Fine by me.

I find it all pointless anyway.

If you’ve never tasted the fresh air induction provided by a Xanax pill, consider yourself blessed and take a hike. This is not for you. Put the article down, slowly step away from the table and no one will get hurt. Well, at least you won’t get hurt. For the rest of you winners along for the ride in my clown car, I want to take this opportunity to speak to all of the doctors who may have stumbled upon this. If not them, perhaps someone who gives a damn about what this drug does to a person who is given permission to taste its magical powers.

How I came to be prescribed this wonderful benzo, and I say that with not a lick of sarcasm, is of little importance. It was legal and began inside the four walls of a doctor’s pristine white office. I am sure the majority found themselves striking what quickly becomes viewed as the goldmine under similar situations.

1) My insomnia therapy–this is my personal beief that if I stay awake, tomorrow can not come as sleep is what seperates the days, therefor, if I don’t go to bed, the monotonous hell that is each work day will not occur.

2)The absurd importance of feelings that are placed on individuals by the psychiatric community.  I again quote “Free Fallin” ala Tom Petty: “I wanna free fall out into nothing. Oh I’m gonna leae this, this world for a while…now I’m free, free fallin.”  I seriously find feelings highly overrated.

3) My role as a spectator in life due to trust issues. I semi-mentioned the lack of trust deal previously and his sage (sarcasm) advice was that it will return in time and through hard work where I rebuild relationships etc. I think he missed the point here. I don’t build anything and I never “rebuild.” If I trusted you and you cross me, fuck off forever. So how does one build or rebuild without the foundation? But anyhoo–I sometimes think it would be nice to get in the game so to speak and live a semi-normal existence. To open myself up to normalcy however, means opening myself up to pain which I am unwilling to do. So, I guess we can talk about those three things but I am going to have to tell my doctor that this isn’t working out. I’m controlling the conversations and that means we are never going to get to the root of anything cause I am unwilling to discuss those things.

Lisa R…. want to take guitar lessons?
Marion … FROM ONE END OF THE SPECTRUM TO THE OTHER!!!-LASTLY YOU WERE IN AFRICA NOW YOU WANT MUSIC WHAT’S NEXT????
Lisa …. Well, since you asked, I’m looking at my snow globe over and here and am wondering how do they get those sailboats into the glass bottles for models>?
Marion .. sounds like youre in and out of nightmares
Lisa…. wouldnt you like to meet the person whose job it is to put the Charlie Brown sticker on all SNoopy Snow Cone Machines?
Marion…… go back to sleep
Lisa…… Or how about those underwear inspectors? That must be something. What exactly are they inspecting?? “

I am aware this is a Tom Petty song but my oh my, John does it so much better. If you’re not a fan, you really should be. Not only are his covers great (hello future straight version of George Michael), but his original songs (hello future straight George Michael) are positively mindblowingly beautiful. “Dreaming with a Broken Heart” and “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” make me cry.

But anyhoo–on the topic of free fallin, I have quite a bit to say this month.

Let’s begin, as usual, at psych central. I had another appointment with the doctor and as usual, we bickered a bit. My position is, “It’s Xanax. WHO CARES and WHY? I could just as easily go drink alcohol legally to achieve the same basic calming effect.”  He stood his ground which is actually deeper than I originally thought. He started by saying “Are those the only two choices for you? Alcohol or Xanax?” After clarifying that I need something to calm me down and that my point was, essentially, that Xanax should not require a prescription, he asked me how sleep was going. I said it wasn’t but that it’s fine. I’ve never slept well and he’s not going to increase the Xanax so, no matter. Next topic. He was surprised I wasn’t sleeping with any of the things we tried, especially the last tricyclic which absolutely should have induced sleep. He wouldn’t be so surprised had he known I have never even filled those scripts let alone tried them.

I went back on my legalize Xanax rant and asked him to please tell me why he can’t just increase it so I can sleep. He asked what happens when I take the Xanax and I told him. It puts me out but I wake up in the middle of the night, a clear indication to me that he needs to give me more. Not so fast grasshopper. My doctor asked me to listen to him for one minute and I agreed. He explained that what I just described to him is exactly why doctors do not like prescribing Xanax for sleep issues. According to him, it is a light switch. It shuts you down at bedtime but because it has such a short half life, a few hours into sleeping, the levels of Xanax drop causing your body to awake. He went on to say I need to sleep for many reasons and that I had broken him. He prescribed me 30mg of Restoril.

