#weed gave me psychotic episodes

[ew-o]

:)

[coachbeards]

Ohh interesting thoughts on Beard and mental health... One thing that came to my mind, based on your observation of Beard as being very supportive of other's mental health but not seeking it himself, is survivor of psychiatric abuse Beard... Like there is a lot in addiction care straight up, but especially in indigent and dual-diagnosis settings. Reading your posts and thinking about it, the headcanon that's forming to me is survivor of abuse Beard who starts smoking/drinking/weed young to cope, is introduced to other substances through team party culture in sports, starts to lose control of his use when he's left directionless after college, and has an episode of outright psychosis that lands him in inpatient in his early/mid 20s. He's never 100% sure if it was caused by drugs, stress, or family factors, and had v negative experiences with being treated as less than or dangerous because of it. He struggles with addiction and controlling or cult like recovery environments before finally ending up at rock bottom with Ted in his early/mid 30s. (I am split on whether I like the Jean Valjean-esque car stealing backstory or Beard being more in and out of Ted's life throughout this time in his life and the KC meth den backstory...) He has lingering quasi-psychotic symptoms under stress but again isn't sure whether it's PTSD flashbacks/dissociation or psychosis and is too traumatized and fearful of losing the life he's built to reach out to professionals (and honestly it's v v hard to find outpatient help for these kind of issues especially if he does not want to take medication...) Slight sorry for rambling in your inbox but your recent post gave me Thoughts and if you want to talk more about schizophrenia or psychosis and Beard I would love to!

no I definitely agree with you that beard has been the recipient of…quite a lot of psychiatric abuse.

i believe especially during his stint in prison, and prisons aren’t exactly the most helpful or understanding places when it comes to severely mentally ill people, that beard had a incredibly difficult time. unable to have properly gotten clean, suffering from stimulant psychosis, heavily traumatized….there’s probably a good chance he’d gotten sent to solitary confinement for his safety (and possibly through the lens of these security guards not being equipped to handle psychotic inmates saw it as being more for the safety of others instead of beard’s)

I think he’s definitely been admitted to facilities, either by his own choice or against his wishes…and this isn’t a generalization, but there are a lot of mental health facilities that don’t …… really help their patients and don’t treat them well (still an issue today, but for beard it’d be early 2000s which saw a lot less understanding of mental health than today) and I could see beard unfortunately being admitted into one of those not so good places. beard who was given sedatives and meds to knock him out or keep him calm during episodes and moments of intense paranoia,,,, who didn’t feel like himself because the meds replaced who he was , made him tired and feel fuzzy and he hates this place and ,,, yeah.

beard trying to ignore his mental health because he’s never felt,,, properly safe in a psychiatric environment. he’s not anti therapy, nor is he anti care or medicine, but it’s definitely a struggle for himself due to an extensive negative history

[schizodiaries]

Little ramble about my experiences with weed.

As a schizophrenic I have a complicated relationship with cannabis. I used to use it heavily during the height of quarantine and some people suspect the excessive use is what gave me schizoaffective disorder in the first place, but I don’t think that’s the case. What I do know is that my first psychotic episode was not weed induced and I wasn’t using it at the time.

On one hand it relaxes, de-stresses, uplifts, and helps me feel inspired. On the other hand there’s a chance I might get the bad side effects and have an anxiety attack or paranoia or even hallucinations. I have to be careful since I’m particularly sensitive to those side effects, so after my first psychotic episode I quit weed for about a year and a half.

Both my therapist and psychiatrist encourage me to avoid cannabis as it could trigger my symptoms, and according to my psychiatrist it could also decrease the effectiveness of my antipsychotic medication. But I’m also an adult and can make my own decisions, so I chose not to take their advice and started using cannabis again last November. I know I should be careful, but the benefits of cannabis are too good for me to give up.

I’m no scientist, I’m not an expert on weed or anything, I just use it. I don’t know anything about the addictiveness of it, I don’t know if it actually causes schizophrenia or if that’s just fear-mongering, I don’t know if there are any long term side effects or if it’s even 100% safe to use. All I know is that it helps me most of the time and hurts me some of the time.

I don’t really have a point to this, I kind of just wanted to ramble. I’m curious to hear other schizospecs’ opinions on or experiences with weed.

[cuntess-carmilla]

Drugs TW

WHY do sedatives of any kind barely have any effect on me even when I take massive doses at my first try, meanwhile even the smallest trace of a stimulant gets into my system and BOOM I can't sleep again, I get hypertension in my fucking lungs, tachycardia, massive anxiety, and what have you?

The last time I tried weed I smoked like a motherfucker. I should've had one of those episodes in which people get absolutely fucked up, with a low heart rate and shit. But I got NOTHING. All I got is I finally could take a bit of a dump and felt slightly relaxed for 10 minutes. My eyes didn't even look red. At all.

Benzos? Barely notice a difference beyond a mild effect on my neuro-immunity, which is obviously good but also baffling that that's the only thing that happens to me. I have taken massive doses and all that happened is I could finally take a brief nap. My brother once took half of my minimum dose and the dude was high AS FUCK for hours.

Pregabalin? Again, considerable dose. Does help my joint pain and I suddenly get horny. But I know for certain that other people taking the doses I do would be seeing pink elephants instead of just being relaxed.

I'd think I just am not affected by substances easily but, man, I drank ONE cup of yerba mate the other day at like 11 am, not having had ANY in weeks as to blame build-up, and I couldn't fucking sleep that night.

