If you kinda know me or have ever read this blog at all you know that I overshare. So be it. I give no dams. I’m not a beaver.
I am lately obsessed with John Wick, by the way. That movie is the greatest. But the best thing is that when I watch it, my mind quiets itself almost entirely.
Nothing else does that. It’s a mystery how that movie does that for me. It’s not really the fact that it’s Keanu Reeves. It’s the story and the kicking of asses that truly deserved the kicks. Or pencils in a bar. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.
So. My psychiatrist prescribed me some antipsychotics to take along with my antidepressants because I hear music and voices that no one else can hear, and I am sadder than usual and even though I said no to the usual question, “Do you ever feel like killing yourself?” I then said “yes” to the followup question, “Have you recently wished that you were dead?”
The fact that I then tried to argue with her that it’s a common and non-psychotic thing to hear music and voices (like hearing talk radio or something off in the distance.. I can never understand any words) and that I told her I know because I read it on the internet from other people who share the same problem of hearing music and voices…
Well, you can probably imagine her judging face as she sat there and nodded, but then listed off a few kinds of antipsychotics from which I should pick one to try. I told her that nothing is going to make it all go away. Because it’s not a psychotic thing.
I told her, “I know you are going to suggest something like Abilify because you think I’m having auditory hallucinations, but they’re not hallucinations. Somehow, they’re real.
Why do I tell you this?
I guess I want to relate with other lost and weird people. Yet, I say that now and then I don’t reply to comments. Why is that? I don’t know. I don’t understand myself, either. I suck at being me. I don’t like replying to comments.
I’m sorry for when I do that. Or, don’t do that, rather. It’s a lot of effort for me. The main way I usually will answer a comment is to just ask me an easy question, I guess. Even though that, too, has about 50/50 odds.
Anyway, I haven’t taken the new pills yet. I’ not going to. I read the list of side effects and assumed Id be better off just being like I am. Even though it’s actually getting worse and the music is getting louder and happens almost every day now.
Sometimes I think I must be dying. The music is a sign to let me know somehow. The louder the music, maybe the closer I am to needing a casket or just a large hole somewhere in a field.
My daughter makes me happy. Just saying that because it’s true. She’s my whole world. It’s not like Im never happy. Im happy a lot. I just have days like this sometimes. These days are so hard. I feel so very alone.
Do I really wish I was dead sometimes? Yes. Don’t you? Pretty sure everyone does.
