Laughs and Lobotomies

I went out a few times with a medical doctor.

He practiced medicine for a few years and was then working for a pharmaceutical company in neuroscience research.

I had told him about the medications I was taking, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, etc, my history of mental health, my bipolar diagnosis.

I’ve learned as I got older than I’m more straightforward than most.

And that honesty and vulnerability invites honesty and vulnerability.

And that man told me a story.

When he was in medical school his roommate killed himself.

He had failed his medical boards, everything he had worked his whole life for.

So this now doctor, in medical school, found his roommate and friend, dead because of an exam.

And that doctor told me he had been given a bipolar diagnosis, spent a year or so on antipsychotics. Gained 30 lbs, but was able to come off them, eventually lost the weight.

I was on antipsychotics for 11 years.

Anti-epileptics for 12 years.

And remain on some lighter medication today.

I didn’t gain 30 lbs. I gained 150lbs.

And I don’t yet know what my path forward is.

The level of damage that will be permanent.

I don’t know anyone who spent the number of years I did on those things and came out the other side.

I’m cycling through every emotion I either couldn’t or wasn’t allowed to feel for so many years.

But I’m still kicking.

And I mourn the death of that medical student today, and the pain his friend suffered.

Someone should have told him: you, as a person, are enough.

And you are loved.

And you are needed.

Please stick around.

So for my 3 or so weekly readership, or any who come across this page.

And need to hear the above.

I need you here. Please stick around.

We have so much tom foolery left to do.

So many sights to see.

Laughs to share.

Tight hugs to give.

Don’t make me live through this nonsense for nothing.

When you hit rock bottom, the only way left is up.

I’m tossing down the rope.

Please, make the climb.

I believe in you.