I had to go off Wellbutrin because, no matter how low the dose, it would have me with THE most ridiculous insomnia. For YEARS I couldn't sleep more than 3 hours a night unless a zombifying anti-psychotic gave me a chemical brick to the head (and even then it didn't always work!!!), and the very little sleep I got was extremely light. Any tiny sound or anything brighter than pitch darkness would instantly awake me and there was no fucking way I would be able to fall asleep that night again.

Even fucking coffee. Thank GOD I despise coffee (unlike yerba mate RIP me), but despite how much I hate the taste, I've tried the Devil's juice before to see if it helps my concentration and fatigue, and all it does is send me into immediate suicidal panic attacks that last until I pee the caffeine out. Every. Single. Time.

Is it because I'm insanely chronically stressed/distressed without realizing?

Admittedly, I discovered recently that every night in my sleep I grind my teeth to dust, loud enough to wake up my girlfriend several times a night and now my siblings tell me I've done that every single night since I was a child, but... I mean, I don't feel I'm that absurdly stressed? But maybe I only think it's not that bad because I'm used to being absurdly stressed.

Is that why no sedative is strong enough for me to feel it but any stimulant sends me over the edge? Fuck.

[innerpeacepeanut]

Hi my name is Lindsay. I’m documenting my journey of ‘mental health issues.’ I’ve been diagnosed as having schizoaffective bipolar type. My first symptoms came on when I was prescribed birth control. I was depressed and anxious. Which in fact are side effects of birth control. Not one of my doctors made the correlation and after being put into therapy I was told I should go on medication. My first psychiatrist was negligible and gave me a drug called Effexor before I went to college. I abused it. I was prone to using drugs. I smoked weed, tried pills and binge drank. But not more than my classmates. I was an honor student, got the presidential award and for a scholarship to college. I always had great self esteem and people would tell my mom how I could light up a room. But after the pill (bc) I had low self esteem. So when I went to college with a prescription to Effexor I was distraught. I thought “no one is going to want to be my friend. Maybe if I take more of this I’ll get better faster” So, that’s what I did. I took too much. I ended up having a psychotic episode. My first one. So they put me on more medication and I went into hospital. I’ve been hospitalized around 4 or 5 times total. And I’m on a couple antipsychotics, one being an injection 💉and a couple mood stabilizers. But here I am today. Supportive family, supportive boyfriend and my doctor is supportive. She and I think it’s worth a try to come off some of my medications. I’m off birth control now and I’ve noticed some positive effects. That’s another story. Anyway that’s all for now. Im just happy to start this journey. Im coming down off of a dangerous (in my opinion) mood stabilizer now. Im giddy and I feel good about my decision.

[finsterhund]

Getting my medicine was a nightmare they didn't know what they were doing and it took forever and I had go book another appointment with my doctor anyways even though they faxed my doctor to refill prescriptions before

Stupid I hate it but at least I was at my doctors office so I went in there and didn't have to struggle over the phone so now I have emergency 2 weeks meds until then but it took them forever to get it ready and I am very hungry and tired and want to go back to bed and it's time overdue for Scott's morning wallkies and I still want to kill and maim I am angy want violence.

The bloodwork people want to phase out the accessible way I've been booking my appointments so you have to fucking phone appointment and I fucking hate it people barely understand me talking face to face fuck you. But they still let me do it. So I have them book it six months in advance. Fucking hate how I have to do bloodwork until I die. Fuck.

Hate this. Want to live in the woods but need meds and bloodwork.

Angry. Would stop meds if stopping meds didn't makeceverytjing so much worse. Enemies with everything want to kill but unable to. Meds make me easier to ignore negative stimuli and not be consumed wanting to kill my enemies even though they deserve it I can't do it so all I do is seethe and it's better to ignore it but can't ignore it if not medicine.

My roommate made me spend money so bank is negative can't buy anything until get paid big mad.

Have to have bath and do laundry but I don't want to.

Wish meds were imstant but they are not. Why do they make me do bloodwork before I wake up I booked the next one at a reasonable hour.

Need to go to the vet and get Scott more nexguard butvmy bank is negativrvneed to wait until I get paid again.

When I took Scott for walk the failed delivery Canada post slip was in the mailbox even though they delivered a package to the house before we left I am so mad they just delivered one but not the other.

One week five days on Wednesday also new episode of the bad batch very excited Cody was in the last one I like commander Cody

The cunt who stole my art blocked me when I told him off. They always fucking do that. Deviantart makes it impossible to actually report these shitheads. Just more things pissing me the fuck off.

I want to fly int oa fit of rage. I want to fly into a fit of rage so badly. I want these people everyone involved to suffer.

Psotives I think of positive.s:

Fishy sent me money just now whjen I was writing this. Thank you love you good happy no bank problem. So that is saved

also I am on my meds now so hopefully I will have calm down time eventuallty

I have weed gummy but I have no clue if taking it will calm me down or if I will just became psychotic rage but high on weed gummy.

Scott gave me lots of kisses. He may not be able to be service dog but there are benefits for me rewarding him for Cazza’s commands just to have repetition and familiar comfort routine in my life because he does them sometimes.

most of my enemies are older than me so if I am lucky I will outlive them when they die

retribution will happen eventually

star wars

heart of darkness

crying dog toy with a pocket in the ear

[babyangel-jpg]

Has weed ever given you a psychotic episode or a panic attack? I took less than half of a 250 mg edible and it still gave me a panic attack and I thought I was gonna die lol.

Yes lol. I smoked one time in Florida and it was so bad I rlly thought I was dying and it’s happened to other people I know too. That’s why I’m rlly picky abt the weed I smoke bc some strands just rlly aren’t for me 😖😖😖 and edibles yeah you just have to be careful and edibles rlly aren’t for everybody I only like them occasionally

[putridprincipessa]

DID is a wild ride

Psychotic episode for a week

Goes grocery shopping with my mother’s old friend.

