It also made me emotionally constipated. I didn’t give a shit for days
I’m an individual of extremes. I’m a psychiatric nurse, living with clinical depression. I’m a father of three beautiful children. But I no longer have a relationship with them. I’ve been a victim of domestic abuse, but I am a man. I co-founded an international non-profit organisation, with representatives in the British Government and the Canadian Senate. But sometimes I can’t find the energy to get out of bed. I am a vegan. But I also have a sense of humour.
I have a lot of sadness in my life. But I consider myself fortunate in that I will always attempt to find the smallest glimmer of hope in the darkest of scenarios.
In terms of graduating from the University of Life, I got some grades, but a Masters in none. I was going to study History. But I was told there’s no future in it.
I would never wish it upon anyone, but walk a day in my shoes, unmedicated. Then judge me.
A couple of days ago I either run out of my medication or someone stole them. I suspect a friend of maybe stealing them. I would ask him, but he’s prone to lying. Well, if he did steal my anti-depressants I hope he’s happy now.
Running out of psychotropic medication is a wake-up call. A reminder of how far you’ve come. I wouldn’t advise anyone to purposely run out of medication just to give yourself a metaphorical pat on the back. But if you live a similar life, be sure to view these acute episodes of mental illness as mere obstacles, not dead-ends. There is always a way around an obstacle. At the end of a dead-end is the end.
For those who taught me how to ride Life without stabilizers.