LIke most delusional patients, those who seek treatment, I refuse to take antipsychotics. In the beginning, I was willing to do so for an experiment, testing a theory, the idea being, if I was truly delusional, all my life's problems would go away in approximately weeks. If only days. SEe?
After a few days of being on one I had never tried before, I realized how ridiculous this concept was, and stopped. I still take my bipolar meds as prescribed. Although I went through a time period where I delusionally believed they were swapped for sugar pills until I drank with them, and then--only then--did the experiment at last work. Because they still interact with alcohol. Science prevails.
Every bipolar questions the bipolar diagnosis until he or she finds him/herself manic again. Then, sugar pills or not, stupid, maybe all those doctors were right. You forget how bad it was, which means you forget how good it was, as if mental illness is not a curse but a gift, and good people don't know how good they've got it, and all the bad people are here to remind them. Mania, I don't remember.
Which means, I question the bipolar diagnosis a lot lately. No bipolar ever really wants to be stable, no matter how much we whine and cry about it. Because you give it to us, and we're unhappy. We're still fucking bored with it. We forget the bad, which means we forget the good. If the doctors let us be bad, and fucking miserable all the time, how we're supposed to be,
upon sudden insight,
WE'd take our sugar pills,
Probably still with a few shots of Grey Goose too.
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