Take your pills!

I've been seeing a lot of paranoia on Facebook, which is sad.  Someone on a message board said she was afraid to post because "Is this safe? Am I putting myself at unnecessary risk by 'voicing' my beliefs so strongly?"

I strongly suggested she get some medical help.  It is easy for me to see, in others, what I battled for so long. 

One thing I can say, I may go up, I may go down, but I'm not paranoid anymore.  I don't have delusions (one, I will share now: for months I was convinced my sister's daughter was actually mine - even though I have never given birth, she looks just like her parents, etc... yet I couldn't get it out of my head).  I don't have delusions, anymore.  I was paranoid and delusional; I know how it "feels". 

I always, always suggest they talk to a good doc and get some medication.  God knows mine has worked great. 

Which is a good thing, because I started cycling depressed again.  Boo.  Ron was actually the first to notice, and has been really supportive.  "Can I do anything to help"?  

I told him, today, I had planned to run an errand on the bus.  It would require 4 bus rides total and a long walk.  He was happy to set up a paratransit trip with himself in the wheelchair. 

I accepted.  I was looking for a sale item; one I had missed last year.  They only do the sale once a year.  The items are 75% off, for a couple of days.  I really, really, wanted to "hit that". 

I went in, looked around, asked, and no one knew what I was talking about.  I made a pretty careful search of the main areas of the store, pushing Ron in the wheelchair.  Nothing. 

He encouraged me to keep looking, if I didn't find it, he promised he would buy me one at full price.  He laughed when I told him, I want it at THIS price! 

Finally, I found it!  I wanted 5 items (4 are going for gifts).  He was such a good sport about being the human shopping cart, holding them all in his lap.  We went to checkout, and his wisecracks had everyone in line, laughing. 

We had a good ride home, too. 

He's been really good about letting me know I'm appreciated, even before I got depressed again.  I really need to hear that, especially when depressed. 

I watched a show on TV about someone who didn't take their meds, and murdered people.  Well, people, that's why I take my pills.  I have a huge responsibility. 

If a diabetic or an asthmatic doesn't medicate properly, they will die.  It will be ONE sad and pointless death. 

If I don't medicate, [snort]  it will get very bad, very quickly.  I will become paranoid, delusional, hallucinate, and very hostile.  I'd put a high probability that I would kill at least a couple of people before killing myself. 

All I have, keeping myself from that, is a line of medication.  You can bet I am going to keep that line strong! 

Having this illness can be a blessing; I have some great painting ideas.  I am very creative and fearless.  I feel very close to God.  However, this illness can be deadly to many people, so I have a responsibility to protect society, by taking my medication. 

I'm only fit for the public, on my medication.  No side effect will deter me from taking my meds. 

Did you know I carry a months' worth of medication on me at all times?  In case I have to take Ron to the hospital, family emergency, if I get injured, or something?  I will always be medicated.  Always. 

And, like I told Ron, I'm always out there, telling people, take your pills, as directed.  You can have a great life, if you take your medication consistently.  I was so horrible "before" Ron was willing to put himself in the hands of Adult Protective Services.  Now he's a happy husband.  Why?  Because I take my pills. 

So I do, and I tell others to do it.  If you have some wierdness in your head, go see a doctor, BE HONEST and tell them exactly what is going on. 

It isn't always hearing voices.  I have never heard "voices".  I heard a really alarming laugh once, that wasn't real.  But normally I heard music.  I see things out of the corner of my eye.  I had obsessive thoughts about the government coming to get me and put me in a camp.  I couldn't stop thinking about it (and why I wish, so desperately, my "FEMA camp friends" would consider medicating).  I would get a thought about anything stuck in my head and couldn't let it go.  I would obsess about "wrongs" done to me.  I got depressed, and thought about suicide.  It got so bad I couldn't NOT think about suicide.  Wow, I'm still alive, that was the best I could do.  I would talk a lot, stay up for days, spend a lot, and get very hyper.  I didn't understand, but I told the professionals - and they were able to get me the medication help I needed. 

Thank God. 

Do you know, I have only really LIVED for the past 5 years? 

Please, take your meds.