I'm on a Drug Called Life!

I thought about going back to count just how many of my blog posts were mostly me bitching and moaning about my drugs. I think rounding to an even 50 out of my 63 is sufficient to make my point, yes?

So, umm, sorry about that. Even I was rolling my eyes when I looked them over.

Thankfully, all that is over! And it has been for about 6 months. In a pretty risky move back in October or November, I weaned myself off those nasty pills. All of them, save for the Loraz and the Ambien. Rather speedily, I should add. Whoops.

This was back when I had been stable for 9 months or so. This was back when I had started my grown-up career. I couldn't afford, financially or emotionally, to not function appropriately. Those pills, those damn pills, either had me slugging along, having to coax each foot every time I took a step. Thanks, Risperdol. Or, per my doc`s remedy, I was tripping over my words, unable to make my tongue keep up with my mind. Not so great when the majority of my job included talking to people and giving presentations.

That was my Adderall experience, which will be elaborated on later. Seriously, why do people like that crap?

Anywho, I am, for the most part, drug free. And yes, it is everything I was hoping for and more. I get happy, sad, angry. My creative energy makes an appearance every now and again. And, the best part, I know that I am in control, not being controlled.

Happy Tuesday

You'd think after not writing since December, I would be overflowing with topics to write about. Seasons have passed. Loved ones have passed. Valleys of sorrow and mountains of joy, I have passed. (Wow, how freaking cliche.)

Despite all that, my thoughts at the moment, at 5:30 on a Tuesday morning, are filled with my family and coffee. But last night, with pen in hand and journal on my lap as I wrote down some ambien-fueled dreams before falling asleep, the feeling that I could maybe make a difference in the world slowly rose up in my belly. I think my peach tea drowned it slightly by the end of my writing session, but 8 hours later, there is still a bubble of hope.

No, I can't change the world. And I don't even think I want to. What I do want, and maybe think I can do, is lend my voice to those whose have been silenced by stigma and fear. Those who blame themselves. Those who can't put into words the monsters' attacks. Maybe it will give life to a movement of thousands of dead spirits who have been resurrected. Maybe I will get a single one-word email saying, "Thanks."

Hopefully tonight, when I'm back in bed writing the words I don't let the world read, I will be struck with the inspiration and motivation to take those words public, and let them know, they're not alone.