#I never said this but I stopped taking my Buspar a good two weeks ago and what do you know?! I have less panic attacks.

[iero]

It's so stupid to be happy about this, but I finally made the call to make a doctor's appointment to finally talk to them about getting put on a new anxiety medication.

[sheriff-bow-and-arrow]

Genius (Chapter 3)

Words: 4353

Warning(s): Language

Summary: Reader makes a trip to Alexandria in order to drop off some supplies that Rick asked for. She doesn’t expect the extra cargo when she goes back home. 

That morning was absolutely beautiful, the sun was out and the temperature was refreshing. As you drove to Alexandria, your window was down, sending your hair flying behind you. A box of supplies that Rick requested was the only thing that accompanied you on your little trip. It was stock full of bandages, rubbing alcohol, canned goods, and some comics that you got just for Carl. You reached over to your cupholder and grabbed the pair of sunglasses that you kept in there and put them on, relieved that the sun was out of your eyes.

The fence around Alexandria was different than the first time you saw it. They added metal strips along the outside and barbed wire marked the top of it. You smiled, proud of yourself for giving them the tips. Standing on guard, you could see, was Daryl, a rifle held on his rough hands. When you pulled up to the gate, you stopped and stuck your hand out the window. You gave Daryl a small wave, which he returned before walking down from his post. He opened up the gate slowly and you pulled in, parking right as you entered. You pulled the keys from the ignition and put them in your pocket. You got out and closed the door before going to the other side and grabbing the box.

“Hey (Y/N),” Daryl said as he walked back over to you.

“Hey,” You said, nodding to him. “How have you been?”

“Been good.” He said. “You?”

“Good. Were you guys able to find those chemicals I was asking for?”

Daryl shook his head. “Sorry,” He said. “It’s hard to find stuff like that.”

“I get it.” You sighed. “I’ll talk to you later.” You balanced the box in your arms before you began to head towards the Grimes’ household. There were several people that you knew - barely - that you passed that you didn’t acknowledge. They gave you small stares or even ignored you all together. Either way, you brushed them off and walked up the porch. You entered the house without invitation.

As you distanced yourself from the source of the light, you took off your sunglasses and put them in the pocket opposite your keys. Afterwards, you made your way to the beautiful kitchen that Rick was lucky to have. You set the box on top of the kitchen counter and grabbed the cans of food, setting them down before you snatched the comics and headed for the living room. You could hear the giggles of Judith and smiled. When you entered, you saw Carl on the couch, playing with wooden blocks with Judith. An even wider smile appeared on your face as you walked over to Carl and tossed the comic books into his lap. Visibly, he jumped and let out a small sound, causing you to chuckle deeply. Carl glanced up at you and smiled.

“Hey.” He said and stood up. He wrapped his arms around you in a hug and you returned it. “When did you get here?”

“Less than five minutes ago. I came with some supplies and I need to check on your dad’s wound.” You said and pulled back.

“Is he still at risk?”

“I’m afraid he is. More so since his wound has successfully closed -  yay me.” You smiled. Carl smiled as well.

Judith stood up on the couch and looked at you, smiling. She waved her tiny hand in your direction. “Hi.” She said in a small, childish voice before she began to chew on her fist.

You looked at her and smiled lovingly. You walked over to her and picked her up, hugging her. “Hi.” You said and chuckled. Judith wrapped her tiny, little arms the best that she could around your neck before pulling away.

The feeling of Carl’s hand on your lower back made you jump and turn to him. He beamed. “She really missed you.”

“I can tell. I missed the little devil too.”  You informed Carl before planting a wet kiss on the toddler’s cheek. She cringed and giggled.

“Did you get anything else important?’

“Yeah, just some canned foods, rubbing alcohol, and bandages.”

“Alright, why don’t me and you go put the rubbing alcohol and bandages up?” He asked.

“Who will watch Judith?”

“We can get Tara to watch her. She’s not doing anything right now.”

“You know that for sure?”

Carl hesitated before he responded. “Yes.”

You smiled and chuckled. ‘Alright. I’ll grab the-”

“No, I’ll get the box.”