Brielle was immediately front and center. Aunt had to stop us from buying all sweets.

She gave me weed and hugged me a lot

I feel.... at peace.

For now...

[squeakynico]

once when i was in an incredibly manic, weed induced fugue hysteria (i ate the weed instead of smoking it. i don't know much about weed, because it HATES me most of the time, i got so impatient and ANGRY at the fact that the line in the parking garage gate was so FUCKING LONG and NOT MOVING AT ALL (manic time is different than real time). so i whipped over to the Do Not Enter side, and literally, just, schreeeeeched carefully under the barricade, and someone "ran out to stop me".

i told them i was having an Extreme Mental Crisis, and they took me to the harageboffice and let me lie on the floor and stare at the carpet until an ambulance came.

it took me to the hospital (a nice homeless crackhead whom i had let sleep with me a couple times - Jerrel - he is a beautiful person ♡ - kept my car), and i lied paralyzed in deep psychotic terror on a cot for what felt like a lifetime.

literally, i laid with my arm under my head and my other arm covering my eyes, and all i heard as the sounds of the night shift came in, was the world slowly moving away away aeay from me... they were moving someplace else, and everything that they left behind with me was monsters. not cute monsters. not scary monsters, just... Things. they moved around, chuckling to themselves in grotesque, guttural speech.

the worst thing of all, is that i Did Not Have My Glasses. well, that was not the worst thing. by wat felt like nightfall (hospitals have no windows on the inside, so i didn't know at all), i was wheeled back to the psych ward to be monitored. without my glasses, all i could see was Blobs. a man sat on a stool by the corner of my bed all night.

of course, he wasn't a "man" to me. he shifted uncomfortably, and squeaked his sneaker for hours, and his shoe became some sort of evil, leering satanic terrier with glowing eyes. it sueaked and squeaked and leered, and i Could Not Move.

i don't know if i fell asleep that night, but i must have, or entered a dreaming catatonia, wherein it was revealed that my father, whom i love as much as anyone can love their father in the world - he has protected and sheltered me from so much, not in a way to prevent me from experienceing things, but in a way that was simply, completely unjudgmental from the day i was born - had sold his own soul to Hell, in order to have me live.

i know what hell is like, becausr i have been there. in my psychosis, i *have* been there. nothing in the whole world could be more terrifying, devastating, there are no words at all in the english language to describe the anguish that that would cause me to know that he did that for me. i would rather die and go to hell than him.

it was one of the most horrible nights of my life. i swear to God, that kind of terror can make a person's brain explode with an aneurysm, or a heart attack. i have felt so close to death, at those times when the FEAR had taken hold of me.

the next day, all it said on my checkout slip was that i had suffered from "marijuana toxicity". they let me walk out of the hospital with No glasses, No wallet, No phone, nothing but the clothes on my body.

i wandered around Pittsburgh, surrounded by blobs. after the hospital, my "happy" mania returned and i wandered around asking if i could bus tables or wash dishes or something for money, but i had no i.d. so all i ended up with was twenty bucks a guy at a bar gave me cuz he felt sorry for me. i spent it on cigarettes.

if i hadn't have found the public library, i don't know what i would have done. they have computers and i emailed my mom, dad, and grandparents to let them know where i was and could they Please Help Me.

as i was wandering around, waiting for a reply, the fear returned. at some point, i was sleeping on a bench outside the hotel i had stayed in the night before (i was lying down on the couches upstairs inside, but the night porters changed shifts and the other one told me to leave), and some guy comes up and we talk and he asked if i would suck his dick and he'd give me a place to stay. i think i just jerked him off instead or something, i am a fucking DYKE, and i almost Threw Up on it. like, i understand how heteros feel about that, because i did not want to touch it.

he let me "stay with him", under a cardboard box on a bench by the river. and he gave me a slice of pizza.

i would have "made it through the night" without his assistance. he said he was a street guy who made it success writing a book or something. that.

the reason i wanted to start writing this post, is because at some point during my long night at the psych ward, i dreamed that the universe was actually held together by an infinite number of bunny rabbits, hopping arround angrily at the edge of space, and that comforted me. it still makes me laugh and think, although this is the first time i hav3 thought about it in a while.

i have a stuffed bunny now, that comforts me. they are good to talk to. i feel safer than i have during these episodes in the past. i will try to get medicine tomorrow. i use the words God and Hell, because i was raised in a christian household.

[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.

[zer0selfcontrol]

thanks for ruining my day.

My mom has always been on me about school. Like why do you think I had a fucking psychotic episode last year. "It was the weed". Really? Maybe it was the fact that your pressure on me being successful was getting to me. Maybe it was the fact that I finally opened up about my trauma to my ex, the trauma that you and dad gave me. Maybe I was smoking everyday because the fucking pandemic just started getting bad and I couldn't see my friends, everything was going to shit, school and work were switched to online and it was overwhelming as fuck.

I needed something to help me escape the bullshit I was going through. Every fucking day you were on my case because I "didn't do the dishes" or I left something out by accident or some shit. While I was suffering with my anxiety and depression you just kept making things worse. And now you say shit like "you should have been doing your master's by now" how the fuck am I supposed to feel??? I'm supposed to feel good because you say shit like that? "I just meant that I'm glad you're back on track and you could have been there by now" you never said any of that and who fucking cares when I do my master's, this is MY fucking life.

