I'm Insane

It’s the new meds. And this, still the first low dosage. I have to slowly increase it over the next 2 months until I reach the level where my doctor thinks it will work best. By then I should be used to it and the side-effects should even out. I say should. There are no guarantees.

What’s going on, now that it’s had a week to build up? I cry. Over everything. Over nothing. Totally out of control I am. For example, I flipped through the Farm Journal. And cried when I came to an article on a mock Foot and Mouth disease disaster. It described how all the livestock on an infected farm would need to be quarantined, destroyed and then buried in mass graves. Yep, sobbing like the world was ending at the mental image of 2300 hogs loaded into covered dump trucks and then gassed.

Gassing living things. The Holocaust. Hitler. I worked with a girl once, cute, pleasant, charming individual who said to me wouldn’t it be awful if Hitler really existed and all that stuff had actually happened. Scary to think that she was a high school graduate.

I cried last night because I read a post written by a former Marine about a Russian friend of his who died yesterday in Georgia. My dad was a Marine during the Korean Conflict. Good thing he didn’t die or today wouldn’t be my birthday.

I was all mad and mopey this morning because no one made a fuss over it being my birthday. Yes, I know, I don’t want a fuss and I’ve made that very well known to all my friends over the years. Except today I wanted one. So I was mad at them. And I cried because I was mad at the people who are my friends and care about me. Then my alarm went off and I got up out of bed and eventually turned on my phone to find a text wishing me a happy birthday with an invitation for after work should I feel like a little celebrating. Which made me cry.

Work. I looked down at one point and cried because the purple shirt I really wanted to wear was ruined in the wash the other week. How does that happen? And why is it always a garment I like more than others? So I wore my other purple shirt that is a shade lighter. It didn’t match the purple Crocs I had on. It matches the other pair that I didn’t wear today. Oh no, I was mismatched. How tragic! Yep, more tears. As if I actually care if my clothes match my shoes. I wear my purple Crocs with just about everything, either pair and it honestly doesn’t matter any other time. I can picture the look on my dad’s face if he’d lived to see these shoes.

My dad, after the war, went to school to become first a teacher and then a psychologist working within the school district. I heard him talk people down on several occasions. He was good at it. I can still hear his “diffusing voice” echoing through my mind. Probably a good thing at the moment even though it makes me cry because I miss him.

So there you have it. A semi-unfiltered two minute glimpse into the chemical imbalance caused by this new medication. I increase the dosage tonight. I can’t wait to see what happens next. Part of me is weirdly fascinated, sitting back, taking notes for future reference. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be able to use bits of this somewhere.

I want to get serious for a minute before I go back to crying here. I’m lucky in that I know what’s happening to me and why. If things get too overwhelming and I lose the ability to reign most of it in as I have been able to so far I can call my doctor and be told to stop taking this medication. He will prescribe something else to combat my migraines. But what about the people who really are losing their minds out there? They have to be scared to death because, let me tell you, it’s a bit intimidating at moments even fully aware.