You raised your brows at his eagerness and then nodded. “Thank you. I set the box down on one of the kitchen counters.”

A white smile appeared on his face as he turned towards the kitchen with you following suit. Carl grabbed the box, leaving the canned goods near the fridge. Without a word, only a smile between the two of you, you, Carl, and Judith made your way over to Tara’s house, you carrying Judith and Carl carrying the box. You were the one that knocked lightly on the door, stepping back. It didn’t take that long for Tara to come to the door, glancing at Carl and then at you.

“Hey,” She said, pressing one hand on her hip and the other on the doorframe.

“Hey Tara, could you watch Judith for a little bit? (Y/N) and I have to put some supplies away.”

Tara nodded. ‘Sure,” She turned to you, holding out her arms. You handed her Judith, who went to her without any issue. “Come on Judith.” She smiled. “Let’s go inside.” She said and told Carl and you nothing else before closing the door.

“I can take the box now.”

Carl shook his head, his hair shifting with his movements. “I got it.” He told you. “Let’s go.” With his head, he gestured away from the house and began to walk away, you following right beside him.

Ever since you helped his father, you and Carl started to build a very fond relationship. Carl, you had to admit, was developing into a perfect friend - the first friend that you had since the start of the apocalypse. He was nicer, no longer a dick, shot you a smile every time that he saw you, and even went as far as staying up with you, talking, for countless hours, on the walkie talkies. The late-night chats were mostly based around your lives well before the world went to shit, but they were still talks that made you sleep easier and made you feel less lonely. Many times you have considered asking Carl or some of the other people in Alexandria if they wanted to move to the hospital with you to give you more company, but you would always back down, knowing that because you were new, and because they made Alexandria their home, they wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

You understood, of course, that was one of the main reasons why you denied the option of living in Alexandria. The hospital had become your home, that and you had important research that was located there and you would be damned if you were just going to abandon ship or risk moving it. It was too valuable to you and you had made too much progress to jeopardize your findings. Still, it made your nights seem empty. That’s why you were thankful that you had Carl.

The clinic in Alexandria was small, but could hold up to six people in beds and cots. The cabinets were filled with as many medications as Negan’s men left and what Rick’s group had found over the course of two or three weeks after Negan stopped making his weekly appearances. You had to admit that they were limited on antibiotics and medications, but the ones that they acquired were powerful and high class, but there were some, you knew, that they would never be able to use. Bottles of Valsartan, Diuril, BuSpar, Montelukast, and medicines alike littered the shelves of the medicine cabinets. Those prescription pills were given to people with heart, blood pressure, anxiety, and coughing problems. Not necessarily the best for people with injuries. It got you thinking: you might just have to provide Rick with an offer of trading some of his useless medications with some of the well known ones that you had with you at the hospital - ibuprofen, tylenol, and even hydrocodone.

When the two of you entered, you closed the door, taking in the fresh smell of air that circulated throughout the room. The clinic didn’t smell as sanitary as the hospital did - which smelled as if it was brand new after a hard scrubbing on your part - however, you had to admit that it gave the small clinic a homey feeling when you were inside of it, which was a bonus in your book.

Carl set the box of items on top of one of the examination tables. He sorted through it, bringing out the alcohol and the bandages before he began to put it up. You started to help as well, smiling as you did so. Halfway through putting the items away, Carl stopped near the box, biting his lip. You, however, continued.

“Why don’t you come and live with us?” He asked.

This made you stop in your tracks right before you reached the cabinet. You frowned and turned towards Carl, shoulders slumping. “Carl, that’s...that’s my home.” You said. “I can’t just pack up everything and leave. It wouldn’t feel right to me.” You looked down at the floor with a look of shame on your face. “Plus, I have so much research there.”

“You can move it here.” He said.

“I don’t want to risk it. It’s too important and one little mix up can screw up the entire research and throws all of my work right down the crapper.” You placed the bandages on their designated row.

“Is it really that important?”