I'm the one who has to deal with the assignments, the admission process, the professors, etc. Not you. You didn't even go to university so you have NO idea how fucking hard this shit is. I had a fucking. mental. breakdown. I was admitted for a week because I was a danger to myself. Yet you keep saying stupid shit like "should have been doing it by now".

I am so sick and tired of you putting me on this fucking pedestal because I'm not fucking perfect, I'm gonna fuck up. I need you to be supportive and not so god damn judgemental all the fucking time. It would be nice if for once you would say you're PROUD that im applying to go back to school. I just want my mother to tell me that I'm doing a good job and that she'll support me no matter what.

[sentimental-apathy]

can i ask you what are/were your lyme symptoms? last year i hiked in a mountain and ever since then i've been feeling super tired and get these random joint pains, i went to the doctor and he told me that i had to eat more dairy and gave me some vitamins but i think i feel the same, so i did some online reseach and lyme was one of the options, but i don't know

https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/001319.htmHonestly, you should make a docs appt and ask for a full Lyme panel, just to be safe. Fucking ticks… I got Lyme somewhere around 9 years ago. Don’t freak yourself out though, even if it turns out you do have Lyme, it’s totally going to be okay in most circumstances. It’s only a small percentage that develop severe issues. And even then, a lot of times several weeks of oral antibiotics or a round of intravenous antibiotics (for more serious late stage lyme) will do the trick of either getting rid of the Lyme or forcing it into its inactive and benign cyst form where it will lay dormant. Essentially, chronic Lyme or “post Lyme syndrome,” just becomes something you have to live with and be vigilant about. If it does turn out you have it, take your prescribed antiobiotics. Don’t freak out if you can’t get rid of it. It may just effect your joints mostly and your muscles and you kinda just have to live with discomfort but I promise you can pull through. I have and so have many other Lyme patients. I think my negative results for the last 6 years have been because every doc I went to only did the first test, when you’re meant to do 3…? I’m sorry, I’m blanking on the names of the 1st test, but there’s the Elisa and western blot…. hopefully someone with Lyme or someone who knows Lyme literate doctors will chime in on this. Docs rarely do an actual culture test tho so that’s one of the reasons why it can go so undiagnosed. It’s also known as the great imitater and can mimic all autoimmune diseases. It pretty much infects your central nervous system and so it causes a variety of symptoms and sensations. Mine might be the reason I’ve developed bipolar disorder and have had psychotic episodes. I have a permanently swollen knee… actually most of leg joints are swollen. I get a lot of shooting pains and weird sensations on the skin, but weed helps with that. Untreated lyme is pretty much impossible to get rid of Ive been told… It’s hard to say though. Idk what my disease specialist is going to say or do. I hope he doesn’t make me feel stupid like the last one. What pisses me off is even now, the nurse who called to tell me I tested positive tried to call it “acute” Lyme, as if it’s a new infection I just caught in the last 4 weeks and it is bloody not a new infection!! I havnee even left my house enough, let alone been going on hikes or anything. Ive been fuckim sick for years… on and off with a variety of symptoms It’s the same fuckin infection. Chronic Lyme disease is bloody real and the Infectious Disease Society of America is rife with asses in the pockets of insurance companies, so they refuse to recognize chronic Lyme and so I may not get the disability I need unless my diagnoses says specifically that I have arthritis and chronic pain syndrome caused by Lyme. And even then, I’m not sure. They could deny my claim and I’m going to be waiting 3 to 6 months before I know for sure. Still, I found a part time job and I’m excited. I’m on an anti-inflammatory medication and it seems to be helping some. Idk. I still feel really positive. I know I’m going to be fine. I wish you the best and hope it’s not Lyme but I am here for you no matter what. Feel better!

[dissociart]

I smoked weed (only like half a toke) when I was on sertraline and it basically completely sedated me, followed by an extreme panic attack/psychotic episode in which I thought people were trying to kill me. I'm also pretty sure my dissociation comes from that and the trauma surrounded by that/the person who gave it to me who was very manipulative. I could have killed myself or done anything when I was in that state and am still dealing with the effects. Would not recommend ever doing this.

Thanks for your input.

[insidethecrack]

A dandelion in a hurricane

This is going to be so messy... and I feel so guilty because there is already so much I promised to talk about and I always differ... and also I’m sorry if this metaphor is really not the one for the mooment regarding what’s going on but there is no better one for what I have to discuss today, please, be sure I’m not trying to surf on anything. 

A few reminders first... We already cover some piece of that but schizophrenia erases all of your boundaries : your body boundaries, your mental boundaries, your emotional boundaries. Meaning that sometimes, you don’t know where your body stops and where the world starts (whatever the world is at the moment), you can’t recognise your own thoughts from someone else’s, and you don’t know if you’re the one feeling this emotion or the person next to you (may it be a total stranger in the subway, your 30 students or your best friend / loved one). This is really tricky. 

