Sometimes I don’t take my meds to make sure I’m still crazy.
My conclusion? I’m still crazy.
I go through ups and downs as far as believing that my medication works. While I am steadfast in my opinion they they are not currently as effective as they should be, I often have trouble recognising that I need them. Today is a good day, and I know that being medicated is good for me (I’m currently at my doctor’s office to get refills). The past few days, however, were not good days – partially because I was in an emotional slump, and partially because I wasn’t taking my medication.
I remember when I was younger I knew a lady who was bipolar. She would go for months of being fine, mood steady, and then all of a sudden she would go off of her medication and ‘fall off the deep end’. I talked to my mom about it on several occasions, and she told me that this lady was convinced that she was better and didn’t need the medication anymore. Being my genius teenaged self, I judged her. How could she think she was better? Being crazy doesn’t just go away. How stupid was she to think that she could be cured? Did she not see the pattern of her life?
Now, as a mentally ill adult, I’ve learned a few things. Most importantly being not to judge anyone based on their illness. I have also learned that the odds are that she didn’t feel ‘better’ or ‘cured’, she probably felt stagnant. That her medication wasn’t doing what it was supposed to anymore. Anti-psychotics and the like are a very expensive habit to keep up, if she felt that they weren’t helping, why bother shelling out fistfuls of cash to not feel any different?
I am living the same cycle as her, and I have become increasingly aware of the mind games that I try to play with myself. The darkness there inside of me convinces my rational brain that nothing will make me better. This is as good as it gets for me, and no amount of pills will make me feel like I’m a proper, functioning, being.
This is NOT the case.
Today my rational self is winning the argument against the darkness, and I know that punishing myself by going through withdrawals to see if I can feel a difference is harmful to my body and my mind. It’s a very frustrating divide to be caught in, one half of me knowing that I need medical care, and the other half telling me that I’ll be crazy no matter what, so I should just blow the money on something fun.
Withdrawals are not fun. Full on withdrawals are not a place I make it to very often, but when I do, that’s when my demons really start to surface. I am angry, I am irrational, I am impulsive. I shake, sweat, vomit, my vision is blurred, my bones hurt. When I am in the midst of it, these symptoms are a reminder that I am alive, that I CAN feel, and that I DO need medical intervention. Now that I have completed the cycle I will go for a few months of diligently taking my prescriptions, until I again become stagnant, and the demons re-enter the ring.
I wish that by knowing that this happens that I could avoid it, but I can’t.
That’s the beauty of this type of illness – it allows you to see both sides but prohibits your ability to control anything.
I am excited to be the medicated me again. If my doctor ever shows up.