You turned back to Carl and started to walk towards him. “It’s more important than you will ever know.” You raised your brows and looked at Carl with utter seriousness. “Ever since I found that lab, I have been doing scientific experiments all leading down to one item that can change how we view this world for the rest of our lives. I’m not talking about more powerful painkillers, or developing chemicals that we can soak bullets in to melt someone from the inside out,” Carl’s eyes were wide with worry, wonder, and fear all in one. “Carl, I am talking about a cure. The most important cure that science has ever created. The cure from the infected.”

Carl shook his head. “(Y/N),”

“I’m being serious Carl. I have a feeling I’m close. Really close.” You shook your head. “Please don’t think I’m crazy because of it.”

“No...I...I don’t.” He shook his head. “The thing is, I just think it’s impossible.”

“That’s what science is Carl! Everyone thinks it’s impossible. People thought it was impossible to put a man on the moon, to be able to fly, to create an artificial intelligence capable of learning simple and complex tasks, but humans were still able to do that. Hell, Carl, people thought that the dead rising was something only told as scary stories to scare teenagers while they were out camping. Every day,” You stepped closer to Carl. “Our lives are filled with events that we thought was impossible, but the world works in amazing ways and humans are just as wonderous and mysterious.”

Carl sighed. “We...had a man named Eugene.” He said. “He works with Negan now, but he told everyone that he was a scientist from Washington D.C. and that there was a cure hidden there.”

“Bullshit!” You said and shook your head.

Carl’s eyes widened. He waved his hand. “We know. He told us.”

“The idea of him being a scientist I could care less about, but the government having a cure for the disease…” You trailed and swallowed. ‘I don’t even wanna get into that.” You began to put the rest of the supplies away.

Carl swallowed and began to slowly help. “I’m sorry for asking.”

You shook your head. ‘No,” You said. ‘Don’t be. I went way too overboard with my response.” You chuckled lightly. “Great question.”

“The cure, though...how do you know you’re close?”

“I have a gut feeling.” You shook your head. “I still need more research on walkers ever since I cut Howard in half. Poor guy.”

Carl nodded. ‘Well, maybe you can get another walker when you get back to the hospital.”

“Maybe.” You said.

As you made your way back to the examination table for the last time, Carl hummed.

“Hey, um, (Y/N)...”

You turned and glanced at him with raised brows. “Yeah?”

Carl moved his mouth up and down, as if he was trying to find the words. You cocked your head to the side.

“Carl, what is it?”

Carl shook his head, but just as it appeared that he was about to say something, a gunshot was heard. You jumped and glanced towards the window, seeing Daryl aiming the silenced rifle down near the area before the gate. You frowned.

“What is he doing?” You asked.

Carl walked closer to you and looked out the window at Daryl. He shook his head. “There might be some walkers banging on the gate.” He shrugged.

You looked at him. “Walkers?’ You asked. You smiled and, without word, ran out of the clinic.

“(Y/N)!” Carl called after you before running after you, abandoning the medical supplies.

As you ran towards Daryl, you waved your hands in the air frantically. “Wait! Daryl! Wait!”

Daryl glanced back at you with furrowed brows. “What is it?’ He asked.

“How many more walkers are out there?”

“Three.” He said and shot another one.

“Leave one for me!” You said as you ran to the car. You reached in the back and pulled out the closest thing you could find to rope: jumper cables.

“What?” He asked with a confused look, his brows furrowing.

“Just trust me, please.”

Daryl shook his head and growled before he shot another one. You ran over to the gate, soon followed by Carl. You glanced at him.

“Can you help me?’ You asked. “It’s a lot easier to get a walker here than it is to get one at the hospital.”

With slight hesitation, Carl walked over to you and helped push the gate open. The sound of the walker filled your eyes. It was a female, her chest nude and her bottoms torn. Her mouth was hanging open, teeth dark and yellow and covered in blood. Her eyes were faded, but the pupil was still visible. She made her way towards you and Carl, her feet scraping against the road. You and Carl backed up and watched as she charged towards you.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asked.

You thought for a couple of seconds. “How about we both grab an arm, put them behind her back, and I’ll tie them together with these jumper cables.” You held them up. “Then we can lead her to the clinic.”

“Alright, I guess we can do that.”

“We just have to make sure that she doesn’t bite us.”

“Right.” Carl nodded.