If you want to play the smart ass in family meeting, let’s dig some psychoanalysis (don’t worry, not much, I hate it and rarely understand what’s going on, so basicaly, if you like and understand this shit, you’re like a powerful and dark wizard to me). But I once heard that Lacan said that schizophrenic people doesn’t own a “symbolic” body. (you have the right to take a break to scream “what the hell is this shit !” I’ll just wait for you, I’ve been there too) (and I had to ask a friend to explain this better to me because it seems that I poorly understood it in the first place) What’s a symbolic body you’ll ask... Imagine your body free of any symbols. Consider that language is a symbol (one of the highest system of symbols you can ever consider in human society), so you have to imagine your body outside the language. Language makes you think of your body in the addition of several parts : arm, hand, leg, blood, bones, etc. We tend to consider this is the normal way to dissect and name body parts, except it’s not. It’s a way, the way we all agree to follow. But we could have decided to consider body parts other way. Instead of “hand is the thing at the end of your arm and composed of five fingers”, we could have chosen to consider this “thing from the end of my body to my head”. This means we could have more or less body parts, in a symbolic way. The way you name, count, and limit body part is a symbol. A symbol you have internalize so deep you don’t even realise it’s here. The symbolic body is the way you think your body in terms of body parts such as defined by the society and the language you’re living in. But people like me don’t own a symbolic body, we don’t have access to this representation of ourselves. Sure, I have hands and arms and legs and bones just like you do. I have the words to name them and if you ask me to place them on a drawing I’d be totally able to do it. But when it comes to represent my own body to me... All this vanish. I don’t have boundaries between me and the outside world, but I don’t have boundaries between my body parts either. For example, my knee hurts because I feel (twice) on the bus the other day and it’s pretty dirty.  I know it’s my knee. But when I feel the pain it’s just “we hurt here, inferior part, on the right, adjust the walk”. As far as I’m concerned the place of pain prevails on the body parts, pain has limits I can feel, but what’s a knee ? Don’t know, not sure. But pain I can understand. And this is one of my biggest issue of communication with neurotypical people... During a psychotic episode, or just when I feel very bad, I’ll tell them “I hurt”, and neurotypical will ask “where ?”. I’ll just look at them, very confused, as if they had answered “I have new schoes”, a bit offended too sometimes, and answer “where is not the fucking point ! I hurt”. Today, I can tell you that my knee hurts. But tonight I’ll just say “I hurt” because there will be nothing else real about my body but the pain. Can you imagine when I have to go to the doctor for an injury ? It’d be tricky, because I try to laugh about it when I can, but when it’s a doctor with zero patience, a doctor who doesn’t know me and who’s not trying to do an effort, these visits can turn into a huge moment of psychological AND physical distress. This can spread to many parts of my life. Like sex, I’ll be totally able to tell a partner I want sex, but if they ask “what kind of sex”, I’ll turn once again into a giant human puzzle, unable to answer, and kinda freaking out. I can’t dance because of this too, learning choreograhy, even the simplest ones, is a source of anxiety. “left hand right leg ??? which one is which ? what ? where ???” My brain will desperately cut my body into the smallest body part it can imagine to try to follow... It will quickly feel like I’m falling into pieces.

So what will we do with this concept of symbolic body ? It means that to my brain, there is no such thing as “metaphor” This is why this blog is full of metaphors, or imagery. All of these helps you better understand things that can be very obscure to you. But as neurotypical, there is something you miss (like some doctors when I try to explain my pain) : it is no imagery to me, it is real, it is how I understand and feel the world. I’m not only a writer in love with metaphors. They are no metaphor to me. They are my reality, they are how I feel and understand the world. If I tell you that I am naked in a hurricane, you have to understand it this way. Picture me naked in a hurricane. (and when I write sentences like this one I think I should be more careful with all this... anyway, what’s done is done, can’t unfeel what you felt right ?) I don’t mean anything else. Nothing more, nothing less.

Let’s sum up : I don’t know where my body, mind and emotion ends and where the world starts. I have no symbolic body which prevails me from properly explaining what’s going on for me. 

A few months ago, I cried for help because my headphones were dying. It may sound like a Rich Problem, but it’s not. Believe me, you don’t want to be outside, in the world, unaware of your boundaries and fighting to maintain your own consistency. My brain will catch everything. Every person walking sitting singing running screaming being here phoning playing. My brain will know where they go with who and at what speed. My brain will know how total strangers feel sometimes better than themselves. My brain will catch the weather the wind the sun the cold and the hot air the first raindrop and the last one. My brain will smell the work on the new subway the three kebab places the two crêpe restaurants the cigarettes the weed (which I can’t handle ! throws me into psychotic episode right away) the sweat the plastic of new schoes the garbage. My skin will feel the looks my clothes the weight of my backpack the people sitting next to me behind me their warmth. And the noise... the world is so noisy... you are all so fucking noisy people... And this is just a quickly put up list. So basicaly, if I’m alone outside and I’m musicless, my brain will litteraly explose under the crazy amount of information it has to sort out. 

Because I forgot to add : these are only the EXISTING thing ! But you have to add all my monsters, when they do happen, the paranoia and how I hear people think... So my brain has to sort out all the informations from the world AND in the same time, it has to sort these informations between “exist” “doesn’t exist” “no idea” (contrary to what you may think, the problem is not when the doesn’t exist box is too full, it’s when the no idea box is too full...). Which means, my brain never stops. Never ever ever. This is why I can’t sleep, because it doesn’t stop, there are always informations, always always. And I have no symbolic body to filter them, no cleaning transition room to bleach them. They all come right in my face. All the time. In this scenario, having music when I go out is a matter ot life. Music allows me to STOP things. Music filters the world. Music recreates missing boundaries. It gives me back the feeling of time, the feeling of safety. Suddenly, I have a thing between me and the world, something on which I can hold on and build myself. This is why you have so much music in my writing, even when I write novel or theatre...

Unfortunately, music cannot fully replace a symbolic body... It’s only a crutch. And if crutches are great when you have a broken foot, it’s not so great when both of you arms are also broken and you get dizzy every step. After a hell of a year (dismissal of my PhD funding, rape, shit jobs, being gaslighted by a new roomates who prevented me to sleep, running away from my own flat to wander from friend’s sofa to friend’s guest room, working 7 days a week during months until my health just failed me, falling back to self-harm...) music was not enough. And now I’m naked in a hurricane.

