When you are denied suicide

As the droplets of rain fall onto my swollen feet, I wonder about the meaning of existence…

What does existence mean I ask in t his suffering? I gained 5 kilos in 2 days. That is a reflection of the anger and irritation inside of me.

When the grey sky looks down upon me, I wish I did not make promises of any kind to anyone.

Existence is so painful. That is the phrase that keeps repeating itself in my mind. With my swollen feet, I walk with shame around the house.

I want to shut the curtains and cover the mirrors. Yet, I can still see myself with my eyes closed, I suffer in silence.

If I am to scream, I would be voiceless. I am drained. I am a mass of depression roaming the house with clothes that ache from holding on to my ever growing body. I wonder how they manage to do it!

My body, my mind, my bipolarity are insanity. Insanity is a state of mind where nothing is logical or meaningful anymore.

A promise kept at the dark alley of a mental hospital to stay alive is the only thing to which I am holding. I do not even think I am helpable (new word)

I feel like red ridding hood, in a dark ugly forest with someone showing me the way to avoid being hurt by the wolf. I am now alone with my fears with no medical help to avoid this wolf of suicide and depression. Maybe the sounds of the ambulances I rode were not so bad. Maybe the million questions asked by the paramedics before being reanimated are not too difficult to answer. Maybe just the fact of voiding myself and putting the responsibility of being alive on someone else’s skills is not that stupid after all.

Just a vow to stay alive. My only wish is for this vow to be kept. No, I am lying, my only wish is that something not of my doing happens to me to alleviate this pain by ending the source of it: my mind. Maybe falling into a coma would be achieving both goals: staying alive and shutting off my mind if I am lucky.

The only hope is that when I end, all this suffering will end with me. Otherwise, it will be the biggest farce humanity has ever faced.

Unfortunately TBC

When your are dumped by your therapists…

Betrayal is the feeling of having been left alone, stabbed in the back, having someone take action behind your back or against your will.

Abandonment is the act of betraying a promise – written or otherwise for no logical or understandable reason to the person being abandoned.

Ethical Framework to the counseling professions is about Ethics (values, principles, and personal moral qualities) and it is also about Good Practice (putting clients first, working to professional standards, respect, integrity, accountability and candor, responding to ethical dilemmas and issues etc. )

I have been chewing on these few concepts since last night. I slept because I took a sleeping pill, which for once was quiet useful.

I would like to dwell today on values. I like the word values, it is tricky because it is personal. It is related to morality, because why would something be valued if it is or is not morally viable? hmmm

You might perhaps be wondering why I am asking or putting forward all these philosophical and linguistic babbling. Here it goes:

I was betrayed and abandoned by both my psychiatrist and psychologist agasint the ethical framework binding the helping professions. Ah, much better to say it in writing.

I am not interested in pointing fingers, or mentioning names. I like Jesus, this wise man decided to give the other cheek. I take to his way of doing things, though am neither religious nor wise. But you see, Jesus had a point. When you give the other cheek you force the person in front of you to start questioning their moral stand point. They start thinking of their actions and reactions. They question themselves. Maybe, if one is lucky, they discover that they could have acted differently.

The reason I am being denied treatment by both my helpers is that I refuse to be hospitalized. I prefer daily monitoring, while being close to my children. I am  in no danger to others and I have vowed not to pass to the act of self harm under any circumstances. I was not once offered an alternative solution to hospitalization, I was not once talked to about the benefits of being closed up. It was just decided, with a strong authoritarian approach  that no hospitalization equals no treatment.

Is there something called middle ground? Let’s try and find out in the dictionary. Yes! There is dear people something called middle ground,  and it means and I quote the Cambridge online English Dictionary: “a position between two opposite opinions in an argument, or between two descriptions.”

Very well, So if the argument of my therapists is that they wash their hands from the blood a potential suicidal person – whose suicide has now been established to be induced by anger – is valid. What does it actually mean? Here are a few options, you may add your own:

1- Protecting their “practice” is more important than protecting their patient: Self evident really. I wash my hand from thee blood on me chart of dead patients.