The walker trudged her way through the gates, growling as she did so. Daryl made his way down from the post and made his way over. “‘Yer insane.” He said and began to close the gate, grunting as he did so.

“I know, glad you finally noticed.” You told Daryl, rolling your eyes slightly before you turned to Carl. “Ready? Set. Go!” You said.

Carl and you rushed towards the walker, each grabbing one of her arms. Her hands clenched tightly as she tried to claw and bite you. You shook your head. “No, no, Sheila.”

“Sheila?”

“Leave me alone. That’s the name I picked.” You smiled as you and Carl pressed the walker’s wrists together. You began to tie them together.

Carl chuckled. “What about Sharon?”

You gasped and made a small knot with the cables. “That does sound Sassier.” You smiled. “Now, whenever something bad happens, I can just say, ‘goddammit Sharon’.”

Carl smiled and laughed, shoulders bouncing up and down. Once the knot was created, you grabbed the walker’s hands and her hair. You began to lead her to the clinic. However, before you could make it to the building, you saw Michonne and Rick in the distance, running towards you. Rick had his hand on his gun in his belt.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry,” You said and shook your head. “This is very safe and very necessary.”

“We don’t bring walkers inside the fence!”

“Don’t worry.” You repeated and brought Sharon into the clinic, Michonne, Rick, and Carl following. “No one is going to get hurt and I’ll pack her up right after I’m done.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m insane.”

“(Y/N)...”

“Because I’m doing research and I need a walker. Do either of you have a knife?” You bent Sharon over the examination table. She struggled weakly.

Carl pulled a knife from his pocket and you accepted it. You then began to cut through the skin on her neck, through the deteriorating muscles, and then through the weak bone, which was the most difficult of the three levels. Once the head was cut off, the body went limp and fell to the floor. You giggled and looked at the three of them. Carl shook his head while Michonne and Rick gave you a worried and disgusted look.

“What?” You asked with shrug.

“What….what research do you need a walker for?” Rick asked.

“I...have gotten close to developing a cure.” You said. “At least I am…” You looked at Sharon. “Eighty-three-point-five-six-nine percent sure.”

“A cure? A cure for the infection?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “That’s why I don’t want to leave the hospital. All of my work is there. I need to finish it and be prepared just in case something happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Anything can happen.” You nodded. “It’s sad to say, but it’s true.” You patted Sharon’s head. “I’ll pack her up as I’m getting ready to leave. Speaking of me leaving, before I do, I need to get a look at your stitches. Why don’t you have a seat on the other examination table and I can go ahead and take a look.”

Rick glanced at Michonne, then Carl, then the walker, before he sighed. ‘Alright.” He said and walked over to the other table. He sat on top of it and began to unbutton his shirt. The action caused a blush to fall onto your face but you tried to shake it away.

“Have you experienced any symptoms including: fever, fast heart rate, difficulty swallowing, drooling, stiff muscles, muscle spasms, episodes of no breathing and/or shortness of breath?”

Rick shook his head. “No.” He took his shirt off. You moved closer to him and pressed your fingers gently against his side, examining the stitches.

“Is the area still sensitive?’

“Not as bad as it was the first week or so.”

“That’s good. I don’t think you have tetanus disease, but until your stitches fade, I think it would be a good idea if we kept a good eye on it.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded.

You raised your brows. ‘Oh! Carl!’ You looked at him. “You had something that you wanted to say to me earlier. What was it?”

All eyes were on Carl, who was frowning at your mention of his little hesitation episode earlier. He glanced at you, then Rick, and then Michonne. A blush slowly crept onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I….It was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and placed his hands in his pockets, glancing down, causing his hair to fall into his face.

You gave a small nod. “Alright, well, if you want to tell me again, you can just, you know, do it.”

“Okay.” He said and turned back towards the box. He began to put the rest of the items away.

Rick glanced at Michonne, who shrugged. You patted Rick’s knee. “You can go ahead and put your shirt back on.”

Rick did so, placing the shirt back over his arms before buttoning it up. “What did you bring for us?”

“I brought canned goods, which we left in your house, bandages, rubbing alcohol, and comic books for Carl.”

“Sounds good. I’m sorry that we don’t have anything for you yet today.”

