I wonder now if that kind of reaction didn’t have
something to do with my mind set at that particular time in my recovery. Did I
see myself as heavily reliant on the medication? Was I scared that I would go
back to the person I was without it? Or did I believe it validated my
condition?
Two years later I decided voluntarily that I wanted to
lower my dose. I told myself that I was in a much better place than before and I
was ready to do without that crutch in my life.
At the time I had been studying Japanese for about five
years. This was largely to enable me to focus day to day on something that was external
to the confused mess of my mind. As I improved I became less reliant on the
Japanese and came to see the medication in the same light; it acted as scaffolding,
and I wanted to see if I could stay standing were it to be gradually taken
away.
When I was first prescribed the antipsychotic medication
I didn’t want to take it because I was worried about how it might change who I was.
In the end what made me decide to start taking it was seeing how much pain I
was bringing to the lives of the people I love. Basically, I was willing to try
anything that’d put a stop to that.
I was also paranoid that what I was taking might be a
placebo and that everyone – my doctor, the pharmacist, and even my parents were
conspiring to trick me; so that if I got better just by taking sugar pills they’d
know that there was really nothing wrong with me. I wished there wasn’t
something wrong but at the same time I found solace in the knowledge that I was
ill and I wasn’t just weak.
As the medication began working the paranoia subsided and
those worries quickly evaporated leaving increased appetite and drowsiness in
their wake. When I was first prescribed the Olanzapine I was put on the highest
safe dose (20mg). It felt as though the Psychiatrist was eager to throw
everything she could at me because the more I disclosed to her about my
thoughts the higher she ranked up the level of medication.
I found the Olanzapine to be the most appropriate choice
of medication and have been on it for about four years now. There were several
reasons why I chose to lower my dosage. Firstly, I had done some research and
didn’t like the sound of the long term side effects such as Tardive Dyskinesia
and high cholesterol; so I was eager to avoid them if possible.
Secondly, I wanted to see what kind of person I was with
the medication as low as possible. I was repeatedly told that my illness was no
different from a broken leg; it was just not visible to the naked eye. I
accepted this but I now doubt its validity. While reading up on my particular medication
I came across the analogy of a car engine. Say a car needs its engine oil
topping up; taking antipsychotic medication is basically the same as pouring
oil over the entire engine so that some of it gets into the right place.
As I understand it antipsychotic medications work but it
is not fully understood how they do so.
My psychiatrist told me at one of our meetings that I
will be on these medications for the rest of my life. Maybe he is right; there
is only one way to find out. I have been on a lower dose for over two months
now and it has been an interesting and at times a terrible experience.
The first thing I noticed on the lower dose was the heightened
emotional range I was capable of experiencing. Both the positive and negative
emotions became more intense. You’d think it would be great to experience more
intense positive emotions but at times I was so overwhelmed with excitement
that I had to stop doing the things I enjoy.
The next change I noticed was the reduction of the
anxiety that had been plaguing me for so long. That was a pleasant and
unexpected bonus. Of course I found myself to be less drowsy and consequently
less reliant on coffee to fuel my day. However over the past weeks I have been
experiencing some negative symptoms.
I’ve been having feelings of distress. I’ve been feeling
out of control. The noise in my head is sometimes unbearable. Seemingly
insignificant things such as accidentally breaking a cup can throw me
completely. I have been told that my body just needs to get used to it, which I
sincerely hope is true.
For a long time I had been going along under the
assumption that my brain is broken and that something isn’t right up there. But
is this the case? Of course it could be but I’d rather believe that I am not damaged
and that instead maybe it’s my environment that is.
That could just be wishful thinking on my part. I have now
come to see that I live in an imperfect civilisation and that my brain hasn’t evolved
to deal with the modern world so it’s not surprising that it struggles.
I recognise the intrusive images and words that I
experience (as though they are injected into me) as part of my makeup. They can
be distressing and at times I wonder if they really are my thoughts, feelings
and desires. Over time I have come to realise that they are all mine – although
that doesn’t mean for one second that I have to agree with them (that’s not as
easy as it sounds).
I have been told not to look too far ahead; just to concentrate
on the next few footsteps. I am still unable to work (even voluntarily for two
hours a week) – especially now that I am dealing with my lower dose, which, as
you can imagine is very frustrating. I see the people around me progressing
whilst I stagnate. I have to remind myself that I am also progressing and that
I shouldn’t measure myself by the rule of others.
I have been on a very long and difficult journey and it
is important to keep telling myself that I have done well to get this far. I
don’t know where my path will lead from now but I am hoping that the lower dose
works out.
As for who I am that remains to be seen.
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