2- Protecting their “practice” is more valuable than the life of a borderline personality disorder (BPD) patient: By default a BPD fears, like seriously fears being left alone or behind. But again, thee blood is not on me finger (choice of finger left to you my dear reader)

3- Protecting their “practice” is a manipulative: Aha, yes let us tell the patient we shall not be responsible for you anymore and then wait behind the theater’s red curtain for the moment when the patient falls into the ground and starts begging them to control her life and take her back into the bliss of treatment.

There must be many more reasons, one of which is plain stupidity. Not once was I asked to find anther therapist, or helped in finding one. What about the period between ending your mighty help, and me finding someone else to help me? Lexomil, Dolipran, cutting my own veins?  What was going into your tiny minds, with your tiny neurons floating around in this state of reduced mental capacity for judgment?  I would seriously reconsider careers if I were you… But you are not that smart

You did me some favors though:

I learned that I alone own my destiny. 

I learned that I alone control what goes into my body and in my mind.

I learned that I alone decide whom I will share my life.

I refuse to learn that people are bad until they prove otherwise. 

TBC

 

4 reasons Why you should avoid going to CAC 6 in France

Yes I know I am sick as a dog, but if you read me out, you will understandably know why I hate this institution.

1- You might be refused help: I went with my own packed bag to the CAC* of the 6th arrondissement in Paris (emergency psychiatric center). I was seeking help, and mostly protection. I was refused by a psychiatric nurse CATHERINE – she told me to rely on my inner resources (smiley face) while I have suicidal thoughts )gesture with third finger and black dark pitch black ideas.

2- Mistreatment, under-treatment or non-treatment could be a nuisance: Next day, it started. I had my headphones on most all of the time to avoid any contact with the staff. I think it was the smartest thing I did. Next day, unfortunately there was still again no place at the private clinic to which I would be transferred to, so confrontation was a little less possible.

3- Spare yourself from unnecessary anger: Small things, like you cannot get access to your phone at 8:55 but at 9:00. That I have no visitation rights except for one hour. Small things like forcing you to take an ambulance to the other clinic while they have absolutely no right to do so. Small things that I could go home and have a proper shower (wearing same socks for two nights). Small things, like going home to pack my bags and kiss my children goodbye.

4- Food sucks: Just kidding, but unfortunately true!

Admission to CAC meant that I used my mind – a ruse – I managed to get admitted by waiting for the next shift of nurses to arrive, angels like FABIEN, MARTINE and BENJAMIN. They let me in, gave me something to sleep. I felt sad to be away again, but nothing weird – just the fact that I was not able to leave my husband and be away from home.

For a full review click here

*CAC: They are part of the 5 psychiatric institutions in Paris. They provide a hotline and psychiatric consultations. They welcome, treat, or offer short time hospitalization, but do not take charge of hospitalization without consent….Ils font partie de l’offre de soins des 5 établissements psychiatriques de Paris. Ils assurent une permanence téléphonique et des consultations psychiatriques. Ils accueillent, soignent, orientent ou hospitalisent pour une durée brève, mais ne prennent pas en charge les hospitalisations sans consentement.

Waiting for Monday

It is inexplicable what bipolar means. It sounds simple enough; one day up one day down. Yet, this dam type II has most of the time down periods.

I noticed it is mostly Sundays that I don’t tolerate. I think I never liked Sunday. When I went to school, I had Friday and Sunday off, so I always looked forward to Thursday. Till now, it is my favorite day. Sunday reminds me of regressing to routine, of boredom, of loneliness, of responsibility…

I decided to press the panic button today and went to the emergency day center CAC. I couldn’t open my eyes this morning without crying. I cried when I saw the bed empty, when I heard the sound of my husband talking to the kids. I cried to the sound of TV in the background. I cried because my children were beautiful. I got dressed, i even put on make up to look normal for them. I am sick of them seeing their mother crying and shattered in a million pieces.