“That’s alright. All you have to do is bring it to the hospital or call me and I’ll stop by and grab the supplies from you.” You gave him a reassuring nod.

“We’ll do that.”

“I should probably get going.”

Once Carl heard you say that, he stopped and frowned. “But you just got here.”

“I know, I really want to stay, but I gotta get her home and start working on her.” You nodded.

Carl frowned, shoulders slumping. He packed up the last of the items before you turned to Rick.

“Can someone help me get the body to the car? I’ll carry the head.”

“Yeah,” Carl walked over. “Dad, can you help me?”

Rick got down from the examination table and nodded. Both him and his son picked up the body and began carrying it out with Michonne holding open the door for them. You followed with Sharon’s head, thanking Michonne and heading for the SUV.

“Just in the backseat.” You told them.

Rick was the one that opened the backseat and helped Carl throw the body inside. You then set the head in the passenger’s side before the two doors closed. Carl turned to you.

“Do you really have to go?” He asked.

You nodded. ‘Yeah.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “But you can always come and visit me whenever, as long as it’s alright with Rick. Plus, we have the walkies.”

“I guess.” Carl rubbed his arm lightly.

You smiled lightly and kissed his cheek before hugging him. His brows raised and eyes widened in surprise, but it didn’t take long before he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in his natural warmth. A shiver ran down your spine and red covered your cheeks. You almost allowed yourself to get comfy in the touch, but pulled away right before you could. You gave him a wide smile.

“Talk to you tonight?” You asked.

Carl nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you tonight.”

You nodded in acknowledgement before turning and walking to the passenger’s side of the car, getting in and buckling in. Sharon growled, eyes darting around. Grabbing the keys from your pocket, you put them in the ignition and turned on your vehicle. After maneuvering so that the front of the SUV was facing the gate, you waved at Carl, Rick, Michonne, and Daryl, who was standing next to the open gate. You drove through the gate, then, leaving Alexandria behind you.

As you drove off, down the road, Carl watched, a frown on his lips. Rick brought everyone back inside the gates of Alexandria, and that was when Daryl closed the gates. Rick walked beside his son and Michonne with one hand hanging onto his belt.

“What did you want to talk to (Y/N) about?” He asked.

Carl hummed and raised his brows, glancing at Rick. He then blushed and shook his head. ‘Nothing. It wasn’t important.” He said.

Rick raised a brow, smirked, and glanced at Michonne, who looked at him as well. She shook her head. Rick glanced back at Carl. “You like her, don’t you?”

Carl stopped in his tracks, paused, and looked at his father with a wide eyed stare. “What?” He asked. “No!”

Rick stopped right beside Carl and nodded. “You like her.”

“I do not like her.”

Rick turned to Michonne. “Do you think he’s lying?”

Michonne raised her brows and nodded. “Without a doubt.”

Carl sighed and shook his head, face turning a bright shade of pink. “Just leave me alone. I don’t like her.” He said before storming off.

Rick smirked and Michonne bit her lip and glanced at Rick, arms crossed and hip cocked. “He likes her.” She said.

“Oh, I know he does.” He said as he wrapped an arm around Michonne’s hip, causing her to giggle. “Let’s go.” He mumbled as he pulled her along with him.

The entire ride home, your cheeks were flushed and the feeling of the hug that you had with Carl still lingered on your skin. His warmth was still against you as if you were still embracing - maybe it was the sun. A growl came from Sharon. You glanced at the walker head with furrowed brows.

“What? No, no, I don’t like Carl.” You said.

Sharon growled again, eyes moving back and forth rapidly and mouth moving up and down.

“Well….I wouldn’t say that. He’s not sexy. Gosh, I don’t even know what that means. He’s just...prepossessing. Yeah! That’s the word.” You smiled.

Sharon growled and you frowned.

“I like Carl.” You said. “Just not like that. I don’t think. I’m not sure really. The idea of romance and love and crushes has never crossed my mind before. I never had time. Heck, I never had a Kindergarten crush and everyone has had one of those.” You sighed and sat back in the driver’s seat. “What can I say? I’m basically an exile without the exile. Oh, no, I’m not making anymore sense.” Your shoulders slumped. “Maybe...maybe I do like Carl.” You paused. “What am I saying? I do not.”

