My new shrink is nervous.  He’s young and shy, with a weird last name.  I’m not sure if I trust him.  He looks like he just got out of medical school.  He looks young enough that I could have babysat him when I was in Junior High, back when I had frizzy, permed hair and braces.


“No, no, that won’t do,” he says when I describe that I went only slightly manic this summer: I only sorta made a mad fool of myself, only sorta drank too much. I was only slightly delusional, not like the previous year when I listened to Pet Sounds nonstop and thought I was in love with a 22-year-old from Northern Minnesota.


Dr. Nervous gives me a new cocktail.  “I’m not promising it will work, but we can hope.  Maybe it will.  But you know, it doesn’t always.  So let’s feel like it will.  Let’s feel lucky.”


I’m not feeling lucky.  I take the new pill as prescribed, try not to look up the list of side effects on the internet or go on weird Bipolar message boards where everyone says how shitty their lives are, how fat they’ve gotten, how they can’t get off no matter how hard they try.


My head starts to ache.  My skin starts to itch.  But after a few days, I feel like brushing my teeth.  I take a bath.  I don’t need a gallon of coffee or a crane to pull me out from under the blankets and pillows I’ve piled around my head.


I’d feel lucky if it wasn’t for this fucking headache.  It’s nonstop now.  I wonder if I have meningitis or a brain bleed that has gone undiagnosed for years.  Maybe I should go on one of those message boards.  At least I don’t think I’m getting fat.  Yet.


I put on music for the first time in weeks.  I go on the internet and pretend to look for jobs.  I wonder where all the people are I used to talk to, send silly, frilly emails back and forth.  I remember how it used to be when I liked to write.  But my head is killing me, and it’s getting hard to see.  Everything is a blur.


I wake up and hate.  All I can think about is my head and how I hate everything: babies and birthdays and flowers and sunshine.  I hear about some mad shooter on the radio with hot bullets that tear through skulls and limbs and stomachs.  I think how much he must hate, that with every shot – one, two, there – maybe he hates just a bit less.  I hate that I even had that thought.


I call Dr. Nervous.  I tell him I’m not lucky, that I can’t take these chalky pills that make my skull split.  “Don’t worry,” he says, “We’ll get you fixed up somehow.  Fixed up like new.” I want to tell him I’m not a car or a four-leaf clover.  But I say, “Yeah.  Sure we will.”


7 Responses to “Trileptal”

  1. 1 pinklightsabre

    Nice to hear from you again. Write more please.

  2. 3 Rose

    So happy to see you in the blogosphere again! I took Trileptal with fairly good effects a few years ago, only getting off of it because they decided I was on too many mood stabilizers (four!). Getting the right cocktail is a bitch and it still must be tweaked here and there. Don’t lose hope…the doctor really will help you find something to relieve your psychic pain, at least to some degree. Also, therapy can’t hurt, if you have access to it.

    • Yea, I’m trying the whole med game again. Would like some sense of stability. It’s been hard to write, felt no desire. Hopefully, I can get rolling again. Thanks for reading!

  3. No – not of the earth. Just into a depression. Hope I can start writing again!

  4. I was wondering what happened to you. I thought I was being neglectful. I just wasn’t getting any notifications because you were not writing. It is so unnerving to go through those times when you simply can’t do it….write or in my case draw type make art on the computer. I have been having trouble coming up with anything. I feel like I make the same picture over and over . Not to mention having Parkinson’s Disease knowing full well that it being a degenerative disease that I won’t be able to make art whether I want to or not. Well shit if I’m not fucked. Sorry to rant all over your blog.
    The writing should come back to you just start writing anything and keep going something will come out of it..

  5. BTW …I was glad to see you in my email and glad to read something from you here as well.

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