All the informations of the world are hitting me in the face, relentlessly. My brain doesn’t have time to sort it out, it all just goes too fast, so it gave up and I have piles and piles and piles of untreated informations lying around in my head and my body. I can barely move. I can barely think. There is no room left for it.

When you’re stuck in a hurricane, you don’t think. You just take the first thing you can and you run for your life. It’s quite different for mental hurricane... Sure, the wind and the storm and the water is the same. The wind is ripping my skin, I can barely keep my eyes open because it’s too strong and every movement is limited. But in life, when you’re facing a hurricane, you’re just expected to survive it. No one is going to ask you to solve impossible equations, or to crack a code, or to find a cure for cancer. Survive, the rest will wait. When it comes to mental hurricane, you still have to find a way for your house to hold on, find a way to protect your most precious (mental) belongings, or accept to lose them, but you will also be asked to act normal and plan your future. Put a smile on your face even if a car just hit your face and you’ve lost very important letters in the water. Right now, the world is a hurricane to me. There is nothing I can do to fight back. Like in a hurricane, all I can do is run for my life, but I also have to think about how to plan this life. I have to know WHERE to run. In real life, nobody asks you to plan your life AFTER the hurricane. In this mental hurricane, I still have to work my PhD, teach English (which means I have to think about a progression for my students), tell my mother when I’ll come for my brother’s birthday, apply for different jobs in different countries but which may happen in the same time. All of this with my brain so full of piles of informations that I can barely understand when tomorrow is.

To my brain, there is no difference between the sounds in the corridors, the articles I’m reading online, the deadline and work I have to honor, a hand on my shoulder, the food I should eat. It’s all information, in different shape and process, but still, information, filling me to death because we can’t keep with such a rythm. So sometimes, after a huge day of work involving a lot of socialising and real problem, at night, I can’t eat. Because my body is full. Full of sounds, of informations, of faces, of smell, of thoughts and feelings that aren’t mine (or maybe ?). And when it comes to that point, my body says “stop, fucking stop, no room left”. It is so overwhelming, that it feels like the world is going to eat me whole... I’m so full with the rest of the world that I barely exist anymore. The world is eating me. (oh look ! we’re back to carnivorous plants, damn, this schizophrenia almost writes itself up...)

Lately, the hurricane has worsened and barely left me any time to breathe. No break. The sound of the wind is unbearable. Sometimes, when people talk to me, I hear them from very very far away, or it feels like they’re talking in a language I can’t speak. My brain hears the words, but it’s like “huh ? ok... what am I supposed to do with this ?” I hear the words, I can see the sentences they create, but... it just makes no sense. Like when you’re learning a new language and you’re reading stuffs. Your brain can recognise the world an maybe how the sentence is built because it starts to understand how the language works, but you won’t understand what’s written because you don’t have enough words for the moment. So you’re just looking at the sentence like “huh ? ok...”. The hurricane is turning my life into a giant poorly dubbed movie. I can see your lips moving, but it’s not well syncronized, or I can’t hear it, or you’re poorly translated. There is nothing new here when it comes to oral expression. But now, the hurricane is so strong that it reached the written expression... It’s terrible. I’m retreating from the world, I barely answer to people. I’m scared because I don’t understand what they want from me, what I’m supposed to answer, what’s expected from me. It’s like when I try to speak in German, I’m not sure I got everything you said, and I’m fighting with my three words vocabulary to answer. This all makes me feel so terribly alone. I cut myself from social media to slow down the hurricane, retreat as much as possible. But I feel so fucking and desperately alone. And in the same I’m unable to reach people. And when they do reach me, I can’t hear them. You can’t reach me because I can’t hear you. I can’t reach you because I’m stuck in a hurricane and I have to survive. The writer of my life turned me into an equilibrist, cursed to look for an impossible balance. I’m a dandelion in a hurricane. The wind is pulling me on every side and I’m fighting not to be torn apart the ground, I can feel my weeds being blown on every directions and I know I’ll never find them back. 

And I’m tired. Tired to fight against the wind. I’m just a dandelion fighting a fucking hurricane, what are my chances anyway ? Tired to wait for the eye of the storm. And even if there were a fucking eye of the storm, how big would it be ? I had a 3 days break at a festival, all the good I had is already drown under the hurricane of informations and not even 2 weeks later, I’m already back to “unable to feel or think”, back to the void. When I wake up, the hurricane of thoughts and informations restart in a blink of an eye (this one is a real metaphor, it takes me ages to open my eyes in the morning, so blink’s way too much an effort ! English language makes metaphor, not I) and I’m just “fuck, I’m still myself” and I want to quit. Not like in “I want to kill myself”, but just, I want to quit... like “the commute is too long and the job is too hard and not even what I applied for and the coworkers are assholes and I hate this job I quit”. 

But you can’t quit your life. You can’t just “quit” a hurricane. You have to survive it. And if you do survive it, you have to be thankful. 

So this is why I’ve been quite silent lately... I was fighting a hurricane that summers was making even worse (new information : you have huge breast. new information : you’re sweating. new information : sweating so much it hurts. new information : your bra hurts becausr of so much sweat. new information : if you take off your bra your skin will burn from the rash between your breasts and your chest. new information : you fat cow. new information : please make arm not touching belly it burns.) (this kind of worse). In summer, it’s hot, so you can’t even hide in a nice sweater of your blanket... so I had to live without these few pieces of armor I own... You had no idea how I’m waiting for the rain to be back...