Sharon growled.

“Do not.”

Growl.

“Do not.”

Growl.

“Do not.”

Growl.

“I said, ‘do not’.”

It took longer for Sharon to growl louder, chomping the air, longing for flesh. You frowned and glanced at her. You then looked back at the road with a look of defeat in your face as you drove home.

“Do.”

[ninetiescat]

story of my medications

This is my response to the message I received on my sarahah (@illusionarium), reading,

May be a bit personal, but I want to know your story behind all of your medication. Your social medias are phenomenal which raises my curiosity as to why you have to take so much.

This is going to be way more information than what you asked for. I haven’t proofread this but I tried to write carefully. Potential trigger warning beyond this point.

I’ll start at the very beginning, getting to the more-than-you-asked-for right away.

How I got on meds in the first place:

In January 2012, the night of day 1 of the second semester of my freshman year of high school, so roughly five and a half years ago, I was involuntarily put under mandatory 72-hour hold in a psychiatric ward for threatening to kill myself. I was in there until the afternoon of day 3 of the semester. This is pertinent because I wanted and somehow proceeded to achieve straight A’s and knew that staying in longer meant I was missing more class-time and putting that at risk it took a month to catch up on those three days I shit you not. (For the full hospital story, see this post.) While being held there, I did my best to abide by the rules the hospital operated by—i.e. rules none of us were directly informed of, rules we had to be informed of by our fellow inmates let’s be honest, it was essentially a prison who were there before us and learned the hard way so we didn’t have to—but those rules were just things to check legal boxes, they didn’t make any real sense, and they weren’t consistent, so despite my genuine best efforts, it became very clear very quickly that they wouldn’t release me after 72 hours (72 hours is only the minimum) if I didn’t sell my soul to the devil. I always swore I would never take psychiatric medications—I just didn’t believe in it, if I was doomed to be sad then so be it, I didn’t have anything against other people taking meds but I didn’t want it for myself under any circumstances—but I couldn’t afford to be held longer than the bare minimum basically if I took a breath one second later than expected, Staff would threaten to hold me for an extra week, a threat that was said to me five times, so I agreed to be medicated to check one of their damn boxes needed for an on-time release. Then, when released (about 24-hours after agreeing to take meds and taking the first dose), I was told that if I stopped taking the meds I would be readmitted. I assumed, despite Staff being heartless assholes for the most part, that they—medical professionals (well, sort of)—wouldn’t flat out lie to me, so I reluctantly continued taking the meds. I cried, I went to the doctor they referred me to every month and a half, I sold my soul and gave up what I stood for, I took my shit as prescribed, I was a good girl, and I hated every second of it, but I hated it less than I hated hospitalization. It wasn’t until a year and a half later that I cried to that doctor (who was very nice; I quite enjoyed seeing her) about hating being on meds and wanting to stop but knowing I can’t without being readmitted, and she, surprised by my statement, informed me that that was a lie, I was never required to keep taking them, they could not readmit me for that, period end of story, I had been blatantly lied to. Unfortunately, by then I had gotten in too deep (I’ll explain why), so despite still hating being on meds, I carried on.

Why I stayed on them:

I grew up depressed, anxious, and with insomnia; it’s all I’ve ever known, so I couldn’t complain too much having never known better I mean I complain all the time, talked about suicide etc., but I wasn’t fighting for better because I didn’t know what to fight for and didn’t have the motivation too. A year and a half into bouncing from medication to medication (I’ll elaborate later), I had had no success with improving my depression or anxiety, but after about a year of that, I found a sleeping medication that worked, and holy fucking shit. Over the course of my life, my sleep had been getting progressively worse; for instance, at age 14.5, Night 2 in the psych ward, bedtime from 10pm through 7am, I took over an hour to fall asleep and woke up eight times I remember because Staff yelled at me about this the next morning. That was quite normal for me, I wasn’t accustomed to anything better, but getting a night of what normal sleep should be for the first time…was just something I couldn’t pass up. It was like a brand new world. The medicine that did the trick was an atypical antidepressant prescribed to me for insomnia by that point my doc had gone off-label, as I was already failing to respond to traditional treatments, so I said fuck it and kept on making my way down Big Pharma’s product list trying to treat all my issues for the heck of it. Note however that I had also been diagnosed with ADHD, a problem I wasn’t previously aware of, and medication for it worked also, but I could’ve accepted pre-ADHD-med life more than pre-insomnia-med life.

