayal? Or something to work past?

Hi Jennie! I would really love some insight on this, I know its so long, sorry in advance, but Its been weighing on me a lot…

so a month ago, one of my 3 best friends in the entire world told me and best friend number 2 that she was starting to have feelings for best friend number 3’s ex-boyfriend- we’ll call him Q. Now, this guy is the literal definition of scum. He treats women with zero respect, is a manipulative, unsupportive, emotionally abusive person and treated my best friend number 3 like absolute crap. Best friend number 1 knew every single detail of their relationship and their break-up, and how she developed feelings for the guy bewilders me. Anyways, best friend number 2 and I talked her out of considering dating him, pointing out that he is an awful guy and totally not worth putting her friendship with best friend number 3 in jeopardy. (this is all through texts, as best friend number 2 and attend university in a different city). 

Fast forward two weeks, and best friend number 1 tells all of us that she has decided to go ahead and date Q. We’re very shocked, and text her lengthly paragraphs explaining how this would be a bad idea, how he would only hurt her, and that this is before anything else a complete action of disloyalty to best friend number 3. Again, we talked her out of it, but this time she was being overly apologetic for the situation to the point of really attacking herself. Best friend number 2 and I call her, being worried about her emotional and mental state, and while she reveals that she has not been in the best place mentally/emotionally, it was not as serious as we though, and it all came back to how much she likes Q and is conflicted because she wants to have a relationship with him, but in the end she agreed it would be for the best of all of us not to be with him as she couldn’t really see the relationship being extremely succsessful and long-lasting.

During this, I made sure to call best friend number 3 to see how she was handling all this, -it’s important to mention that she has had a long struggle with mental illness, including suffering from an eating disorder that left her hospitalized at one point 2 years prior, and dealing with self-harm and even a suicide attempt 4 months prior to this, yet by this point she was doing really well in the recovery process- so when calling her to see how she was coping, at first she told me all she wanted was best friend number 1’s happiness, she was over Q, and there was no Jealousy there and she told best friend number 1 that she was fine with it. However, I knew better, best friend number 3 is so altruistic, almost to an excess, and would sell both her kidneys on the internet to make a person she loves happy. So after lengthily conversations, BFFn3 admitted that while she was over Q, BFFn1’s decision to date him gave her so much stress that it drove her to consider self-harm and suicide again. 

Additionally through all the ex-BF drama, best friend number 2 and I both were struggling hard to keep up with very intense programs at uni, and were diagnosed with major depression, -and hearing BFFn3 say that she considered suicide again, (after we all struggled so much to help her get better mentally and saw her go from being in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, 3 hairs on her head, weighing barely 40 kilos, barely enough skin to stretch over her bones, and covered in scars to finally being in a relatively very healthy place), hearing that did break me. I went into a period of constant anxiety to the point of barely being able to think and fiction normally, and had to start taking antipsychotics to deal with everything.

So right after all this had built up, BFFn1 texts again and says that while she heard everything we said to her, (and at this point BFFn3 had told her she had an issue with the situation, stopped talking to her for her sanity, and told her their friendship depended on what she chose to do next) BFFn1 had made her final decision to go ahead and date Q. BFFn2 and I unleashed all our feelings, while not being mean or calling her any names or attacking her to much, we were very honest and told her that this decision was not okay, that she was putting BFFn3 and really all of our mental health’s on the line, etc. yet, at this point she started defending herself, played the victim, saying how she was at a really bad place in her life and he was the only thing that made her happy- however (i told her this) no matter how dark a place I was in (i’m taking antipsychotics for christ’s sake! I would never think its okay to put myself over the life and mental heaths of my best friends. By the end of the conversation, nothing we said changed her mind, and she chose to date Q regardless.

So now i’m here thinking what the hell happened to by best friend, I have known her for 15 years, since I was 3 years old, and we have never fought before, she has never been disloyal or showed the capacity to hurt me like this before. On one hand I feel completely betrayed and have less respect and no trust left in her at all - I can’t believe she would put herself before the lives and health’s of her best friends, especially knowing how serious it could become, implying that we’re selfish or not thinking about her by not being supportive, and pretty much defending her actions and showing no remorse for her actions. On the other hand, I feel guilty for being mad because she is in a bad place mentally, and I feel guilty for not supporting her in a critical time. Am I being a bad friend? Should I try to help her even though I can’t stand her actions? Should I be supportive? I’m really conflicted about that part…Also, what kills me is the irony if the situation, through this she says things like “I’m sorry for bothering you with this”, or “I love you and I’m here for you always”, and “I’d do anything for you guys” but how can I believe that when she clearly chose not to stop dating Q for us? I feel so betrayed, but she is also my best friend and has been forever…I don’t know if I could ever be friends with someone who did what she did to us, i feel our friendship might be beyond repair….but I still love and fear for her and I want her to be okay and I don’t know if I should support her or not…

And this whole situation has creating so much anxiety in me its keeping me from focusing on school, despite the meds, and I really need to get straight As to stay in my program, and its exam season too… i try really hard to get work done, but its impossible because I always come back to thinking about this and it’s wasting so much energy when I barely have any as it is, and I can’t afford to not have any energy left for school

Im sorry its’ so long! Any advice on this I would really appreciate! thanks so much!