I fought the feeling and went to make their favorite breakfast. Fuffy eggs. Everyone ate, tears came down even more because they ate. It was going up, the feeling was growing… The void, the meaninglessness of my life, my love to them..

Today my feelings are like a song, With a beat, with percutions in the background and a soft singer whose voice breaks through your heart with its depth, its high notes travelling through your veins.

I do not know what to expect from myself, from CAC, or from today. I am in terrible pain.

I see other people in the clinic, some gazing with their eyeballs made of glass. It scares me, I was like this once and I do not want this to repeat itself. But I like to talk to other patients. Their pains and stories make mine legit.

I feel nauseous, not from the stomach. I feel I want to throw my “guts” out. I wish one could throw up their mind and feel this amazing void afterwards.

The psychiatric nurse and I spoke and we decided I should not be sedated. I have to have feelings, but they hurt. It is like a fresh wound on which you throw alcohol and scream each time – perpetually…

We will see what will happen. At least Sunday will be over soon and Monday will come. It will be grey yes, it will be freezing, but it will be Monday. My roller coaster ride will slow down, and there will will be at the dawn of a new day.

I know it hurts to be here. But I kept my promise and pressed the panic button. I want my family to know that I love them more than anything and despite everything. I just wish they have the patience to wait for me, for this darkness has to cease. They say there is light at the end of the tunnel. If one saw it, I can too.

Not religious, but praying to see this light for more than one day, i saw it for the most for one week…

May you never experience my pain.

See you Monday

TBC

Back from hell – for me not to ever forget what life means

I had no idea or no intention to write again. I though that’s it… The end.

Life decided differently, and now am alive. I had almost died 6 days ago. I overdosed again, but this time for a different reason.

Sunday it was, I knew there would be one pharmacy only opened. I went in and asked for 2 packs of paracetamol and one of aspirin.

I headed along Rue de Seine all the way to the river. I had even bought a large bottle of water at the pharmacy. What were they thinking I don’t know!

Glam, I was looking at the river and sipping one by one my pills. Families passing by, a child on his scooter, a group of American tourists on bikes. One pack gone, then I opened the second. I had managed to take 20 pills of paracetamol 1g each, and this is when I discovered that the aspirin needed to be dissolved in water.

Headed back towards the back streets of the 6th arrondissement, and found a nice coffee shop. I ordered their largest coffee and a glass of water. Little by little I had 18 pills of aspirin 350mg each.

It was 10:30 in the morning. I ordered a cab and decided to go to the psychiatric emergency center by my house CAC*. I had called my parents by then and they were waiting for me. Soon the ambulance came and I was taken to the reanimation room. My temperature was high.

CAC Entrance Paris 6

Tbey started inserting canulas and tubes all over me. I had one placed inside my nose and this was the worst part of the whole experience. They filled it with charcoal to make the paracetamol effect go away. They told us I would stay at least 5 days at the hospital.

I threw my guts out. It must have been that which saved my liver, or maybe it was God. I’d rather say the latter. I have to confess that I was scared. At some point I felt that was it. They then said that my blood results were good and that I could go home. A miracle by all means.

At Necker reanimation center

I wish the story ends here. It just begins. My husband had to take me to the famous psychiatric hospital of St. Anne. I had to have a psychiatric evaluation by a third party different from my own psychiatrist or that of the CAC.

Well, four hours later into the waiting room, we were finally able to sign the most importantly binding paper of my life. It said that I can get out of the hospital against all medical opinion and under my own responsibility. My husband of course had to sign it as well. We had talked hard and long about the danger of such an act. It basically meant that he will be psychologically guilty should I decide to be in danger to myself or others. That night I promised him that this will never happen again. I would never forget the look in his eyes..

