Time to Abilify pt. 2

When I am in an uncomfortable interpersonal situation I take off my glasses. The people in front of me blur into a mosaic of colors and vibrations that have, on me, the effect of twisting a car radio volume knob.

Excerpt from original Time to Abilify

I’m looking at the bed. The covers are a messy ball, our robe strewn over a Minion cased pillow. She’s been out again. She’s been bad again. I remember sitting in the doctor’s office, squinting without my glasses, a familiar ache beginning at the innermost corners of my eyelids. We’ll help get those bad parts of your personality in check. Right, if check means calm pursued by a storm.

Everything is cuckoo bonkers, as Bunbun would say. L is nowhere to be seen, and I’m left here alone to deal. It’s not a lot of fun. Since starting Abilify and going up from 5mg to 10mg to – involuntarily – 15mg, the side effects have been both somatoform and psychological. The body’s muscles get so weak because of it, and my speed-googled statistics don’t look too friendly on me, either

< 1 month 1 – 6 months 6 – 12 months 1 – 2 years 2 – 5 years 5 – 10 years 10+ years
Lack of strength, muscle weakness, weakness 39.32% 29.91% 10.26% 6.84% 8.55% 5.13% 0.00

Being a little klutz, I have forgotten to pick up tonight’s meds (on top of Abilify I take 25mg Atarax at night, 300mg Venlafaxine in the morning) and so will have to either bear the diet-coke-hyper-jitters I am in or mildly overdose on some melt-in-the-mouth melatonin I got stashed in the drawer. The voices inside are torn on whether to sleep or to stay up: Miss clearly snuck out earlier – the state of the bed is her giveaway – and is passed out in her chambers, Bunbun is up and running like a hydraulic engine from all the diet coke, and the protectors are being responsible adults and wagging their fingers at me for staying up so late.

I consider myself a surrogate, if anything. I am what L was a couple of years ago.

Back on point, after the raise to 10mg had worn out of our system, we were quite fine. Muscle spasms and weakness and electricity were minor. I wouldn’t be on an afternoon run and suddenly go ’Ha! I can’t feel my thighs at all!’. Miss and Dawn had toned it down and all was quiet in the chambers. The kiddos were alright. The protectors were busy busy. Then the stupid doc comes in and without our request or acceptance ups the freaking dosage to freaking 15mg. Talk about ghost-thighs and pseudo-paralysis-arms. Talk about the ruckus inside!

Nobody has shut up since the pretty yellow pills started. It is constant. ’Lilu, can I brush our teeth?’ ’No you’re doing it the wrong way’ ’Peanut butter goes in last’ ’I’m bored I’m bored I’m bored I’m bored’ ’He is HOT go talk to him’ ’Look at those tits, man’ ’Bunbun gets ice cream!’ ’Dude, it’s the wrong fucking shoe’.

Our little Miss Madness 2015 has been doing her fair share of chaotic equivalents. Thought she could just up and take the body, get A to buy her tickets to Chicago and boom-bang-crash burn the house down by making us slaves to the madman that mindfucked us – some of us more than others – into hibernative oblivion not many fortnights past. No thank you, sir.

Entering week two with 15mg in a few days. Peace out. -Lilu



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