Ward 13 & Clozapine

It was a ward 13 Wednesday yesterday, for therapy and to get meds. Starting and titrating Clozapine, tapering off lamotrigine and sertraline and chlorpromazine. Weekly white cell counts for a bit, and ect next year. Therapy doesn’t generally happen well there, because it’s an understaffed department of a big state hospital, but we managed an hour with only one interruption today. Shrink one glowered somewhat and wrote a stern do not disturb note, muttering “let’s see how many idiots ignore this”.  A very small doctor tapped on the door and stuck her very small head in, to speak to shrink one about a patient. When she saw me, she said, “excuse me sir,” and shrink one looked at me and said, “she called you sir,” and of course the little doctor was mortified, despite my reassurances. I get called sir a lot, I like it. I do not give a fuck which gender I’m read as. Shrink one eventually said “don’t worry, it’s a private joke,” to soothe the small doctor. It all felt a bit surreal; the rest of the session consisted of me weeping more than I’ve ever wept in a therapy session. It was at least a ten tissue level of tears. I wasn’t expecting it. After that, I went to the pharmacy – usual procedure – sit on the wooden benches in the front rows and inch along until it’s my turn to hand in my increasingly battered yellow patient card, then go and sit at the back of the room till my name is called. The shouty gnome with her microphone wasn’t there this time, instead there was a quietly spoken young woman who projected kindness. It was startling. Usually I’m at the back people-watching while I wait. Today I shifted forwards to make sure I could hear my name, leaving the two friends who were on moral support duty at the back. It also allowed me to hide my face a bit, I just kept leaking tears, it was horrible. I’m not shy about crying; I have wept in public more times than I care to remember. I don’t perform, I just end up like a rainy windscreen or something. Whatever. I cried. It hurt. I guess I was on edge to start with, I felt as though shards of my mind had begun to fall around me, my ears felt dull but my voice felt knife-like. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense now. Fuckit. I’m so over bi-fucking-polar and its meds and its talons.

The small doctor and I passed each other in a corridor as I was leaving and she apologised again. I lit a smoke, walked to the car and my face leaked quietly all the way back to good food and coffee. It’s bloody exhausting isn’t it – having a waterfall on your face, not to mention the raw eyes. I’m tired of despair as heavy as mercury and hell in my head. I’m tired of the way I babble when I’m trying to hold it together. I’m just very fucking tired.

Tell you what though, even removing money from the equation, I’d rather go to that particular public sector hospital than any Life Clinic franchise, they’re kinder. It matters. Oh look, I’ve just written a nice tidy conclusion. It’s true, but not accurate.

*reboot*

Here’s the crux of it all. The weeping came from talking about stuff that I have no idea about. Have I been taking things too personally, do I have the right to feel this sore etc. And then –

Shrink one: what is your purpose – and this time I’m not letting you get away with saying “my dog.”
Me: does there have to be one? I don’t have one. No dreams, no goals, I’m just going through the motions.
Shrink one: you’ll find your purpose.
Me: or not, I don’t want platitudes, I want logic.
Shrink one: yes, fair enough. Do you want a purpose?
Me: no.

– and so on. I like her a lot. She suggested I stand up for myself more, she asked me to think some more about the questions I answered with, “I don’t know.” CBT homework these days is constant: write, write about the feelings and the flawed logic behind my self loathing. Think and write about why I do not want to be alive.

None of this feels even vaguely coherent right now, just sore. Pain can be an extremely tedious beast.

Ag fokkit, this isn’t living.

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26 responses to “Ward 13 & Clozapine

  1. You’re making my heart crack, my friend. Here’s hoping the drug shift helps (I know, you’ve heard that before). You have been on my mind all day. Sending you good thoughts. I seem to have a few to spare at the moment (compared to a couple of days ago) and you are welcome to them.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. I feel you. It is so terribly exhausting. I really, really hope you find some relief from this pain soon! I heart your heart, Sir. I heart you long time.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Through the juggles and niggles of life, we fiddle and fumble, sometimes we tumble to a sad rumble and all we have left is pity. But, if we try, try so hard, keep dry and ready to fry with all our last might, the night may not be full of weary nor wrath. My friend, I was hoping to make up smile by my rambling in hope of some rhyming of big and little words. May this current wahala stage fade away; am hoping for those posts keeping us posted of your progress :)

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ag my ou poplap. Big hugs, because you deserve it… Even when you think you don’t. Sending you some positive vibes which you can keep in your back pocket – u’know in case the moment presents itself.

    Xxxx
    Me

    Like

  5. What is there to say. I won’t presume to say I know how you feel because our pain is all so personal, and it belongs to us. We own it. And we’ve earned it. The tears do suck, and I don’t wish them on you, but I especially don’t wish you the ugly cry. That bitch takes days to recover from: headache, swollen eyelids, puffy cheeks. Always avoid the ugly cry. Take care doll. I think about you often…it’s actually quite interesting to me how often I think about a person who lives on the other side of the world from me. So not much of a mood lifter, but know you are loved in some weird, terrestrial way.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think we (the collective tribal bipolar we) do know how each other feels, at least to some extent – and thank fuck for that. It doesn’t decrease the agony, but the friendship and support and understanding are invaluable.

      Also, what’s terrestrial love?

      Like

  6. Man… I wish I could say something or do something and everything would be better and A Solution would appear. But I have no idea.
    You raised a good question about purpose. Made me think about mine. Came up with “having pancakes every weekend” and “see how the future of the world unfolds”. One feels too narrow, the other feels too broad. Right now “hang out with father again” pretty high on the list :)

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I’m glad the gnome wasn’t there. ;) I think the tears are a good thing. Sometimes our bodies know how to release what our minds are too tired to let go of in the middle of our exhaustion. Emotional exhaustion is a completely different beast, Huge hugs. G-uno

    Liked by 1 person

  8. It’s terrible yet I can’t help but feel it’s still good, somehow somewhere, when you can’t shut off the waterfall. I personally don’t feel there needs to be a purpose. I mean, if you have one imagine how frustrating it is to feel like you’ll never achieve it. Achieving the will to live and appreciate good food and coffee every day is a pretty big achievement, and if you find room for a bit of laughter in there then bonus! if not, it was a sad day, the next may be better. or not. sad is not a bad thing either. Just let it pass. There is no need to define anything. Just be. Try not to get mad. When you can, take the piss out of yourself and find yourself funny and amusing. Go on a date with yourself sometimes. If you chicken out today, then try again tomorrow.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. I already read and commented about this back at the blah-ranch – just want you to know that I’m thinking of you.

    I got a custom-made bumper sticker with Lucy’s picture on it! It says “I love collies!” and covers the green “Irish for O’Bama” bumper sticker that other drivers spotted and have told us to fuck off about….

    Speaking of bumper stickers, here’s an idea (you know how I love me some good bumper stickers!)

    “WWLRH Do?” and a photo of him alongside it.

    (“What would L. Ron Hubbard Do?”)

    ;) ECT can do this to a person!!!!!! It’s not exactly a bad thing!

    Liked by 1 person

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