Sleeping is an important part of my survival. So the bed at the hospital just about killed me. This bastard was no more than 2 inches thick and was like sleeping on a scratchy foam pad. I couldn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning all night long. I would wake up with my body screaming like a banshee and all they offered me was Tylenol. (Like popping Lifesavers.)

They only served decaf coffee. I require two cups of morning java before I can do the talking and the thinking. The food was so bad that I wouldn’t feed it to my dogs. I am sure that I lost a few pounds. I picked at it and what I did eat ended up giving me the shits.

One would think that when you are healing thyself that the creature comforts would be better.

The doctor there was confused as to why my previous (no, I will not be seeing her again) doctor put me on the anti-psychotic Latuda. She had never heard of doing that with someone who has the diagnosis of major depressive disorder. I gave her my list of symptoms and she wasn’t surprised in the least.

“It basically robbed you of your personality, like a lobotomy.”

I was in full agreement.

The shit is still in my system, but each day that passes I can feel the hold on me start to dwindle. I cannot even put into words just how pissed off I am at her. I blame this entirely on her and my full trusting nature. I told her how I had been feeling on this drug and yet she doubled the dose on me. How can I see a doctor that I have no faith in?

I firmly believe that my episode was caused by the wrong medication. I looked up some of the troublesome side effects and sure enough, I had most of them.

*obsessive teeth grinding

*increase in suicidal thoughts and depressed mood

*emotional numbness

*restlessness

*extreme dread and despair

*horrible scary vivid dreams

I will now do my research before I start any drug. This is my health. I was always taught to trust my doctors and follow every little thing that they told me to do.

FuckΒ that.

The staff was nice and I didn’t lose my shit once. Like one guy said on the unit, don’t hit the red button. If you freak, it will take longer to get out. I was an active participant in all of the group activities and talked to the therapists. I was a model patient. They took my blood sugar every time that I turned around and my fingers are all bruised up. (But my numbers were excellent. Screw you diabetes.)

There were less than 20 people in there, mostly men. From what I could tell, the common issue was depression. It seriously makes me sad that so many people suffer from this wicked illness.

Finally, I want to thank all of you. I was laying in my own comfortable bed last night and the thought occurred to me that I really love you guys so much. How lucky am I to have so many people out there who give a rats ass about me. (You see, my emotions are starting to come back to me.)

Be careful what medications you take and watch for severe changes in your mood and behavior. I haven’t been myself for the last few months and I am looking forward to coming back.

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