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you are changing your meds.
Since 2015 benztropine and risperdal have supposedly been necessary to keep me on an even keep. I was so glad to be off being overdosed with carbamazepine and being forced to take aripriprazole without antidepressants that, after a trip to the emergency room, when my kindly psychiatrist asked what I should be on immediately I blurted out those two knowing that they had not been as devastating in their side effects to my person as quetiapine fumarate and ziprasidone.
Well, I now feel alive in the mornings.
But night time, it can get pretty scary.
I have had surgery to remove my gallbladder in the past, and I did not like going under.
The first time that I took my new Heavier-At-Night-Time-but-Now-You-Don't-Have-To-Take-These-In-The-Morning-switchup I felt like I was dying, and going under, and probably passing out. Which is the scariest feeling ever.
I have learned how to deal with the mental health system industrial complex of big pharma, and inept and non-professionals who are suspending my rights, in years past, and couldn't really give a rat's bum about who they were dealing with. Never mind bedside manner, and caring affectation, we are talking about straight out hostility, here, and maybe a willingness to hurt my person, as somebody under their care.
Which they are paid to do.
The years, in retrospect, have been kind.
All's well that ends well.
It's just that I have had a very, very kind therapist in the past, who was nice enough to give me a seemingly expensive black dress, and even tried to give me her Macintosh (the second person, next to my previous neighbors, to try to do so but there was just no room for it in my condo) that I say I *do* know what it takes, from my end also as a working pharmacy technician, never mind all the jobs that I do or have done, to be a kind and courteous and friendly and caring professional, in the health and medical industry, mind you, and all I do is expect that in return, not for payment, and not because it is your job, but because it is the right thing to do.
I am so glad that perseverance and self-advocacy has taken me thus far.
Now that I am, again, on the antidepressant sertraline which I had not wanted to discontinue after three monthsish in 2012 I am so, so glad.
Escitalopram, another and very good antidepressant, was actually the first drug I was on, in a way, and it worked remarkably well for eight weeks but it didn't work out because I was living in an abusive situation, something which had not changed when I was taken off sertraline (which was working to the opposite of my detriment, spectacularly) that first year of 2012 when my psychiatrist at the time had allowed me to go on it.
Take care of yourself, and take care of others, folks.
Since 2015 benztropine and risperdal have supposedly been necessary to keep me on an even keep. I was so glad to be off being overdosed with carbamazepine and being forced to take aripriprazole without antidepressants that, after a trip to the emergency room, when my kindly psychiatrist asked what I should be on immediately I blurted out those two knowing that they had not been as devastating in their side effects to my person as quetiapine fumarate and ziprasidone.
Well, I now feel alive in the mornings.
But night time, it can get pretty scary.
I have had surgery to remove my gallbladder in the past, and I did not like going under.
The first time that I took my new Heavier-At-Night-Time-but-Now-You-Don't-Have-To-Take-These-In-The-Morning-switchup I felt like I was dying, and going under, and probably passing out. Which is the scariest feeling ever.
I have learned how to deal with the mental health system industrial complex of big pharma, and inept and non-professionals who are suspending my rights, in years past, and couldn't really give a rat's bum about who they were dealing with. Never mind bedside manner, and caring affectation, we are talking about straight out hostility, here, and maybe a willingness to hurt my person, as somebody under their care.
Which they are paid to do.
The years, in retrospect, have been kind.
All's well that ends well.
It's just that I have had a very, very kind therapist in the past, who was nice enough to give me a seemingly expensive black dress, and even tried to give me her Macintosh (the second person, next to my previous neighbors, to try to do so but there was just no room for it in my condo) that I say I *do* know what it takes, from my end also as a working pharmacy technician, never mind all the jobs that I do or have done, to be a kind and courteous and friendly and caring professional, in the health and medical industry, mind you, and all I do is expect that in return, not for payment, and not because it is your job, but because it is the right thing to do.
I am so glad that perseverance and self-advocacy has taken me thus far.
Now that I am, again, on the antidepressant sertraline which I had not wanted to discontinue after three monthsish in 2012 I am so, so glad.
Escitalopram, another and very good antidepressant, was actually the first drug I was on, in a way, and it worked remarkably well for eight weeks but it didn't work out because I was living in an abusive situation, something which had not changed when I was taken off sertraline (which was working to the opposite of my detriment, spectacularly) that first year of 2012 when my psychiatrist at the time had allowed me to go on it.
Take care of yourself, and take care of others, folks.