Now, both he and my primary had, on numerous times, refused to give me a true sleeping pill such as Restoril and it is a benzo. Basically, one Restoril is equivalent to my taking 60 of my Xanax at once. Knowing myself, I asked him the followng question. “SO, you and I both know I don’t take the Xanax as you prescribe it so can you tell me how far over I can go while also taking Restoril before I pull a Heath Ledger here?” (Heath has Restorial and Xanax in his system) He started to answer me and then asked himself what he was doing and claimed ignorance asking me what kind of question was that and that he wasn’t answering. He “didn’t know.” I claimed shenanigans on that one and said I knew he knew because he’s been doing this forever. He agreed but said he only continues to put up with this type of stuff because of all of the itneresting people he gets to meet like myself. Cute.

I had a few more things to say about Xanax access and his response was “With you, this drug has become your life. It is the central focus of everything. It’s what you aspire to–to get more and more. You should aspire to  climb mountains and have achievements and all of what should be has taken a back seat to your trying to acquire more and more.” I asked why he even cares and he said “Well, we’re talking about your life here.”

Between the climbing mountains comment and talking about my life, he hit a nerve. It has been with me since he said it and has made me reflect. I also think it has put me in a terribly foul state.

I woke up completely dark today to a degree that is very, very rare. The darkness sort of permeates my soul and shows itself in my green eyes which, for some reason, become greener as I get emotionally darker. I am used to being in a bad mood here and there, but this degree of darkness actually frightens me.

The other even that happened is my dentist died after a long battle with cancer. He was THE nicest guy I ever met and that is the truth. I’m a little depressed about that but when I watch his video tribute, I see what a full and happy life he had and that makes me happy.

Of course it also reminds me how I have not climbed one fucking mountain in my life yet…….

 
For example, the first thing out of his mouth was “Why don’t you tell me how you convinced John to agree to counseling only once every 3 weeks?”
I just looked at him and said “How I convinced him? I went to the appointment, he said see you in 3 weeks and I said  Ok. BYE. What did I do?”
He just looked at me and said he would have to offer John his opinion on the frequency of sessions.
I told him to have at it. He is the medical director of the place. I was curious as to what he saw as an acceptable frequency and he told me it has changed over  he years but when he was in therapy it was 4x a week for 5 years and more recently, twice a week.

 
Some friends have found the fact that my psychiatrist saw or sees a psych himself as ironic but nahhh. I knew it was probably pretty standard if not the norm. As I said to my doctor, “Well, yes but you are a psychiatrist and you know, you absorb alot of shit and I can only imagine the ugliness you hear.” He agreed with me and went on to start to explain what is essentially a transference of sorts where doctors begin to blur the line that keeps them over here to remain impartial and they begin to feel what is more than empathy. It’s almost as if the events they hear about begin to have happened to them in a way fng them up too. I knew all about this so I stopped him early in his explanation when he then said “What’s your education level again?”

I told him I didn’t want to discuss any of that. He pushed. I said “Why? WHO CARES?”

 He said “It’s a very simple question. Why make a big deal? Jesus. Tell me.” I said “I have plenty of education.” He asked what that meant, “Kindergarden?” (He’s annoyingly gifted at reading people but he does have a touch of wiseass that makes him tolerable in my eyes) I said, “I have a masters.” He then asked in what and again, I didn’t care to discuss it because “Really, who cares???? I’m not using it. It’s in a box that’s what it’s in.” He kept it up for a few minutes until his clock on the wall chimed and I said “Come on. I gotta go. I don’t care about my education. I can’t sleep. Can you give me something to sleep for when these run out?”

He said he would give me some oudated anti-depressant called Dopexin and that i’d love it. It has a heavy sedating effect. As he was writing out the script he was talking aloud to himself saying “Oh. Thank you Doctor ______ for being kind and giving me something so I can sleep. I so appreciate it.”  I saw his sarcasm as a reaction to my aggravation with him for not just increasing the god damn Xanax and so, I just stared at him. I then said “I find this stupid. I am being told to double up on Lexapro and now you’re adding a third drug to the wheel when allllllllllllll you have to do is give me a few more Xanax a day and we could all be friends.”

