Some of you may be curious to know about today’s long awaited psych evaluation. I went to the neighborhood mental health team with my list of relatively minor complaints, but in the interests of staving off a manic episode and effectively destroying my chances at graduating this year, I thought it best to be as honest as possible. Yeah, I can’t go to sleep until three or four am, and then I can’t wake up until two pm. I’m bummed out, stressed out, and then once in a while I feel myself start to soar like a paper kite in the wind. Just feeling wibbly moods.
While I was there two people were carted away to the nuthouse by cops and paramedics. I didn’t see it happen, I left before the shit went down, but the ambulances were patiently waiting outside, two more mental casualties of downtown eastside living. I was kind of glad not to see it, because I knew it would totally bring on flashbacks of my own pitiful cop escort to the bin.
I didn’t get a psychiatrist, because they say their services are primarily for people who can’t look after themselves. However I did get a new medication regime, now I’m on 1500mg Epival, 5mg Zyprexa, and 20mg Celexa. The Celexa is new, although I’ve been on it in the past. It’s worked relatively well, except for making me as disinterested in my own genitals as I am in non-politically relevant art. But who knows, maybe that side effect won’t happen.
I have to say I have a remarkably zen approach to my drug cocktail these days, I even had a good chuckle at the side effect profile of Celexa. “Coffee-ground” vomit, erections lasting more than four hours, lactation, black stools. I had a friend who started lactating on one of her meds, she called it her geysers of plenty. Once one of my girlfriends accused me of lactating in her mouth spontaneously. I still don’t know if I really did.
I’ve been assaulted with breast milk!
The doc was impressed with my recall of the many and varied psych drugs I’ve been on in the past five years or so. I remembered which made me manic, which made me anxious, what stopped working.
Paxil is an evil mofo to get off of, by the way. Withdrawals from Paxil have been compared to the illness experienced by heroin addicts trying to get clean. It really does a number on your body. I remember shaking and quivering and getting auditory hallucinations that sounded like a big truck wooshing by going clunk clunk clunk. I would run to my friends house to get emergency paxil to tide me over until I could go to the doctor again. And by that time it had stopped working!
But I remember when it first worked for me, and I looked at the little flowering plants and admired their tiny lives.
I think there is a two tiered system for crazy folk. One for the people who lead reasonably sucessful lives, and another for people who can’t take care of themselves. But what about folks stuck in the middle? I guess I am still trying to find my place in this crazy world.