Since then:

My insurance dropped that first doctor not technically a doctor, psychiatric mental health nurse practitioner, PMHNP, didn’t know that for a long time, didn’t know there was an important difference at the year and a half mark, so I switched to doc #2 not a doctor, advanced practice registered nurse, APRN, who quit and was replaced by #3 some kind of nurse practitioner who quit and was replaced by #4 APRN whom I hated, so I switched to #5 family nurse practitioner, FNP, who was great, but I really needed a psychiatrist. So now I’m seeing #6, a psychiatrist! A PhD! An MD! At last! My therapist of five years said I needed an actual psychiatrist and advised I try to get off of my meds (four total at the time), which is a main reason I took medical withdrawal from college in March. This doctor is fab and is trying so hard to get me the best treatment possible. We tried weaning off slowly, but the withdrawal symptoms were too bad to handle alone, so we’ve tried substituting new meds with them to ease the withdrawals (elaborated on later). Because of how that is going, he wants me to seek a second opinion technically an eighth if we include the psych ward, five NPs, my therapist of five years, and himself from an accredited institution if we can find one that will see me because my “case has advanced beyond what conventional medical treatments can help” and I have “suffered too long,” and if a re-evaluation shows that my diagnoses are correct, I could benefit possibly from experimental treatments or clinical trials since my shit is so treatment resistant.

How that’s going—what I’m diagnosed with and what all I’ve tried:

Chronologically, I’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, insomnia, ADHD, and panic disorder, with anorexia nervosa present but left undiagnosed. In trying to treat my five diagnoses in the last five and a half years, I’ve had my system pumped with twenty-five different psychotropic medications. Of the 25, I’ve only had any success with/positive reaction to 8. I’m currently on 6 daily. Let’s list them out chronologically with more info than you asked for for shits and giggles shall we—“[medication class] prescribed for [whatever, usually off-label], italicized means it worked, bolded means I’m currently on it:

Zoloft/Sertraline—(from the hospital) antidepressant for depression & anxiety

Xanax/Alprazolam—sedative for anxiety

Trazodone—weird antidepressant for insomnia

Tranxene/Clorazepate—benzodiazepine for insomnia

Ambien/Zolpidem—hypnotic for insomnia

Prozac/Fluoxetine—antidepressant for depression

Elavil/Amitriptyline—idk it treats everything and was prescribed for idk I can’t remember tbh

Remeron/Mirtazapine—atypical antidepressant for insomnia (worked for a year, stopped, immediately replaced by Seroquel)

Adderall XR and IR—stimulant for ADHD (XR extremely effective but couldn’t tolerate ingesting it, IR ineffective)

Buspar/Buspirone—anxiolytic for anxiety

Inderal/Propranolol—beta blocker for anxiety/depression

Seroquel/Quetiapine—atypical antipsychotic for insomnia

Lamictal/Lamotrigine—anticonvulsant for depression (under slow withdrawal at the moment)

Daytrana/Methylphenidate—stimulant for ADHD

Klonopin/Clonazepam—benzodiazepine for anxiety

Valium/Diazepam—benzodiazepine for anxiety then insomnia

Lexapro/Escitalopram—antidepressant for depression

Wellbutrin/Bupropion—antidepressant for suicidal thoughts (it helped a bit)

Atarax/Hydroxyzine HCl—antihistamine for insomnia

Phenergan/Promethazine—antihistamine for insomnia

Clonidine HCl—alpha blocker for insomnia & high blood pressure/elevated heart rate

Trileptal/Oxcarbazepine—anticonvulsant for depression/to ease Lamictal withdrawals

