Confusion

So, I vowed to write more. Whee! Write more! Utter good intentions! HURRAH!

And I will. But the thing is, I am a dumb fuck, for about 1,000,000 reasons, but let’s start with this one:

I let Dr. Poland talk me into the Sleep you Down medication on Thursday, because I am a huge sucker and a giant dumbass. A GIANT DUMBASS. Can you say dumbass? I knew you could. He convinced me because he claimed it would augment my Buspar, and by the way, I’m doing FINE, anxiety-wise, so why on earth did I think I needed this? This mood stabilizer, when I’m already more stable than I’ve been in years? CAN YOU SAY DUMBASS? I am a doctor’s wet dream.

I mean, I write all about the overmedicating of America, and then I willingly sign up as a happy, stupid, completely duped participant who is actually taking medication for an off-label purpose because Dr. StrangeO PolandO says it’s a good idea. This is the same man who wants to give me a mysterious skin cream that some people think is “dangerous” and so it is only prescribed at a select few (one) pharmacy in the entire town. And blithely hands off schizophrenia meds to help me sleep. Or change my “sleep architecture,” whatever in the world that is.

Really. I’m not that bright. I’m pretty sure this is some kind of undercover expose to see how stupid patients can be, and what they’ll be duped into taking just because they’re doctor says so. I can’t WAIT to hear Diane Sawyer’s questions:

“So at no point did you wonder, ‘why is he doing this to me?’ You just blindly TOOK DANGEROUS MEDICATION?” She’ll ask in that mildly incredulous tone.

Yes. Yes, I am that dumb. I wondered, then was talked into it, then unwondered, then FREAKED OUT.

I feel like I’m on another planet. I can’t focus. It takes me hours to complete simple tasks, such as answering the phone, getting the leash on the dog and putting dishes in the dishwasher. I can’t shower in the morning because I can’t move quickly enough to get it done in time. I’m dirty. I mean, I’m pretty scary looking. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and, well, GAH. I mean, really – I can’t finish a simple sentence, and I work more than 10 or 12 hours a day at a job that usually takes me less than 7 on a really hard day. Sunny’s behavior is at an all-time low and all I can do is look at her while she chews my pants off, tries to gnaw my earlobe off and eat my nose because I’m…drugged. Like I’ve OD’d on Klonopin or something equally dulling (I’m not on Klonopin…). I just stand there, stupified, but happily out of it, like a psych ward patient on a high dose of thorazine. I might as well start drooling, and believe me, I’ve come close. Get me a faded robe and slippers and a paper cup. Nurse Cratchit is coming.

I owe people emails and phone calls (you know who you are), and I want so badly to call you back and email you, but I’m scared that I will come out like A GIANT DUMBASS. Or worse, like a slurring freak who can’t form sentences.

Oh and I can’t go off it immediately, although please God, I am DYING. Why? Oh, because its original use is to combat seizures, and immediate withdrawal can actually *cause* seizures, even in people who never had them before. And thank you, Dr. Poland, for not telling me this and MAKING ME READ IT ON THE INTERNET while I’m realizing what a huge fog I am in, as I climb through piles of syrup. So tomorrow, I could be a seizing, drooling catatonic fool in a robe and slippers. Maybe by then he’ll have called me back.

I am a dumbass. I KNOW. I AM A DUMBASS.

*New Order

24 comments April 5th, 2006