 He said “It is a dead end drug.” We bickered some more about that and I told him how jittery and jjumpy I am and I asked if he had read John’s notes to which he replied. “He writes stuff down but I don’t really bother with notes.” I told him maybe if he could be bothered, he should try reading them and then perhaps he would have a better idea of what was going on here and why I need the Xanax. I said “If you bothered to read them, you’d see he diagnosed me with PTSD.”

He looked at me and made an odd sort of Ahhh haaaa noise and said he didn’t agree with that.
Pre-traumatic stress disorder MAYBE. (He made that up btw)
Mind you, I have never told anyone what I told John in that session so I proceeded to sarcastically ask the doctor, “How are you so sure of everything?”
He just said he is cause he has ways of knowing things.

Whatever.  I mean I know the guy is a jedi mind reader and experienced and everything else and I have been a victim of his “just knowing things,” but he is off the mark on this one, believe me. I laughed at the whole PTSD deal until I researched it more and for him to just dismiss it as my manipulating the therapist in a move to better position my argument for more Xanax is utter crap and rather unprofessional in my opinion.

Furthermore, it was his fucking idea that I go into therapy and if he is just going to make this same assumption over and over, what is the point of even going? Torture?

At this point, I see little reason to continue therapy or much of anything else.

Screw him and his therapy.

I was thoroughly Xanax’d up and so, removed from reality. While these psychiatric types frown upon being in this state, I must say, it has its benefits regardless of my failure to convince my doctor of them.

Anyhoo–being in a Xanax fog allowed me to disclose a few things and ultimately, John said I have PTSD which both amused and saddened me as I knew he was probably right.

He said I did great and made another appointment for 3 weeks later which is actually coming up on the 22nd.

He looked at me when he had said that asking if I was going to ask him what it was. I told him I thought I knew and that it meant an obsession of sorts, a central focus on something, tunnel vision if you will. He said “Sort of, but not exactly.” When I asked him to explain, he told me to look it up which I did and in case anyone is wondering, it is a redirection of emotional energy to an object. Woopie! So, we chatted about that for a while, argued about increasing the doseage (he wouldn’t–surprise) and then it came back to his asking me what I am going to do about all of this.

I informed him that the ball is in his court because I had agreed to go to therapy, he said he would get back to me and it had been 2 months and he never did. He muttered something along with a Jesus Christ, told me stay where I was and not touch his desk (afraid of script theft or something??) and that he’d be back in 10 seconds. He ran out to the hall and called a man’s name.

He said “John? Lisa. Lisa? John. You two have met before. Do you remember, John?”

John answered “Sure but it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

I told him that indeed it had been a while and that our one and only meeting a year earlier had not ended well. The doctor interrupted me telling John he wanted me in therapy and could he fit me in? I felt the obligation to tell John that I don’t like questions and I don’t like talking so, I don’t know how the doctor thought “TALK” therapy was going to work out and that I was just agreeing to this because he promised to increase the Xanax if I went. The doctor looked at me and said “I don’t really remember that.”  John said “Sounds like blackmail to me.”  I just said that he definitely did but whatever and waited for someone to explain to me how talk therapy would work with someone who doesn’t talk much. The doctor again interrupted saying “The thing about Lisa, John, is that she is smart, funny and a bullshitter, not a great combination. She doesn’t like questions but I told her sometimes we have to ask them to further progress and she talks just fine. It’s a matter ofgetting her to talk about what we need her to talk about rather than what she wants to talk about.”

So, we set up an appointment and I went.

See the next post.

“The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time
I am here still waiting though i still have my doubts
I am damaged at best, like you’ve already figured out

I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing
With a broken heart that’s still beating
In the pain is there is healing
In your name I find meaning
So I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on
I’m barely holdin’ on to you

The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded, I’m an open book instead
I still see your reflection inside of my eyes
That are looking for a purpose, they’re still looking for life

I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing
with a broken heart that’s still beating
In the pain is there is healing
In your name I find meaning
So I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on
I’m barely holdin’ on to you

I’m hangin’ on another day
Just to see what you will throw my way
And I’m hangin’ on to the words you say
You said that I will be ok

The broken lights on the freeway left me here alone
I may have lost my way now, haven’t forgotten my way home”