kherpuppet

Pretty long, but might be interesting to some...

Hi all... I've been posting some intensely anti-recreational-drug rants on Tribe lately and have been accused of ignorance and hypocrisy. So, I've opted to share a post on my SG journal. Allow me to explain where this vitriol comes from. I've basically had two phases of drug abuse in my life: as a teen, and from 10/02 till this past April. When I was a teen, I tried about everything that came my way in Oakland. Never did heroin, but that's pretty much the only thing that was around which never entered my body in some fashion. My experiences were mixed on the whole, but there were some good times to be sure. The second phase is what turned me off EVERYTHING forever. And the funny thing is, it wasn't because of recreational drugs this time...

Does anyone know the experience of being abused by doctors and their prescriptions? In that second timeframe, I was prescribed virtually *every* known medication for bipolar disorder, with up to 13 overlapping at my worst. These shrinks were literally throwing the kitchen sink at me, just to see what would stick. Most, if not all, of us know the joys of unpredictable side effects. Imagine the fun in store when you're on so much crap that they not only overlap, but potentiate each other. I have no idea to this day whether any of them actually worked, because the cumulative effects made me attempt suicide sixteen separate times in less than three years. ODs, hangings, electrocutions, blades, suicide-by-cop, everything I could manage. But someone was always there to stop me. Thanks for small miracles...

Have you ever been to a stage when every shred of your individuality was ripped away by chemicals? Going into the second year, I literally had no idea what the hell I was, let alone WHO. Everything that I loved, trusted and believed in was attacked on a daily basis by the weapons killing my mind. I thought I'd known desperation when I moved to Portland in a puddle, but this was a whole other level of terror. My case file in that time grew from five pages to around 350. And none of my psychiatrists bothered to consult with one another or wonder *why* I was being hit like this. Most rec drugs have one or two basic effects; this makes them *somewhat* predictable, which is why people enjoy using them. Psych drugs on the other hand, can do shit to one's mind that there's often no precedent for. In my case, no one knew what was causing what effect, so they just kept on prescribing. We all know how careful our dosage is for those meds that work for us. Over or under-do it even slightly, and you can be driven more crazy than you started. This is exactly what happened to me.

I don't doubt that they meant well, but the attacks were insidious. Starting in February of this year, I began to realize that the only way I was going to stay alive was to take the matter into my own hands and STOP IT. Against doctor's orders, I started going off everything over a period of time. I had withdrawal that was almost worse than the side effects, and I *was* titrating everything. By middle June, I felt more awake and free than I'd ever remembered feeling. EVER. I can't begin to describe what it feels like to know you're getting your very mind back. I realized I'd sacrificed my very freedom, my thoughts and my beliefs in an ordeal that lasted almost 30 months. It was such an incredibly empowering feeling to know that I could trust my thoughts again. There are no words for the pain I suffered, and to this day I cringe when I hear about others taking substances willy-nilly without a clear idea of the potential consequences.

I know I'm lucky to have found the strength to take back my health and sanity, and luckier still that I didn't kill myself in the process due to the withdrawal. The only drugs I use now with any frequency are seroquel for sleep, marijuana for when manic or panic attacks get out of control and methadone when my back goes into conniptions. I also drink on occasion, but not regularly. My greatest fear of all time is losing control of myself, and that's been cemented into my consciousness now by how horribly my mind and soul were abused by endless psych meds. For me, a loss of control is grounds for immediate hospitalization, because I can become very dangerous in a very short span of time. I know this, and I take pains to avoid any situation where I can lose it.

I hope this might be of use to some of you here, and if nothing else, can help you understand why I feel as I do. There's no real lesson to be learned unfortunately, because most patients implicitly trust their prescribers, and that's probably not a bad thing. For me though, that blind trust was almost fatal. It applies to other areas of my life as well; for example, there are maybe seven or eight people alive that I can be a passenger in a vehicle with. I just do *not* trust others where my safety is concerned. Public transit is out, unless I am heavily medicated, and by then I'm totally useless. So I adjusted. I drive everywhere by myself, and I'm even leery about having passengers in my car.

I hope these fears will go away in time, but I can't count on it. I'd be interested in hearing if anyone else has had similar experiences... All of you, TAKE CARE and stay healthy!!!

- kher