Jennie: I don’t think it’s fair of you to put so much responsibility on BFF1′s shoulders. She is not responsible for your mental health, or for the mental health of your other friends. Yes, dating a friends abusive ex is a bad decision. Yes, she should have considered BFF3′s feelings about this, and worked out that she shouldn’t date someone who hurt her friend badly. But you need to allow her to make her own decisions, and you need to understand that she is not the sole cause of your depression, or your friends depression.

She did not cause BFF3′s suicidal thoughts. She hurt her, and that’s not good, but someone in a mentally healthier place would not have considered killing themselves because their friend started dating their ex. She did not cause your depresion, or BFF2′s depression. Friendship drama didn’t help you, and it added to the stress you were already experiencing, but again, someone who was entirely mentally healthy would not have been diagnosed with major depression just because their friend was making some bad choices. She is not responsible for these things.

That doesn’t mean that they’re your fault, or your other friends fault - mental illness isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s an illness, that could happen to anyone. You deserve treatment and support to manage and recover from your illness. But it’s not okay to act like your lives and your health are in the hands of BFF1. She just doesn’t have that much power. You are responsible for taking care of yourself, and making sure you get the help you need (which it sounds like you have done, because you’re on medication). BFF1 shouldn’t be made to feel like she has to stop dating who she wants to date so that her friends don’t kill themselves - because that is emotionally manipulative.

If she’s stressing you out that much, then maybe you need to get some space from her. It’s great that you care so much about your friends, but it sounds like you need to put yourself first right now. Take care of your own needs, seek out counselling or therapy if you haven’t already done so, and focus on getting through your studies. If your friends are good friends, they will understand, and encourage you to take care of yourself. You are not responsible for them, and they are capable of taking care of themselves as well.

Disengage from this drama. Let people date whoever they want to date, be there for your friends when you’re able to, but primarily, be there for yourself.

[existential-asshole]

Expectations

I am not who 17 year old Alex expected me to be.

When I graduated high school, I was optimistic.  The world was my oyster, and I was going to be a successful English and French high school teacher.  I was going to make a difference in the lives of teenagers!

And then reality hit.  Reality has not been kind to us Millennials.  We were all, for the most part, forced into going to college.  The notion of going to a community college wasn’t even entertained at my school, at least not for a student like me.  I was in Advanced Placement classes.  I was intelligent.  I wasn’t particularly driven, but I was assured that, once in college, I would really “find myself”.  

I liked school in high school.  I loved to learn.  But college was a whole other beast.  I struggled to find anything that I was passionate about.  I didn’t want to sit in a classroom.  I wanted to be out in the real world, learning hands on.  But it had been drilled into my head for the last 18 years that college was the only real option, so I stuck it out.  For six and a half years, I bounced around to a few colleges, first UW-Oshkosh, then UW-Platteville, then finally settled at Madison Area Technical College (now just Madison College).

I spent four and a half years at Madison College.  And I struggled.  My instructors all liked me.  I knew the material like the back of my hand.  But the thought of going to class every day and listening to stuff I already knew exhausted me.  The attendance policy was strict: miss a certain amount of days, and your grade was docked half a grade; miss more, and your grade was docked a grade and half; miss one more after that, and you fail.  A lack of motivation, combined with the bipolar disorder I’d been diagnosed with senior year of high school, combined with social anxiety, meant that I had to repeat classes after forgetting to do assignments and being too unmotivated to go to class.  

My entire lack of motivation, combined with a pretty bad break up, culminated in me basically failing an entire semester; I dropped classes so I wouldn’t fail them, but because my program was on a year cycle, I would not be able to take them again until the following spring semester.  This wasn’t the worst part of everything, though.  The worst part of it was knowing I would have to tell my parents that, once again, I’d screwed the pooch.  Once again, I would have to disappoint them.  So I put it off.  

I knew putting off telling them the truth would only make things worse, but I grew up being told I could do anything by my parents, and every time I failed, I felt like their disappointment in me as their child got bigger and bigger.  For those three months I held onto my secret, I was more worried about disappointing them than the fact that I was lying.  I held onto it until a week or two before the fall semester was supposed to start, and shit hit the fan.    

This is all still very vivid for me.

