I don’t know why, but the upswing that I had seems to be dissipating. Its vanilla sky is falling into darkness, I’m afraid. If you knew me better, you’d know that darkness is the whole of me. I’m neither proud, nor ashamed, of that. It is, and always has been, my lot. Perhaps you’ll come to understand why, one day. When you do, would you mind explaining it to me? I thank you, in advance.
This is my second week on the increased dosage, and I am aware that it is still not what one would call a high dosage. It’s only Abilify, for Christ’s sake. It isn’t as though you’ve put me on anything too serious. For that, I do offer many thanks. As you know, I have zero intention of taking any heavy handed medication. Unless, of course, you consider whiskey and tequila heavy handed… 😉 In any case, I’m feeling very sad most of the time and, though I’ve resumed taking the ‘anti-nightmare’ drug you prescribed, I’ve had no luck with it, whatsoever. I suppose another week, or two, or ten, is in order to allow it time to reach a ‘therapeutic’ level in my ol scarlet.
Speaking of the scarlet, I might add that mine is feeling rather muddied by your prescriptions. Not only yours, but the pain meds, as well. I can feel my sugar level rising and I don’t like it a bit. It’s all very frustrating. I’ll take care of it, but I thought you’d like to know. It also tastes funny. I got a paper cut the other day, and that’s when I noticed the taste of chemicals. I feel as though it would be better to utilize the expertise of an actual shaman, that way I’d not have this disgusting muck running through my veins. That is not meant as a slight against you, dearest Doc. You are, in your way, very much like a shaman. Unfortunately, the medicine you deliver is limited by the mind of modern, money grabbing, chemists and the vulgar corporations that they work for.
You know, Doc, I’ve seen your paintings. They are quite lovely. Your mind is keenly observant and the way you express that fact on canvas is sublime. I am still contemplating your post modern American Gothic. I realize that it’s been done to death, but you bring a certain something that I haven’t seen before. Considering your suggestion that it is a commentary on modern marriage, I offer a counter critique: The woman, detached as she is, is missing her middle, while the man is cut off just below the genitals. No legs. I think that your painting expresses some hostility towards women, portraying this particular representative of our gender as soulless. While the man, legs obviously missing, face painted in some primal, tribal, manner, has been cucked by the female; Punished for being a man, primitive and traditional in his ways. This leads me to wonder about your personal relationship(s) with females. Is that why you became a psychiatrist? Do you feel that your opinions are valid because you make $4 a minute? Does the money really fill that void, Doc? The void left by women who could not see your true worth and how did not value your incredible insights? I believe you should consider that possibility. It’s quite a shame that a man, such as yourself, waste time and energy on any woman who does not see his worth. Until you realize that, you’ll never be a real shaman, and that would be such a waste.
Don’t take the previous paragraph to mean that I have any designs on you, Doc. I assure you that I do not. There are a couple of men that I do rather enjoy talking to, but neither would have me in my current state. I understand. I’m not so stupid, or ego centric, that I am blind to certain facts. Although…it would be nice to live that way; to imagine that I am simply the most this and that who ever lived. Were I one for that line of thinking, I’d not be emptying my purse for your help, I’m sure. I thought I should clear that up…
I’m going to straighten the house a bit and think about what to do with the remainder of this beautifully stormy day. Last night, lightning hit our front yard in electric blue splendor. It was as though the war in the heavens had become so violent that it tumbled through the Veil. Very exciting! The skies absolutely roared with vengeance, and I could feel it, as it seemed to inform my very own flesh and blood and bones; letting me know that not all imaginations are imaginary.
Enjoy your day, Doc…