Hello my dear ones. I’m sorry to say that this is one of those blogs wherein I discuss a challenge rather than a success. This probably does not come as a shock, since I generally blog only the truly awesome and truly awful.

sigh.

The last time I used Zyprexa, I was in the psych wing of Stanford’s hospital in California, for about 5 weeks before transitioning to live-in therapy and finally going into intensive outpatient several months later. Zyprexa is strong as fuck, sedating, and I admit I never thought I’d need to use it again. Things are going poorly.

I’m paranoid. I’m not sleeping well. I wake in the middle of the night because I keep having the same nightmare night after night. I am always feeling as if there in an impending, horrific-beyond-words doom circling my head. I am worrying constantly, about every social interaction–every conversation, every exchange. My body is tense, I cannot sit still, I cannot stop bursting into tears. It’s been a little over a month of feeling this as intensely as I do now, and it’s not lessening.

so, about 6 weeks ago, I seek out an appointment with my doctor in order to address the growing unsettled and uncomfortable feeling all over my body and in my head. My doctor, being good at what he does, and I believe taking off some time, is unavailable until February 23. Well, fuck. So I set an appointment, much earlier, with my PCP (primary care provider, a general practice doctor, not a psychiatrist) in order to see if she is willing to prescribe me something stronger than my current medications, at least until I am able to see my regular psych. In this appointment, she admits she’s never prescribed the med I want, so she instead offers Zyprexa, which she is far more familiar with. I hear that medication and my heart falls. I retake it, because I am desperate, and instantly gain 10 pounds in 2 weeks. I set another appointment with my PCP wherein I tell her, in layman’s terms, “ok, I tried your med, can we try mine now?” She responds by telling me that I can stop taking Zyprexa, and I can wait for my other doctor. she literally says, “It’s just a couple of days, girl! you got this.”

(I have not ‘got this’, madam. I do not have THIS at all. )

Keep in mind, I am bugging and bugging my psych’s poor receptionist for any cancellation. She finds one with a different doctor in my psych’s practice. I take it immediately. I ask if since they’re in the same practice, if SHE would be willing to prescribe, I kid you not, a mere 2 weeks of a non-narcotic, non-habit forming, non-in any way fun to imbibe, medication that I would deeply prefer…no, no she will not. She’s “willing to discuss” changing dosages of my current meds…which at this point is pretty much a slap in my face. So I cancel that appointment and wait-list for longer. this entire time, I’m sleeping like shit, paranoid as a tinfoil hat, and crying at every emotional cue in my life.

Finally, my doctor has a cancellation for tomorrow. Of course, It’s been long enough festering in my brain, that I am a mess. I’m a hot, melty mess, loyal readers. Such, a mess, in fact, that I filled out medical leave of absence paperwork today just in case I need time for my new meds to kick in. I am struggling so hard, and I do not want to lose this job.

Just to point out how deeply societal biases are dug into my head: I literally feel guilty that I’m seeking a mental health medical leave AND I’M A DAMN THERAPIST. There’s a really shitty side of my brain telling me that I’m being a big baby and need to toughen up. Get back out there, suck it up buttercup, and do your work! Yet, there’s a much more reasonable side of me saying that I cannot do the good work if I am in a psych ward or dead.

I guess, loyal reader, that we are seeing what happens to a weather witch when seasons no longer happen the way they used to, combined with a hefty dose of interpersonal turmoil. Not only is it winter, in February, (the longest and most terrible of months), but there’s family things going on, too. I’m not comfortable sharing that part because it’s not my story, but suffice to say, I’ve been crying for ever so many reasons. and, of course, for no reason at all. I cannot describe quite how perfectly the inner and the outer world have aligned to create the EPIC storm in my brain, but if it wasn’t so damn miserable…it’d be pretty hilarious.

Well, tragedy plus time equals comedy. You’re welcome for the giggles, Future Jady.