Mental disorder
“You’re very normal despite the meds you’re taking!”: Coping With Appearing “Normal”
I work at a pharmacy. This means I’m trusted with people’s health information. We have special trash specifically for regular trash, blue HIPPA trash (paper with HIPPA info on it), and green HIPPA trash (plastic with HIPPA info on it). The HIPPA trash is shredded and we’re VERY serious about making sure the trash is separate because our store can be fined a lot of money if we mix that up. The HIPPA trash goes in a locked trash can. That being said, we’re very big on protecting people’s privacy. However, we get a peek into this privacy with every phone call asking “Can you refill my gabapentin?”, which means that they have a form of nerve pain versus “Can you refill my Suboxone?”, which means they are being treated for drug addiction. It’s sometimes scary having all this information especially when we end up memorizing certain patients because they come in bi-weekly or monthly for their medications. Which leads to me, I take five different medications: an antidepressant, a mood stabilizer, an anti-seizure medication to treat a side effect from my mood stabilizer, birth control, and most recently, an ADHD medication. I get them all filled at the pharmacy I work at which means my coworkers know which medications I am on. I’m very open about what I take, I have no shame of being on medication, in fact, I love taking medication because I, unfortunately, know who I am/who I was before medication. However, it’s a very different feeling when you are allowing yourself to be open about your medication versus when someone is in charge of you, intimately knows you, and intimately knows what you take, just like my pharmacist.
Continue readingMy own, fragmented life
How do I begin this post? From when do I begin my story? Is in the beginning, where there is nothing but a life displaced from normal reality? Or is it when my time begins to realign into some almost normalcy? Or do I attempt to justify the future that I present with example of others that have glimpsed into the fearful reality of non-normalcy?
“You’re being way too poetic. Just start somewhere.” {“Also, why does this take almost 1900 words?” Banter, cumbersome prose, and a dogged attempt to display deep-mindedness.}
[She’s actually right, looking onto this post again. But I have no sense of inner identity that doesn’t revolve around florescent prose. {“So stop doing it.” No. Wait, you’re here now. “Yup.” You seem sedate. “Of course, you idi-dummy.” There was a big encounter yesterday, so everything’s lackadaisical.}]
I Miss Summer (Winter Is Coming)
“Oh shit,” I yell, “I need to make a blog post!” I grab a computer, sit down and open up a document.
I can’t think of one intelligent thing to say.
Yes, this is a post that is going up now. I have an idea of what I want to say now. Before, when I thought about it, I didn’t know what to put here. Me, disabled? There’s no way. I get out of bed on time every morning, I make breakfast, I go to school, I do things around the house, I work, take care of the animals… There’s no way I’d ever classify my constant state of movement as ever being disabled.
Unruly Bodies 