Continuing the discussion from Oh those delusions again:
You know how you and I have talked a little about what we do to appear normal at the doctors office? How we try and present ourselves in a lucid manner hoping that he/she will take us seriously, understand that we’re not doing well, and hopefully see that if we’re lucid, and coherent will talk with us about this and not at us.
Well, I gave up trying to be lucid, coherent or normal in anyway. I figured if he said it’s “hospital time again”, so be it. The way I was feeling, I might have agreed.
Much to my surprise, my brother Jack came along. Odd, but cool. So with my sisters journals, my Dad’s observations, Jack’s side of the story and my obvious diminishment of lucid compared to just three weeks ago, the doctor took this situation seriously and could see I am not responding well at all to what just happened to the meds. It helped so much having some family there all saying “look, it’s not been going well.”
Why be normal? So I just let it go. I sank into my head, I let myself rock, and play with my hair, and if I forgot to blink, so what? When the word salad came, I didn’t work to stop it. I didn’t ignore my intrusive thoughts, I just blurted them out no matter who was talking. Usually I try to put a lid on it. But I’ve been too tired and too upset to use my energy this way. I didn’t work as hard as I normally do to try and come off as a reasonably lucid adult. Maybe that’s what did it.
Now all I have to do to get the house back to normal is find a piano. I killed the last one. That big piano shaped empty space is hard to look at. Plus it was my sister’s piano.