I have said a lot that this medication has been working for me, but on and off I have been a bit unsure. I know medicine will never be perfect, but it’s a little unnerving to sometimes just not feel anything. I always felt something before I got on this mood stabilizer of course. I felt WAY too much. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Finding work, finding a place to live. Staying with my brother and his family has been the most comfortable place I’ve been since my time at the treatment center, but of course, that isn’t going to just miraculously cure my illness.
I am afraid of this medication actually turning out to not be one that works for me in the long run. I don’t really know what I should expect out of it. What does it look like when it works absolutely right? My doctor told me before I left to come out west that she would consider it working if I was at least 70% recovered. I don’t feel like I’ve hit that, but I also don’t know if I want to go up higher when I return because of the intermittent empty nothingness. I also wonder if all I need is to just be back home, working, and living in my own space with Rose and maybe that’ll help things out a bit. I’m also mildly afraid it won’t.
Titrating off this medication to go on another one is something I don’t want to think about, but it’s something that a lot of us have to do. The first med we try isn’t always the perfect one. It’s the time between that I am most worried about. I don’t want Rose to see me unmedicated ever again. It’s a recipe for absolute disaster. But I also don’t want to stay on something that is not working either. That nothingness is awful though. It makes me think ‘What if all we are is really just a brain?’. I’m not really religious, but I am spiritual. I’d like to think that maybe we do have souls of some kind.
Just being a brain would honestly be kind of sad to me. If we are just that delicate organ in our skulls, then am I merely a malfunctioning machine of sorts? A biology/chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong? I suppose I might also be thinking this way because my dad kind of seems to be thinking about my illness in terms of mechanics. That’s what he knows. He referred to my illness as something that requires ‘continuing maintenance.’ As Neil Hilborn said in his poem ‘Clatter,’ “I am just carbon and bad timing.”
But then I think about how that carbon came from stars and the dust of the universe. It somehow over time was able to arrange itself in such a way to create humanity. The creation of the universe was tempestuous and beautiful so it would make sense that life would be that way as well.