The deal may sound naive. Yet we have a good system in place to avoid further crises. The CAC is my panic button. I will tell my family immediately that my rage is coming up and I would immediately go there. At the center they talk to you, they give you medication, well they do what it takes to stop you before committing the act. I also have biweekly meetings with the team to discuss any important developments.

Lesson learnt the hard way. Life is precious. By doing this I was not only hurting myself, but my whole family; my husband, my children and my father. Do not commit the act. Talk to someone first, try it. Maybe it works, maybe it saves your life and makes you grateful for what you have never lost…

Tips and tricks for those in Paris

*CAC Garenciere: A centre for psychiatric emergency. These centers around Paris are places made to welcome and orient or even be a place of hospitalization for a short period of time.

Dealing with suicidal thoughts when you have Bipolar II

suicide

ˈs(j)uːɪsʌɪd/

noun

plural noun: suicides

1 1.
the action of killing oneself intentionally.”he committed suicide at the age of forty”

2 synonyms:

3 self-destruction, taking one’s own life, self-murder, self-slaughter, felo de se; Moreself-immolation;
historicalsuttee;
historicalhara-kiri, seppuku;
informaltopping oneself, ending it all
“she committed suicide”


Definition of suicide

a : the act or an instance of taking one’s own life voluntarily and intentionally

2: one that commits or attempts suicide


So I am admitting: I am suicidal. I have suicidal thoughts that lead me nowhere. I cannot commit the act for so many reasons. The most obvious is my family. I cannot do this to them… I just cannot imagine their distress, sadness, and feelings of betrayal.

Secondly, maybe not secondly but anyway, I cannot commit suicide because I have no access to any of my favorite tools- Benzo* meds. I am hospitalized and thus I am only allowed one dose at a time; always checking that I actually swallow everything they give me.

Thirdly, down deep inside, I feel like a coward wanting the easy way out. But honestly I sometimes I do not even see the “difficult” way out.

Good news now I have quit Seresta, “used for the treatment of anxiety and insomnia and in the control of symptoms of alcohol withdrawal”, a Benzo but that for me does absolutely nothing. From reading about it, I think it does not work for me because it is an intermediate acting Benzo which supposedly should’ve decreased my anxiety. It works on GABA receptors – which basically makes your brain less anxious. I talked to several patients here with me and many said even at high dosage, it is quite useless…

But of course, this antianxiolytic has to be replaced by something else, otherwise I will have horrible withdrawal effects: the last thing I need. So now I am on Valium, which honestly decreases my anxiety levels and reminds me of my favorite Benzo Lexomil. I cannot take my fav because I overdosed on it. So now this Valium (Diazepam if you are keen to know the real name for it) is great as it is a long acting Benzo, which is similar to Lixomil. This means less anxiety and more muscle relaxation.

*Benzodiazepines: are a class of psychoactive drugs whose core chemical structure is the fusion of a benzene ring and a diazepine ring. [They] enhance the effect of the neurotransmittergamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA) at the GABAA receptor, resulting in sedative, hypnotic (sleep-inducing), anxiolytic (anti-anxiety), anticonvulsant, and muscle relaxant properties

Continue reading “Dealing with suicidal thoughts when you have Bipolar II”

Futile meaning of existence

Still hospitalized. My condition is growing like a blossoming flower. Everyday a new layer is added instead of taken off to reach the bottom of my sickness- my essence of being.

I am here, somehow restrained. No access to medication that I would long to take in dosages never described; to go to an eternal blissful sleep, with the assumption that over “there” it does not hurt anymore.

I haven’t felt straight suicidal for so long. Like an addict who is taken away from drugs and so is called abstinent.

Is there such a thing as suicidal anonymous. SA would not really describe who I am. I carry the same acronym, but I belong to Sleep Anonymous. I said that if you can do something for 10 seconds, you can probably endure more. I am weak, despite all the kilograms I am putting on. Food is my only source of detachment from my body, from this pain of nonsense. You would think I ought to deprive myself to death; but I am too weak. Didn’t I say I only do tentatives that are by default meant to be false?

