Crazy doctors are better for crazy patients.
Other than that, I’m here, the new med seems to be ok, I mean, at least I function, but has absolutely shot my writing ability and drive. The words don’t fly, I don’t have the motivation, the little voice doesn’t talk. Trade-offs. I’m coasting through picking up odd jobs.
In response to a comment on an older post, I wrote this:
Since last posting, I found a different psychiatrist, and after a few more med attempts, landed on one that works, and I haven’t been back to see him since. And hopefully I won’t. The difference was immediate, the guy was … not great, but PROFESSIONAL. No mind fucks, no innuendo. I don’t really understand what exactly happened with the one before, I think in retrospect a lot of the drama and trouble was not my fault. The perspective of distance from the situation has let me see more clearly and stop blaming myself for someone else’s problems and emotional shit. I have not ever been in any kind of relationship like that before. The best explanation I’ve heard so far is that somehow we crossed in past lives or something. It is just one of those things.
Now that I am reasonably well medicated, all the crazy just falls away. It’s so strange.
Sorry for anyone waiting for me to write or anything. It’s just not there anymore. I’m a little sad about that, but at least I am back among the living.
My Sad Alter-Ego 