I sat them down in the living room on a late Sunday morning.  I had to work a waitress shift at 1, but I couldn’t put off telling them any longer.  It was eating me alive.  So I told them.  And they were so disappointed.  I’d failed them again as a daughter.  Not just with school, but with lying for so long about it.  They told me they wanted me to move out of the house.  That they couldn’t live under the same roof as someone who had lied to them for so long.  And that broke me.  I had tried so hard to not disappoint them and ended up disappointing them even more.

I panicked.  I didn’t have anywhere to go.  I didn’t have the means to move out.  I didn’t have my own car.  I didn’t know the first thing about looking for apartments, or finding a roommate, or living on my own.  When I went to Oshkosh and Platteville, I lived in the dorms.  It was paid for, and my roommates were chosen for me.  This was yet another uncertain thing in my already uncertain life.  I did not know what to do.  And something in me broke.

I swallowed a bottle of my medication.  An antipsychotic.  I wanted my confusion to end.  I wanted to stop being a disappointment to everyone in my life.  I wanted control.  I wanted to end my life because it no longer was worth living.

And then I had a change of heart.  Ten minutes after I took the pills, as I sat on my futon, looking up at the ceiling, I realized how much it would hurt everyone.  I remembered how it felt when my best friend had been killed in a car accident when I was 16.  I remembered how I had vowed to never make the people around me feel like that.  So I called 911.  The dispatcher asked to speak to my mom as I fought sleep.  An ambulance came to the house, and the EMTs walked me out, slowly.  The EMT showed skepticism that I was having trouble walking.  “That isn’t a symptom of ziprasidone overdose”.  I was literally trying not to pass out and the EMT took that moment to judge me.  I remember that very distinctly.  Honestly, if I ever meet him again, and recognize who he is, I might punch him.  Maybe right after someone has swallowed a bottle of pills isn’t the best time to be a condescending dick.

Regardless.  Back to my story.

I faded in and out of consciousness at the hospital.  I slept on and off basically until I was officially admitted and held overnight for observation.  The woman they assigned to be on babysitting duty with me was really nice.  She was from a French speaking country in Africa, so we spoke a little in French.  It was nice to have practice, and it was a welcome distraction.  Eventually, psych came in and cleared me, deciding I was not a present danger to myself or others, but I was still going to be held overnight because I had a pretty bad vitamin deficiency, and they wanted to make sure the meds hadn’t done lasting damage.  I watched the first three Shrek movies and Beetlejuice.  

After I got home from the hospital, my best friend drove home from La Crosse to see me.  We just sat in my room and watched TV.  We didn’t have to talk.  I didn’t need to, and I didn’t want to.  But she was there.  If I wanted to talk, I could have, and she would have listened.  But her being there was enough.

Things with my parents got better.  Part of it was me trying incredibly hard to be a better daughter, and part of it was them realizing, I think, that I still needed their help, that I wouldn’t get better without it.

And guess what?

I got better.  I went back to school, and I passed the classes I had failed.  I worked my butt off and found motivation.  I found things I was passionate about again.  Fall of 2016 (two years after everything had originally fallen apart for me), I entered what would have been my final year.  I was slated to graduate in May of 2017.  

I typed up the entire story of what happened, and then deleted everything.  It’s been nine months and it still stings.  I ended up dropping out of school in December because apparently, life had more curve balls to throw my way.  I lost faith in the program I was in, and in myself, quite honestly.  Even when I thought I was doing everything right, it still wasn’t enough.  I was so sick over what happened that I just sent off e-mails to my internship explaining that I would not be continuing with them.  I didn’t want to have to talk about it.  I still don’t want to talk about it, and it’s been nine months.  I decided to quit school and work more hours at my serving job while I figured out my next step.

That’s when I stumbled into my current job.  We were short managers at work, and while out with one of my managers, I brought up the idea of me joining the management team.  She was all for it and quickly got it approved by the GM of our restaurant and by the Regional Manager as well.  It took four months to finally go into effect, but I started training in April.   I finished my training right before I would have graduated from college, which I was painfully aware of.  All my former classmates were posting graduation pictures, and while I was happy for them, I was upset that I was not with them.

It’s been about 5 months since I started managing.  And this is the first thing in my life that I’ve felt like I’m good at.  The first thing I really enjoy.  I work with people every day.  Customer service is my thing.  My management team is awesome.  I have (for the most part) awesome employees.  I work for a fantastic company.  For the first time, there really is a light at the end of my tunnel.  As long as I work hard and don’t lose focus, I can succeed.  I think.

I’m still terrified that I will fail again.  Each of the failures I’ve had has taught me something, but I don’t want to learn anymore.  I spent almost 20 years in school, and it took me 20 years to realize that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to be perfect in everyone’s eyes.  I just need to ask myself if I’m happy with where I am.  And that’s all that should matter.  That’s not always how it works, but I’m trying.

If you had told me in high school I would be 25 managing a restaurant with no college degree, I would have laughed.  I had everything in my life planned out, and nothing, I mean NOTHING, went according to plan.  There is not one aspect of my life currently that 18 year old me would have wanted (apart, maybe, from my tattoos and my cat).  