Suicide is not an option….

It is a reflection of how I fell into this tragic trap of mental illness where everyone who doesn’t think the same is weird. How can I face my existential problems with this mess in my mind. It only confirms that all this mediocrity of diagnostics and drugs, therapy therapy that has very little to contribute to alleviating my suffering…

TBC

The real men died in war

I heard about this Asian proverb; that later says the rest are cowards.

I am not making drastic changes, by now you know I am a good old classic chicken. I am all talks and no actions….

No OD planned- partially unachievable given the circumstances. Also, it never works because I am never too serious about it….

I just want to close my eyes and find everything the way it should be. But we cannot have everything… Sacrifices are made. Pricey and painful yet essential. Tears are shed, big hugs, promises that are hard to keep. Burn out; how many can one have? Ho many can the family survive?

A chicken; back to the clinic. Dinner check, medication check, last smoke of the day check. Now waiting for the stuff that sends me to Lalaland, which is unfortunately after a whole 45 minutes. Long time it is when looking for more numbness.

Am supposed to have 24 hours plus out of the clinic tomorrow. Bipolar, I cannot decide… good for me? Bad for them? The opposite? More pressure I am sure on the family. In french they say “on fait aller”; one day at a time.

I miss everyone; but maybe seeing them would do us all no good…

Am off the grid

TBC

Hospitalization 2: What to do when you see your children for the first time

So dear friends, a post that it slightly out of date. Yet it took me a wile to have the courage to write it all down at one go. Now I am at the luxurious clinic. Hell in candy shape… what I would do to be in the arms of my children…

I had one of the worst experiences in my life. In the beginning of my stay, my psychiatrist gave me my first permission to go out – accompanied – for a couple of hours. I was euphoric. I was going to see my family, my kids… I would smell their hair, touch their faces, kiss their fingers… I was going to get hugged and I was going to listen to them saying Mama in the real Live version and not on FaceTime.

I would have slept if I could, by the entrance of the reception all dressed up waiting for them to arrive. Instead I forced myself to sleep. I got up, showered, dressed, put on make up, brushed up my hair… I waited. Lunch tray came, I said no sorry I will eat with my family.

Comes 2 pm I was by the door waiting for them. I can see my little ones holding hands… My babies, here they are. I held them tighter than I ever had. They were here finally in my arms. I imagined that moment and it was never as good as reality. We went through what the asylum requires: some admin stuff to make sure who signs me off and takes responsibility to brings me back.

We walked out, hand in hand all the way to the restaurant. Nothing better than an Italian place, loud and large enough to accommodate my big family. I did not want to sit next to my small baby. He is not even 2 and a half yet. I thought it would be better to have my eldest next to me, and my baby in front on a high chair.

I couldn’t look at them. My tears were flowing so fast. Everyone was trying hard to make fun of the situation, to make it lighter. I had my panic attack starting nicely. Not long before desert arrived, I texted my husband saying it was time to hit the road before I get a full fledged episode. He told my father to start taking me back. The problem was that my baby had fallen asleep on his highchair. It could have been an ideal moment to leave. I kissed my eldest goodbye, tears flowing and breath starting to get out of control. As I grabbed my coat, I made noise…

My baby woke up while I was going down the stairs. Screaming he was, mama, mama. I could not look back, I was almost paralyzed. God knows how I went out of the restaurant. My legs felt like noodles. I was mot going to tolerate them seeing me in this state. I held tight to my dad, breathing I don’t know how and crying my eyes out.

We miraculously reached the clinic. I went to my room and sat on my knees while wailing. To cut the story short, the nurse came in, so did the doctor on duty. They forced me up the bed. They were not nice. They wanted to contain this escalating meltdown by discouraging me to continue having a panic attack. They give me something to feel calmer. I held my head close to my knees and cried so much that I felt empty.