I feel like this article is so so so long... I’m sorry, this feels so messy... it’s very hard to think straight in a hurricane twisting you in every direction, breaking your body in so many little parts, I’m trying my best, I hope there’s something left for you. You can follow me and ask questions on FB. If you want to help me telling the world about the reality of schizophrenia, you can consider buying me a “coffee” here. A huge thank you to all of you who already donated, you blew my mind away... (in a good way, not in a hurricane way ^^) Love to all of you. Please, be safe. 

PS : Huge thanks to Jorge who proofread my try to explain psychoanalysis and explained it to me again, he’s a powerful Dark Wizard of Psychoanalysis and an incredible sweet human being making the world a better place. He is also a great artist, making writing and painting and pixel art and drawing and a lot of things. You can check his work here. 

[alloutofhoneynutcheerios]

I had a pretty dumb day. Here's a long rant that I should just write in a diary but typing is so much faster and honestly posting rants feels nice. Because it's like letting it OUT rather than keeping it in a hidden journal. Idk it makes sense to me tho So I took off of work to go to Eeyore's birthday party (Every April Austin has this festival for Eeyore and it's SUPPOSED to be for kids to have fun and there's a costume contest and everyone dresses up but it's just an excuse for all of the hooligans to come out, smoke weed, and be naked. I see so many boobs flopping around. Not just girls in their 20s but like old ladies man.) so I drive and park way far away and I'm already af and feeling blah. I get to the thing and nobody takes cards and there are no atms and I can only afford a Popsicle so I get one and that keeps me happy for a while. BUT I'm there for over and hour waiting for my friend and her roommates. I do not do well in heat or big crowds of people, plus I hadn't eaten anything Bc I was planning on eating there. So there I am wandering around getting bumped into by sweaty naked hippies feeling like I'm about to fuckin pass out. So I walk deeper into the park where the festival doesn't creep into and sit on a rock for a while. I'm fuckin dying and my Popsicle is gone and I don't have water and all of the water there is like 4 bucks and I only had a 1 on me and like flashing boobs wouldn't even get me anything because there are so many everywhere anyway. So at this point I'm like ok fuck I really need water right now and text Ciara that I gotta go and start walkin to my car. I was gonna go to the soup peddler for water and see my friendos but I didn't because they all flirt with me a lot and I've been feeling bad about it lately Bc of Blaise? So I decided to just go to my car, met a kid having a lemonade stand, bought a bottle of water for a dollar- MIRACLE. And then all of a sudden after walking up a San Francisco fuckin hill, I run into fucking Séamus. (The guy that I think was trying to date rape me and either slipped something into my water or gave me k2 instead of weedo because I only took one hit (and I was like a mega stoner back then) and had a psychotic episode and almost died and he wouldn't call an ambulance so I texted my friend to because I was losing control of my body Bc PSYCHOTIC EPISODE) So that fuckin sucked. He grabbed my arm and was like "wow I'm so glad to see you're doing well" the FUCK SÉAMUS GO CHOKE. So I start having flashbacks and when I'm stressed or something triggers these flashbacks lately, I start feeling the symptoms. My therapist and I have been trying to work on it slowly so it doesn't make me freak out. And it's been happening less often but you can see how seeing the fucking guy who caused it would trigger that. So I start feeling the tube in my throat and the IVs and monitors on my arms. I'm already dehydrated and hungry and about to pass out so this is not good. My knees kept giving out and I kept almost falling?? That happened during my episode and I laid on the floor the whole time because I couldn't stand. So I started feeling that and I was still blocks from my car and the only thing I could think of to get me to get to my car to sit down and breathe and drink was "it's ok I'll see blaise soon and I'll get one of his Blaise hugs" And of course nah he's busy with Josiah and can't see me until hours later and I wasn't about to wait in Austin for hours in that condition. I mean I didn't wanna drive over an hour back home with no ac either but after having to wait on mike so much I am neeevvvvveeeerrrr waiting hours somewhere to go see a boy I'm done with that. So I get upset like honestly too upset and it's all because of everything going on and also feeling like blaise doesn't care and blaaahHHhjJJJJ So I start heading home and go to jack in the box in San Marcos. At a fuckin stop sign before I get there I get rear ended. So I pull over and the girl does too at first. We both got out, and she just yelled "IT LOOKS FINE HAVE A GOOD DAY" and runs back into her car and speeds off. Like she did all of it so fast I wasn't done looking at my bumper? Like it's probably fine but what the fuck man So I'm mad af and I go to jacks butthole and order some shit And before she hands me my food I just start crying like I just can't fuckin hold it in anymore It was so embarrassing So after I get my shit I pull over and read the texts blaise sent me while I was driving and send him a long one that's kinda harsh And someone Fucking Almost drove into me I was in a parking spot Oh my god I lost my fucking shit man I almost screamed But now I'm home and everything is fine and I am fine But Jesus Christ like I wasted an entire day I could've worked and made money that I really need or I could've gotten my homework done that I super need to do but nah I spent like 3 hours driving and more hours being alone and upset af I haven't been this angry or sad or anything in so so so soooooo long and it scared me a lot

[theliterateape]

Carrie

By Erik Lewin

I was in Las Vegas doing guest spots at a comedy club — I perform stand-up — and met this cute girl in the green room. She was a visiting comic, a thick-hipped thirtysomething with long brown hair from New York. Her name was Carrie, and we struck up a nice banter.

After the show, Carrie and I left together and parked ourselves at a blackjack table. I sipped a cocktail, she had soda, (she was a recovering addict), though this did not interfere with her pronouncement that earlier, she’d smoked some fabulous weed.

At the table she held a cigarette to my lips, like a mobster’s mole, and  gushed to the dealer how funny I was at the show, that he’d missed the time of his life. I pressed a hand on her knee, and when she didn’t flinch, I moved to her thigh.

