A Note From the Management

After an online friend lamented the lack of boob shots that she felt my "18 and Over" warning promised, I thought I'd better explain.

Although this blog and the links provided are appropriate (and necessary) for some younger viewers/readers, I wanted to convey that some of the situations/events narrated within deal graphically with "R"-rated matter- sex, drugs, death, serious mental illness, and- occasionally- even POLITICS. (By their very nature most of my posts touch on something-or-other political, but it's the "Dear Obama"-type crap that merits a warning).

Speaking frankly, as I am often too apt to do, age is not a defining characteristic of my target readership. There are people in their 60's who may never have the stomach for my subject matter. Some of us never quite grow comfortable enough to chat casually about sex, there is certainly a large contingent of those lacking any sense of humor about mental illness, and there are more unfortunate souls walking the earth who cannot forgive themselves for their past transgressions, nor can they forgive their transgressors.

Those whose view of the sanctuary is terminally obstructed by visions of sin will have to seek truth elsewhere.

For the remainder, I invite you to debate/ suggest/ just check in and PAY ATTN TO ME as we all work towards becoming our own best selves. And stumble. And push on.

In Which I further deteriorate

Another month, another brush with acute renal failure. Another 3 days on a potassium IV. Another course of tendon-eating levaquin- with a twist. This time the course is 2 whole weeks.

I suppose I'd better try to see it out this time, no matter how bad the bruising and neuropathy. I don't relish handling my medication schedule with an egg-timer for 8 more days, but I could go happily about the rest of my life without ever seeing that color in a catheter again.

Of course, this does mean I'm going to be sporting medical adhesive for another week. The pressure required to scrub that shit off leaves some unsightely marks.

Just an ordinary day in the ICU

I don't know why I did it. I wasn't trying to kill myself, although thanks to this little lesson I've learned that I actually have the capacity. (I'd overdosed on various pills so many times before, only to wake up the next morning or, at worst- face a quick trip to the ER for gastric lavage.) I don't intend to kill myself, and I guess it's a bit awe-making ("awesome" doesn't seem to fit the context here) to learn that the very simple, painless (for me, certainly not for my parents) relatively quick method was in my grasp all the time.

But why? Why? Why? Why? It certainly wasn't one of those accidental ods where you party a little too hard and wake up in a bed with gates and wheels, tubes in every conceivable orifice. What I took was not a "fun" drug. I'll say it was prescribed as an anti-psychotic and no more, because I don't want to issue any lessons on How To Put Yourself Into A Coma the Miss Delusional way*as seen on TV.

I can only guess it was me playing a classic borderline personality headtrip on my dad, who was down visiting, took me out shopping (ATTN: I am now the proud owner of a wall clock!) Because I took the pills while he was waiting for me in the car,; I guess I told him I needed to stop off and get something. Once I realized what I'd done, I tried to induce vomitting, but I clearly didn't do a very good job. I walked out of the apartment, and asked him to take me to (name of private local looney bin) for an assessment. Which he did. I can't tell you how it went, though- apparently I lost consciousness shortly thereafter.

So I spent I think 2 nights in ICU before they moved me to the general floor.

I need to apologize to my father. He drives almost 3 hours to see me and at least every other visit involves the hospital.

And I have goddamned oral thrush.

That I might sleep

Seroquel. That's put an end to this madness, for the night and perhaps even tomorrow if my vasculature gets lucky. Maybe not as effectively as Zyprexa- I still can't believe how efficiently my neglected "regular" 15mg dose knocked me out when I unwittingly signed myself in to the psych ward last Wednesday. And how immediate and unrelenting the hunger was!

Thank fuck I'm off of that. Seroquel might not hit as hard and, sure, there's those lovely extra=pyramidal symtptoms if I accidentlyonpurpose take more than 400 mg within 24 hours, but if I don't take it every night, and top if off with some hydroxizine and the bioequivalence of 20 mg diazepam, it does the trick.

Eep, I hope.

With Prozac capsules, white and green
first pressed on me at age 13
A toast of Ensure was raised by all
to celebrate my debut at the overmedicated ball.

Mr Lily's potion was not the cure,
not at 80, not at more.
His position was usurped by a tricyclic,
which for reasons unknown did not make me unsick.

So back on the 'Zac, it was time to augment
as serotonin alone is mighty bland.
Fenugreek or thorazine turned out to be overkill,
I was asked to try this salt in my hand.

Zoloft is a lovely potion-
the first weeks are like MDMA.
Sad the honeymoon must end with her fucking your brother &
leaving you drenching the sheets where you lay.

Speaking of "lay", however, I remember her fondly.
Zoloft is remarkable for syndrome Cold Fish.
With Effexor & Lexapro we could wipe out the species-
take this disclosure as you wish.

Of Remeron, I cannot recall
whether I stopped eating long enough to have sex at all.
And while the sexual side effects of Wellbutrin are legendary,
on an SSRI augment they continue to elude me.

Orgasms on anti-depressants are contra-indicated,
But generally so are Drano milkshakes.
Quit your bitching- I haven't cum for 5 years!-
If that's what it takes, that's what it takes.