So now, from my horrible experience I want to share with you what you should and shouldn’t do when as a bipolar you need to get too see your children for the first time after your hospitalization:

Do not see them in a different habitat: Big mistake. I highly recommend that you do not spend your first visit – or any visit- if you have small toddlers in a place they do not know. Why am I here? Where is this? Why is Mama here? Why does she leave me here? I did not know the exact questions that go through their little minds. Please do not choose if possible a strange place.

Do not go while they are sleeping: It was tempting yes, leave without disrupting my toddler’s sleep. Big mistake. You need to say goodbye. I always say goodbye even if the children do not like it. You are not playing peekaboo. By 2 years of age, they know that people do not disappear out of the face of earth. It is a betrayal, that you should try hard to avoid if possible.

Let them drop you off: If you are seeing them outside and close to the clinic, let them drop you off, just like they picked you up. It makes more sense to leave their parent in a place that is half familiar, or at least where they know their parent is staying at the moment.

Clearly discuss your “in case” medication: I had and I have an extra dose of anxiolytics in case I need one for anxiousness or else. But the mistake that day was the timing and the dosage. I took it too late and too little. I had to have more, and to put it under my tongue to make it act faster. It would have avoided this emotional flooding as well as my panic attack.

That’s all folks. TBC as usual

Overdose…

To get to talk about this O.D. experience, there are many things that I have to share with you.

Please know that my short memory – is very foggy due to the meds that I am taking – and also because am highly sedated.

So they thought I overdosed. I did. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the effect I fantasized about. I wanted to sleep, like sleeping beauty, but I wasn’t waiting for anyone to wake me up. I wanted to just drift away; away from those thoughts haunting me.

The ambulance people came. They wanted to take me out of my own bed, away from my children. To no avail I cried and shouted “Help! Help!” I still ended in the van. They’ve some things to me that I cannot remember and they probably shouldn’t have done. Blood tests, ECG, and what have you….

They don’t understand.

I am a prisoner of my own mind. Did I read this somewhere? Did I coin this phrase? You can reuse it, if it is mine. There is no way out of my mind if I am not on high dose meds. I tried and I failed and failed to try.

Anyway, long story short it has been 16 days or so that am away from home. About 11 days in a mental health crisis center (CAC in French). So there they get you once you are discharged from the emergency room. Get there by ambulance of course. I was given stuff to put a horse to sleep. Couldn’t read, couldn’t talk, couldn’t eat, I honestly couldn’t do anything much.

I was allowed a few visits. Short or long, they were never enough. The resident recently graduated psychiatrist was a pain in the neck. She didn’t allow me to see my family as much as I should or needed.

I went home by taking a permission. I took more pills there, but nothing works. Nothing works. The pain is the same. The days are sluggish and the nights are long.

At some point I was let out of CAC. Yes, I was hospitalized without my approval. Then now I am here. I have my room, my toilet and shower – though they take the hose everyday thinking I would hang myself – don’t know how and too messy and has no glamour.

I am as sick as a dog. My meds are changing. They are reducing the dosages. So naturally I am gaining consciousness. This is bad. Because it means I will get closer to my pain again.

TBC

The hefty price of mental illness

The mind is a labyrinth… A planet that hasn’t been discovered, a room in the dark that you think you know…. The mind, who can claim they understand it? Like going through a new city without a GPS; without speaking its language… The mind is the unknown… what makes us tick? Why me and not you get affected by this and not that?

We have theories. Oh this we have. We have got books and essays, experiments and graphs, longitudinal studies, coefficients, variables, control groups, placebos… We have got neuro-imaging, DNA markers, studies on indigenous people…

But the truth is scientists are only tiptoeing, trying to read this overwhelmingly complex cartography with very limited tools and a heck of variables that are almost infinite.

