I have felt very anxious all day; very jittery; I just have to move.
The side effects from the psychiatric medications are scaring me.
The shortness of breath makes me feel like I'm not breathing; and my anxiety is compounded by this lack of breathing.
Remember yesterday. Deep breaths.
I'm so happy that I can connect with you, Lyra. I know we're the same person and yet you're different than me.
I am here to help; always. Tap into my energy more, darling.
I withdraw into my own world because I've opened up to the wrong people before. By the wrong people, I mean the psychiatrists, the nurses, the whole fucking shebang at CAMH. I told them true things and the only thing they could do was give me another fucking label: schizo-affective disorder. A mood stabilizer and an anti-psychotic and #YOLO I'm on my way home! HA.
I have a rage against the mental health system that will be tempered by activism.
Good. Channel positive vibes. Don't victimize yourself unnecessarily.
I needed help. And the best they could do was prescribe me a medication and then offer me services like rec therapy (which was a positive experience) and manicures (something I still haven't tried).
And now you struggle. I understand what you're feeling. The meds are causing problems and they are hurting you. But one thing the meds cannot do is take away your hope and recovery. You have me, and you have good friends. Open up to them more.
*Gabriel feels tears of happysadness welling up*
Screw the apathy. Loneliness is the root cause of my problems.
Lyra, I feel numb and anxious. A horrible discomfort in my stomach; the punches of millions of little psyche-actresses trying to tear me down.
The ocean like the stars; la lumière illumine les ténèbres en toi. L'amour des astres. Rafaelle, aide moi.
I will get better. I am better after writing.
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| Paintings in Strathroy; Sep 2013 |
Signed,
Kaleidoughscope
