Sunday, March 20, 2016

Despite the fact that I’ve learned the hard way multiple times in my life I still took a friends advice about the medication I am prescribed.
My friend's opinion is that my prescription is a narcotic that can be abused, and will be abused by anybody with an addictive personality.
My psychiatrist’s opinion was that if the new medication works I can stop taking two of the other medications I am on now, and the one prescription would replace the other two.
Like the good “easily influenced by peer opinions” kinda of person I am I stopped taking the prescribed medication because my friend was right. It made me feel better, and although I hadn’t abused the medication in over 4 months I believed him. It has the potential to be abused, and I might have abuse it at some point in time.
The result is that I stopped taking the medication for two weeks, and I felt like complete crap. My psychiatrist thought I was still taking the new medication, and I reported feeling a lot better (this was prior to discontinuing it on my own) she lowered my dose of antidepressant and antianxiety pills…
After two weeks I didn’t even know how depressed I was until I couldn’t get out of bed for two days straight. I had things that I really wanted to do, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t see the point in doing anything because everything was meaningless, and just crap that we use to distract ourselves from the futility of life and existence.
I hadn’t become suicidal yet, but I had gotten to the point of wanting to slit gashes in my arms, and legs every time I had to deal with anybody or anything... Like the check engine light that came on in the van. I became convinced that everything was falling apart. The van was going to break down, and Jessica wasn’t going to be able to finish college, and we were going to be homeless within a few months… and on, and on, and on, and I was constantly pissed off about EVERYTHING!
My wife was just about done with me, and my kids were frightened of me to the point of expressing pure dread on their faces whenever I talked to them. More than likely because I was yelling more than talking. After my wife kicked me out of the house for a few hours I cooled off and tried to figure out why I was so pissed off all the time, and what the hell was wrong with me.
The next morning without even thinking about it I took the medication my psychiatrist prescribed. By the afternoon the fog started to life, and I spent the next few hours remembering things I had done, and said during the two week span of not taking the medication. Overwhelming guilt and shame are the only words I can use to describe the feelings I felt during that time.
I have since started trying to make amends for my behavior during that time, and now that I am taking the medication, which my psychiatrist prescribed for me, I feel like a completely different person. I have hope, and life has a very interesting meaning in every aspect that can be experienced in existence.
The reason I am writing all of this is to illustrate a mentality that a very dear friend of mine has shared with me, and encourages me to employ.
When somebody shares their negative opinion with me about medication that is prescribed to me by my doctor / psychiatrist, and especially if the opinion is that I shouldn’t be taking it, the correct response is; “Are you a fuck’n doctor? If you are a doctor, are you my fuck’n doctor?”
The questions are rhetorical, and will inevitably bring the conversation to and end.

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