Vyvanse/Lisdexamfetamine—stimulant for ADHD

Dexedrine/Dextroamphetamine—stimulant for ADHD

Evekeo/Amphetamine—stimulant for ADHD

So I’m currently on Seroquel, Lamictal, Valium, Clonidine, Trileptal, and Evekeo—three for insomnia, two for depression, and one for ADHD. I am incapable of sleeping without sleeping medications; I go about 36 hours wide awake, then go from wired to unconscious note that sleep is not an unconscious state for about half an hour, then snap back awake as if nothing has ever happened until I take the next dose. I have extreme difficulty reading, comprehending, writing, and understanding information without ADHD medication, one of the main two reasons I’m taking a second semester off from school. My anxiety is debilitating and currently only being treated through therapy, which is undoubtedly beneficial but not the same; I used to take Valium to stop my panic attacks (it would calm down the physical symptoms so I could use what I’ve learned in therapy to calm the mental symptoms), but when I started taking it for sleep it stopped working for panic, so I just have to ride it out. I started Clonidine as a substitute for Valium for falling asleep, but it makes me so damn sleepy during the day that I’ve been slow to let go of the Valium and raise the Clonidine. I’m not addicted to any of it, simply terrified to not sleep. A sleepless night is a nightmare few people understand; yeah no one likes a sleepless night, but it’s fucking torture when you get more suicidal with every second you’re awake. I get in bed every night terrified that this will be the night I stop sleeping; Seroquel, for the first four years, worked effortlessly for making me fall and stay asleep for roughly eight hours and wake up on my own with no drowsiness, then all of a sudden it stopped helping me fall asleep and out of desperation I added on Valium because it was my only option and I knew it had hypnotic properties. Since it’s not healthy to be on it super long term, my doc wanted me to trade it for something safer, like Clonidine. I was put on Lamictal after going through rounds of antidepressants that failed; Lamictal treats seizure disorders and bipolar disorder and is related to Trileptal but carries a greater risk of a deadly side effect. Seroquel is an antipsychotic that also treats bipolar disorder; it seems the medications that work best for me with the fewest side effects are the ones that treat bipolar disorder, for which I have not been diagnosed (technically I am down as bipolar in my files for insurance reasons, as my insurance could request my files, see the depression diagnosis, and refuse to pay for Seroquel and Lamictal because they are not approved to treat unipolar depression), which I find interesting. Trileptal has shown very little evidence on efficacy at treating mood disorders and is in no way approved for their treatment, but I have responded to so few medications that my latest doc thought hey, why not. Fun, isn’t it?

And at last,

why I have to take so much:

My shit, aka an intricately intertwined clusterfuck, is just so damn treatment resistant that 1. no one medicine can treat any one problem well enough to suffice on its own 2. everything is so bad that even if one worked really well and wiped out one problem altogether the others really can’t go untreated yet. There are only two instances in which I am okay with being alive—on stage performing or in an airport. I’m not lucky/privileged enough anymore for the former occasion (bonus: my sleeping meds contain antihistamine properties and I’ve watched as my voice has deteriorated over the past four years, escalating in the last four with the addition of Clonidine) and not rich enough for the latter to occur as often as I’d like, so I spend virtually every day wishing I was dead. It’s so normal to me now. It’s been twenty years. I can smile and laugh and dance around for a few minutes, but that’s all I get; it doesn’t last. My favourite singer can release a new song and I’ll cry with happiness as I sing at the top of my lungs for hours or see some aesthetically pleasing decoration in a store and take a hundred pictures of it and that’ll make my day, but it simply doesn’t last. I’ve only managed to live this long because my anxiety is severe in just the right ways to keep me incapable of going through with any method of suicide. I’ve become accustomed to coasting by; I often wonder how many people can tell I’ve got issues or can tell what kind of issues I have without being informed first. I wonder too what I’m like beneath the medications, if I would even be recognizable; I thought I would find that out over the summer, but that will have to wait until the weaning is all done I suppose my psychiatrist estimated the process would take 3.5 years when I started seeing him.

Soooo…I hope that answered your question and makes some sort of sense. Feel free to inquire further; I’ve spent the past six months doing nothing but researching and focusing heavily on all of this so I know it well and have a lot to say about it.