June 1st

Friday

I had a semi-normal day.

First of all, I called my pyschiatrist. I told him I didn't "feel" nervous, but my body did. I told him I had no energy at all, even though I was getting exercise, sleeping well and eating regulary. He told me to get off the morning Zyprexa. I was so happy. You should've seen me, I had the biggest smile on my face. Zyprexa has the wackest side effects ever, and I had almost all of them. Let me read them for you: SIDE EFFECTS: dizziness, drowsiness, dry mouth, constipation, weight gain, restlessness. I had all of those. Now, the not-so-frequent side effects: CHECK WITH YOUR DOCTOR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE IF YOU experience inablility to move eyes, muscle spasms of face, neck, or back, difficulty swallowing, mask-like face, tremor of hands, restlessness, tension in legs, shuffling walk or stiff arms or legs, twitching or twisting movement, weakness of arms or legs. I had some eyebrow twitching and everything else on there except problems with my eyes and mask-like face. Holy shit!

Anyway, so this is why I'm happy I'm off that poison. Well, for the daytime at least. For the night I take a lot of it, but since I'm asleep the side effects don't bother me, although I do wake up with the driest mouth EVER and my teeth sometimes hurt.

I went to the mall with my sister and bought a pink, crocheted bikini, that kind that ties on the sides. I was so happy to be out and somewhat about, when guess what happened? A woman started talking to me out of the blue while I was sitting on a bench. She told me she was sick but thankfully off Xanax. I said, "I know all about Xanax," and she said, "Oh, you too?" and I said, "I have panic disorder" to which she said, "Me too!" God, am I like a magnet now? It was weird-- I understood where she was coming from. People with panic disorder are very needy and unstable and will talk to anyone. The medicine, like the aforementioned Zyprexa, can sometimes make matters worse. Zyprexa, I thought, was a sedative, but when I looked it up on the internet I found out it was an "anti-pyschotic medicine for schizophrenia". I guess I did have temporary schizophrenia, if such a thing is possible. My doctor said I definitely did not have anything serious, just "a strange way of behaving when I got nervous". I'm not as much as a fruitcake as I thought. I really DIDN'T belong in that hospital-- my schizophrenic behavior was due more to a dependancy on Xanax, which led to the malnutrition and sleep-loss. Believe me, if you felt extremely nervous, you too would stop eating and have trouble sleeping.

I DIDN'T SLEEP FOR THREE DAYS. I spent the last night of my non-sleeping at my cousin's house. She and her new husband took care of me. She told me I had to untense my body by any means necessary, so I started swinging my limbs around and humming. I WAS HUMMING. This is why you see people in mental hospitals humming and singing and acting all bizarre. There's a method to their madness.

I didn't sleep all night. I was a zombie. I had lost a lot of weight, I couldn't see very well, and my body ached all over. I ate as much I could so I could take my medicine. I cried. I screamed. I cursed. I writhed in frustration on her sofa, wearing just a T-shirt and panties while her husband worked on Photoshop. They knew this was normal, part of the process. They had seen it before. This was why I went there, because my parents couldn't handle me.

That's when I begged to go to a hospital. I wanted to be sedated more than anything. I cried without tears (I was too weak for tears): "PLEASE SEDATE ME. GET ME TO A HOSPITAL". My pyschiatrist was called and I was driven to the hospital. My dad was a wreck, I'll never forget how fast and nervously he drove while I sat in the front seat, unable to wear my seat belt, pounding my feat in rhythm on the dashboard, mumbling pyschotically outloud, "GOTTA GET TO THE HOSPITAL, GOTTA GET TO THE HOSPITAL". My dad was beside himself in terror. My mom was trying her best to remain calm.

A security guard was sent to put me in a wheelchair and take me. Because I was talking to myself and writhing around pyschotically, they thought I was violent and might hurt myself or others, so I was sent to the lock down ward. Scary fucking place. I'll write about that later. But the point is, I didn't belong there-- or in any hospital. Sleep deprivation and malnutrition were the culprits, but no one realized that until much later.

Anyway, I'm seeing things clearer now and I'm so grateful to be where I am now.