denying medication ·
29 May 07

So I didn’t take my medication last night, and I found it difficult to sleep. The sedative properties of the Risperidone helped me go to sleep. Without it I struggled to get sleep. I woke up this morning unsure as to whether or not I had slept or not.

This morning I’ve felt sick, my stomach is turning, I feel nausea, and depressed. I don’t know if it’s my mind reading too much into it, but I wasn’t expecting the effects against taking medication to take place so soon. I’ve noted that my use of medication has been both habitual, and almost addictive in some senses. It felt strange to break the routine of not taking my meds, having taken it without question or doubt previously.

Some have advised me not to take my medication at all, telling me that the doctors are screwing with my mind. My uncle (the brother of my step-father) had a word with me while my mother went to Pakistan to make funeral arrangements for hjer father, my grandfather. I told him I was suffering from depression and psychosis, and that had made me isolated. I didn’t refer to the isolation much, I just hinted that it was the reason I hadn’t gone out much to see friends and the like.

His take on it was that the doctors are fucking with me, making a wrong diagnosis, and that I am in fact perfectly well, as opposed to ill in anyway. He suggested that I just needed some friends to go out with, to spend time outside rather than being cooped up inside my room, isolating myself from everything.

When I mentioned depression, he found it difficult to grasp and understand. The psychosis, if i recall correctly, wasn’t actually mentioned, so he only was a ware of the depression. I found that quite difficult to explain as he asked what was it that I had to be depressed about. I couldn’t really respond because of my inability to talk in the mother tongue effectively. I can explain it in English, but then his grasp of English is not as good as mine.

Had I mentioned psychosis I can’t imagine how the conversation would have gone. It was difficult to explain to my step-father what the social workers intervention was about. I lied somewhat in order for the social worker not to interfere further. I may be lying about having lied, but that’s only to protect myself in case someone decides to raise the issue of truth within the statements that I have made. I wasn’t under oath or anything and I wanted to ensure that social worker would not split the family nor interfere with my life. It’s just a headache I could do without.

I was also told by my uncle that exercising would be a good way to deal with my depression, that taking medication and listening to psychobabble was twisting my mind and convincing me that I was in a false state of depression. I couldn’t explain that depression is something I have felt even as a child, but something that grew within my teenage years, even though I didn’t recognise it as depression at the time. This is part of the reason that I am still ill. No one recognised or acknowledged my illness until the fourth time of being assessed by a psychiatrist and social worker. My doctor refused to acknowledge my depression in particular, along with the voice hearing and violent impulses.

The signs were there though, profanity left my mouth like the water spraying out of Niagra Falls. Just a gush of swearing and shouting. I got on with neither parent, and this before the little one came along. I was violent, aggressive, taking drugs, drinking heavily (God knows the damage I’ve done to my liver) and being an all round uncontrollable teen heading for some cruel fate concocted by my own subconscious. Those were not pretty or vibrant years to look back on. I feel I’ve spent most of my life battling with myself and others with no reasoning of why I was the way I was. Nearly 30 years later and I’m only just starting on recovering.

Another uncle asked why I hadn’t finished my education, in terms of college and University, that I should complete my studies. It’s something that I am considering, but again thanks to the language barrier, I couldn’t explain that it was the resulting mix of depression, drugs, alcohol, and psychosis that sent me on my way to educational failure. I’m smart and streetwise, I feel right now University would be stimulating and I feel ready to learn. But I’m nearly thirty, and I can’t be studying for my whole life, it would be illogical as far as I am concerned.

My head is pounding, my skull is in pain, and I still feel sick. I don’t even know what the symptoms of withdrawal are. I don’t feel any less erratic or anxious. I feel nervous and my brain is rushing as it always does with thoughts speeding through my mind at a hundred miles per hour. I think I might be reading too much into things, after all I’ve only been off my meds for 12+ hours. Has my body become dependent on the meds? I’m not sure, I do feel that it’s possible as my impulse to take the medication is incredibly strong. Is it because I feel the medication will help me, or because I’m addicted to the meds. I’m not certain, that’s for sure.

I’ll see how things go.

END