Zoom in now into you, into the individual. How many zillion variables are there that make you unique? Genes, social upbringing , education, health, and god knows what…

You feel unwell, gather up your courage and seek help. You go to whom you think she or he holds the answer to your despair. You wish for a magical cure, you surely aren’t the only one who feels this way. There must be others who got better, others who were saved. Why can’t you be one of them. But this is the road less travelled my friend.

Your symptoms are interwoven like a beautiful carpet. You recall some, but forget others. You think that talking about this particular subject is important, while it is not really why you are suffering. You are unwell, you cannot focus, you sleep too much or too little. You overeat or starve, you cry or sit like a stone for hours. You hurt yourself, or even others. You still believe somehow that it will pass.

You want to escape but where do you go and leave your mind behind? You dwell on death, on freedom. Stop this pain. Please stop it. I am too weak to end my life, to tired to explain myself. I have lost my patience, I have lost my compass. Nothing feels the same, life became like and old broken TV set. Things are all grey, nothing interests you. Where are those dreams? When you don’t have a favorite color, movie, song, book, meal, place, activity, hobby… When you think you could do anything or be anyone and find that you have absolutely neither interest nor knowledge of what you could be… When you become wart in a beautiful face, a fly in the perfect meal… You seek help.

They drug you up. Three days one pill in the morning, up it to two on the fourth and wait for another three days. Now it is ok. You won’t feel anything but worse. Throw up, yes but preferably not your meds. Cannot get up in the morning? Was it your vivid dreams or your nightmares? Want to stay in bed? Read a book? Oh yes the letters jump off the page? Then try to relax? Now time to increase again your meds. Awful headaches? Is your heart jumping from your chest? Are you staring without blinking? Oh maybe take this other drug to reduce the side effects. Now be patient, you are a patient after all.

People find you even weirder than before? You are not crying now. You are not arguing. You are not laughing. You are doing nothing. A fast train you boarded but there are no windows. You lost track of time, of space, of meaning. At least you knew that you are unwell before. Now you won’t know wether or not you exist.

Oh sorry, wrong treatment. That is fine, what were the stats again on getting the right diagnosis from the first round? No idea. So off you go.

Remember all those amazing side effects you just barely survived? Now it is time to get the withdrawal effects. How long? Oh why do you assume they will know the answer to this question? More nightmares, dreams they call vivid but that are worse than reality, vomiting, dizziness, aches everywhere, now you have cholesterol too, didn’t we tell you to stop eating like a pig? Now what is it you are saying? Electricity in your mouth? Are you sure? Humm, we heard of brain zaps… Well you see they are like this screeching sound just like chalk on a blackboard; a diamond ring on a window, a train that comes to a halt with this sound that makes your cells shrink…

Ok put this all aside. How are we doing with the new meds? Off you go, half a pill for three days, plus one week of 25 mg of this other one, if anxious up to 3 pills of that. Yes? Ok now some more? But be careful, this new drug is the golden cure. Are you itching? Sure? Cause you can die from a skin condition if you increase too quickly. Why a skin disease that could get me blind if my troubles are in my soul. Now, now.. don’t be a spoiled brat.

What till when? Is there like a threshold? A danger zone? Oh how can we know that? We are not sorcerers. Yes yes, you will get your feelings back. When? A month or two? What to do when you are suicidal? Don’t dwell, is it not written that some drugs make you suicidal although you are taking them because you are suicidal?

Just wait and see. Oh look. There there, you got back your focus and your personality is surfacing again. Shit! Isn’t this what you wanted? No actually this is what brought me to you in the first place. My problems have quadrupled, I don’t know what to say. Got to deal with my original burdens, my withdrawal effects, the side effects and above all life that happens in between.

Are you doing your breathing exercises? Are you drinking your herbal tea? Hot showers? Relaxation files and brainwaves? Humm. The daily walks too? Well then things should be in order. Be patient my patient, or get the courage to end it all up somewhere far away where no one will see how ugly you will look when you are finally dead… They forgot they gave you the weapon you were looking for all along…

TBC?