Your Brain on Drugs
My brain on meds is like a morning mist that never quite evaporates. There is a jungle-like quality there, hot, clammy, close, uncomfortable… every thought feels like moving through sweaty mud. My sticky mind is battered by a thousand mosquitoes of creative thought, all trying to pierce the skin of my consciousness for their nourishment. These pests were once an integral part of my everyday being, but are now estranged and reduced to mere nuisances.
I find it difficult to finish any task, much less a string of tasks without the ability to think creatively. My memory seems to have vanished, at least for the short term. I feel like I’m living in that song that Christy something-or-another sang, only instead of day, it’s “One thing at a time, sweet Jesus.” I have what Trusty Boyfriend/Knight In Shining Armor calls the “butterfly effect”. This effect does not create typhoons or clear weather though, it merely calls my attention to any given distraction and causes me to ponder – ooh, a butterfly – and promptly forget everything that I was doing, forcing me to begin the entire process over again. Hopefully I have a list handy to remind me of which process I was in the middle of. Otherwise, all bets are off, and any process may take the place of what I was doing.
For instance, I must every morning, eat and take my pills. I do it in that order every day. If Trusty were to ask me while eating about whether or not the calves have been fed, my mind would say – “ooh, butterfly” – and I would stop eating to feed the calves. Whether or not I would go back to eating and whether or not I would take my meds is a question for the ages. If there is a list and I refer to it, if there are reminders, maybe I would get there, but my brain has already been knocked off track for the day and anything I do will feel wrong (as well as often be wrong – or at least in the wrong order).
I choose to live this way though, because the ups and downs are stabilizing slowly. I no longer have erratic behavior that I later regret (I’ve trade erratic behavior for confused behavior.). I no longer make scenes in public places and no longer feel the desire to end my own life. The diving board is stilling and I am about to step off for a while. If the cost of this is a befuddled mind, I think the answer for me is neither. I just don’t know what the answer really is yet, so I comply with treatment plans and live in the foggy haze.