She tucked her arm through mine and we strolled the casino floor to a nearby lounge. Her mascara had smeared a little, but her eyes still glowed. We kissed.  

I suggested we leave the lobby in search of a quieter place, like my room. Once inside we both played it cool, politely sitting on the bed. I soon felt with my hand at her hip and suddenly she took my body in one move, like a jiu-jitsu master, pinning me on my back.

“I’d like a shower,” she said, pulling off me.

I wriggled out of my jeans and joined her. It was a lovely way to get better acquainted.   

“Let’s dry off,” she said.

Once on the bed, the soapy foreplay gave way to sex, our rhythm already in tune, as if we hadn’t just met a couple hours ago.

Afterward, her head nestled on my chest, we spoke softly before drifting off to a peaceful slumber.  In the late morning she dressed to leave, but not before we kissed and she left her number, saying she had a great time and we should be in touch. I told her I felt the same. It had all the hope in the world.

Back in L.A. I went about my business, but Carrie was on my mind. I’d lay on the couch, sunlight streaming through the blinds, and look out into the distant sky thinking, she’s out there.

lI told her I wanted to come to New York to see her. She suggested I stay with her in Brooklyn. It was Chrismas time, and all this good fortune was enough to make me believe in an adult Santa. We discussed the details:

“I have a show when you land. Just come there straight from the airport.”

“I’ll have my luggage,” I protested. “Plus I’m gonna smell like an airplane.”

“Gotta run, I’ll text you later,” she said.

She sent a text an hour later:

I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal to come to my show, nobody’s gonna take your stuff, but whatever, you can pickup the key to my place at the laundromat next door. It’ll be under a brick in front.

It was a bizarre instruction, but I refused to let reason be a stumbling block. At this point, it would’ve taken a declaration of syphilis to derail me. As it happened, another troubling scenario materialized.

“Carrie.” I coughed into the phone. I was supposed to fly the next day when I caught this terrible bug. Damn it!

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a wreck. Can barely get outta bed.” Cough. “I don’t think I can make the trip.”

“That so sucks.” She paused for a long moment. “Tell you what - what if I came to you? I’d love to get out of the cold weather. I could even make you soup. What do you think?”

I almost felt cured.

“Are you kidding? I’d love that. As long as you don’t mind a convalescent patient.”

“Great! I’ll fly out in two days, on Christmas Day. There’s just one thing - cash is pretty tight - do you think you could cover my ticket to LA?”

“No problem. I’ll reimburse you when you get here.”

“Ok cool! I’ll text you my flight details. See you soon! I’m so excited.”

“Me too. Thanks for doing this.”

I clicked off, snotting into my pillow and dreaming of dancing bowls of chicken soup and naked boobs.

 On Christmas, I woke to the following text:

About to head to airport, but just so you know, I’m bringing my dog, Sugar. She’s a chihuaha and when she’s alone she gets anxiety and shits the floor. She’s super cute though, you’ll love her.

I’m sure she’s delightful, but I’m not allowed to have any pets in my — I’ll get kicked out.

Trust me, your landlord won’t even hear my little boo. Gotta run, my uber’s waiting.”

I’m at Bellevue. Against my will. You gotta get me outta here! This is a mistake! Come now!!

This dog thing was sprung on me last second, but so what, I liked dogs, and what were the chances I’d get busted? If her biggest flaw was caring about an animal’s welfare, then I was coming out way ahead.

After two hours, I got another text:

omg this uber guy took me to an empty parking lot and said I had to blow him. I screamed and Sugar barked so he did drive me to the airport but I got here too late so missed the flight. Promise to make next one in two hours, kissesJ

This was alarming for many reasons, but the flu overtook me before I could process it any further and I fell asleep. I still believed my Nightingale would be in the air, coming to my rescue. When I awoke, a new text from her:

Stuck In a bathroom stall at JFK. They threw me off the plane. Cops after me. Hiding. So scared. CALL ME!

I stared dumbly at the screen and finally texted:

VERY concerned that you’re not ok. . .  

The phone went quiet for an hour. Then, another text:

I’m at Bellevue. Against my will. You gotta get me outta here! This is a mistake! Come now!!

Bellevue was the psych ward in New York City. I’d represented clients there as a criminal defense attorney, those who needed immediate commitment on account of psychotic episodes. Now she was one of them! It was a little rushed — I liked to wait until the third date before Bellevue — but now I was thrilled she missed those planes!

I texted:

So sorry to hear that. I wish you well-being, and hope you’re well, but I’m inconveniently three thousand miles away.

She called me. “I did this for you, Erik — I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you! And you promised to pay for my flight! I need you to pay for that!”

It was beyond shocking. “I was going to reimburse you once you landed in L.A. The last I checked, Bellevue wasn’t in Beverly Hills.”

“You liar! You said—“

The phone clicked dead. So did our relationship. I don’t know if the whole thing was a set-up, but I don’t think so — she texted two days later, once released from the psych ward — and she admitted to having taken a strong narcotic cocktail that morning, and didn’t remember much of what happened. Amazingly, she still demanded payment for the flight! The one she never took! In the end, I didn’t succumb to such a hollow plea.

It was almost impossible to comprehend that in a long line of crazy dating experiences, this was on a whole other level. It might be time to move to a monastery. I was ready to shave my head. I was terrified of single women, but at least they’d never find me in Tibet!

And yet, in spite of it all, I kept my hair, and prepared to try it all over again.  

Like what you just read? Check out Lewin’s novel, Son of Influence now available on Amazon.