But you know what?  18 year old me would have thought 25 year old me was pretty damn awesome.  

I work my ass off.  I put 55 hours in at work last week over 6 days, and let me tell you, there is nothing more satisfying than overtime pay.  I strive every day to be better than I once was, and I, for the most part, achieve that goal.  

I spent so much time wanting to die and wanting to stop disappointing everyone that I forgot that the person that matters most in my life is me.  And I’m so proud of myself, honestly.  Because this time, life threw me a curve ball and I didn’t fall apart.  I did something about it.  It’s definitely not the right path for everyone, but apparently, it was the right path for me.

But, Life?  I have one more request.

I’m retiring from baseball.  Please.  No more curveballs.

[psychosis-student-blog]

Body Issues

I just watched “To the Bone”, a Netflix original, and there are a few things I would like to say about this movie. First, I would like to start by saying that I enjoyed the movie, very sad, but it was a good movie. The movie focused on eating disorders, mainly anorexia, however, there was one character who had an issue with binging.  I am one of the few people who once struggled with my eating, in the sense that I would binge. I would like to go into this a little deeper and talk about the way that is viewed. In 8th grade, I was 133lbs (5’1”, still am) but the beginning of my freshman year I was 105lbs and I fluntuated between 105 to 115 until my senior year of college.  I was just 14 years old when my family accused me of being anorexic. I was in my freshman year of high school and lived a very active lifestyle. As if high school was not bad enough, I began to lose a lot of weight even though I ate more than many of my friends, I was never unhealthy. I had one person in my family ask me if I was going to go throw up after I got up to go to the bathroom after finishing dinner. I laughed it off and said no. I had no idea that that was just the beginning. I began to hear that so many times that I would wait almost hours to go the bathroom after but even then, I was still made fun of for being so thin. My family has no idea how hard it was for me. I got made fun of my whole high school career because of my weight. It did not matter how much I ate I just could not gain weight. Fast-forward to my freshman year of college, I had this roommate who although was the same height as I was “womanly shaped” and when a family member seen her, the family member stated, “I wish my body looked like that”. And I was so hurt because I too would have loved to look like that if it meant I would not be mad fun of.  To add fuel to the fire I spent a lot of time on social media during my freshman and sophomore years, where I would see things such as “men want girls with curves, not a bag of bones” or “real men prefer curves”. After that I was done, I started to google ways to get bigger hips and butt. That is when I discovered squats and swallowing food that I had not chewed enough. But I only ruined my body by doing this. I ended up getting a bit of tummy and my butt barely grew, no hips either. I spent time obsessing how to get rid of my tummy but keeping my butt. I had no idea what I was doing. Funny thing is I never got over 117lbs during that period.  Junior year I really tried my hardest to lose the tummy, keep the butt, but I only got to 123lbs. I was frustrated and felt fat. The weight stayed that way until I graduated from college. But, before graduating from college I was put on antidepressants and an antipsychotic “(I heard and still hear voices, I’ll save that for another post). I was so beat and destroyed by then I just could not take it, I needed something to get me through the last months of school. I had been on the same birth control since high school but I had to switch it due to the meds. From the time, I graduated in May 2016 until November pf 2016 I gained weight and a lot of it. I got up to 150lbs during that period. I had to buy new clothes and I had no idea what dress size I wore. I felt so fat. Throughout my college career I would have stomach problems (I always thought it was from dairy, I’m lactose intolerant) that made it so I could not eat and I would lose weight very fast, like 10lbs in one-week fast, but once I felt better I would gain it all back just as fast then I would plateau. By the end of December 2016, I started to develop stomach problems worse than before but it turned out to be a gluten allergy, however I was not aware that’s what it was until February of 2017. I struggled with nausea, stomachaches, rashes, and constipation during that period. Here’s the crazy part, I LOST 20 LBS! I wasn’t working out so I had no idea and still don’t, of where the food I was eating was going. Once I stopped eating gluten I started to feel better, the occasional nausea and stomachaches from cross contamination most likely, but nowhere near how bad I felt for almost two months. I was both happy and sad about my weight loss. It was nice to have a flat stomach again but sad that I was losing my butt lol. But I will like to say one thing, once I got back into gluten free diet, my weight dropped to 125 and has been there since, and the little “pooch” is back. I hope to one day get back to my athletic shape but I know it won’t easy. Moral of the story: Don’t ruin your body because of what society or even what your family thinks, unless it is detrimental to your health. If you are happy with your body and healthy, then you have nothing to worry about. During that entire time, I would go to the doctors and I was still considered “healthy” so don’t be discouraged if you lose weight because you are active and you rather be a little thicker, chances are you won’t be happy in the long run because if that is not what YOU really want. Your happiness is the most important.