|Brave New Wonderland (A World On Drugs)
||[Oct. 15th, 2013|12:10 pm]
Several months ago I went out on an overnight trip with friends, leaving the old folks alone. When I returned I found the mother had taken another fall, and was on an anxiety trip that persists to this day.
At first it was so bad that the mother could not get out of her chair, and I had to take over the running of the house, which for me meant no writing, and an extended vacation from Second Life, as well as all other internet activities.
The level of responsibility I was put under eventually drove my own health into the ground, and I became incapacitated myself. Thus I had to call on friends for outside help in getting the shopping done and getting the folks to their doctor appointments.
At one such doctor appointment, I tried to get some answers out of the mom’s doctor about what her condition was and how long it was likely to last. He seemed of a mind that there was no condition. And he suggested that doing her chores for her was not a good idea, as she needed to be getting exorcise.
That was the beginning of my being clued to the possibility of an anxiety condition similar to one I suffered years ago after having been given Xanax.
Because of my collapsing health, things just stopped getting done around the house. Thus the mother started getting out of her chair to do a few things, but she could only keep going for a short time before the anxiety would start making her feel dizzy again. This is also consistent with what I went through with Xanax.
Last week, the mother took a notion that one of her meds was the cause of her problem. She laid off of that medication for two days. This brought on what appeared to be a mini-stroke and another fainting spell, which would also be consistent with my Xanax experience.
When they gave me Xanax, they explained that it was a psycho tropic drug that might cause me to hallucinate. To me this sounded like I might see a few pink elephants cross the room. Sounded fun and not at all scary. What they didn’t tell me is that these psychotropic drugs don’t cause colorful trippy hallucinations. What they do is blow your fears up all out of proportion, in my case to the point where I became completely immobilized with terror.
You see, my fear was that I had some kind of condition that was life threatening. Under the influence of that drug, I thought I was dying all the time. And I was making daily trips to the emergency room, just to be told there was nothing wrong with me.
Even after I eventually figured out for myself what was going on, the entire medical establishment of Maryland doubled over backwards to defend Xanax and offered no help at all until I started talking malpractice and lawsuit. Where upon they promptly brought in a psychiatric nurse who explained there was nothing anyone could do for my condition. It was up to me to achieve some realization that I was not dying and fight my way back to rationality on my own.
It is in my nature to be a tenacious survivor, as well as being analytical of my own condition. I know how to gage what is normal for me and determine when something is off center. And thus, after a year or so, I was able to fight off the effects of that drug by simply ignoring the belief that I was dying, because it couldn’t be justified logically.
But no one else I know uses their mind the way I do. I’m an extremely unusual thinker with a high tolerance for pain. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to be able to beat that situation the way I did. I would expect them to end up addicts for life, in total slavery to their fears, and the whims of a heartless medical community.
So, the possibility exists that the mom is now journeying down that road. Her fear is of getting dizzy spells and falling. Thus she fears being dizzy to the point where it makes her dizzy just to get out of her chair. And she’s on so many drugs I couldn’t even begin to guess which might be the culprit, or if it might be an interaction between two of them. But she’ll surely never get any doctor to even look into the possibility without threatening a criminal investigation. And that will never happen.
For the record, I’m also reasonably certain the illness that put my aunt in the hospital was related to drugs she was taking. And there is no doubt that she died of something she picked up in the hospital.
I know I’m not in a position to do anything about this situation that exists. It’s just a fact of modern life that these people we have no choice but to entrust our lives to are not trustworthy, and that we turn our backs on them at our own risk.
I’ve known this since the 80’s when I had my bad drug experience. I knew it in 2007 when X, my anonymous significant other, went off the deep end. But it did not hit me until this morning when I was dwelling on the situation with the mother that X had been put on Xanax in 2007.
I went back in my old saved E-mails to verify it. X was not only on Xanax, but other highly dangerous personality altering drugs at that time. This morning I was looking down the list of potential side effects of the drugs listed in the E-mail and seeing a perfect picture of why the person I knew so abruptly disintegrated, replaced by someone I didn’t know.
So, what were X’s fears? X feared losing things, both physical possessions and people. That was already an obsession with X. But if that obsession was magnified by the drugs, one could easily see how that could turn into an insane obsession with destroying anything I liked and seemed to be giving more attention to than X was getting. Combine that with the effect of psychiatrists messing with X’s gender issues, and the effects of insane internet hate groups urging X on, and we have the perfect set up for the creation of a monster.
Six years after the fact I’m finally starting to get a grip on what actually happened, but it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference. I can’t stop anyone from taking the drugs they’re prescribed. I’m still taking plenty of drugs myself, which I expect will jump up and bite me at one point or another, if they’re not responsible for conditions I’m dealing with now.
I repeatedly warned all my friends, including X, that Xanax was dangerous. That has never stopped one person from taking it. And every time you turn on the TV, you’re being asked to consider taking drugs that they tell you right to your face can kill you. And still people rush to buy them.
It wouldn’t have made any difference if I’d understood it was the drugs causing X to be that way back in 2007. X did not have my mental tenacity. I could not ask X to go through what I endured to beat Xanax. I’m surely not about to ask my mom to do it. It’s just something I have to accept. Doctors and psychiatrists are granted the power to play with peoples’ minds. So is every idiot troll on the internet, not to mention religions.
It is truly said that what you get out of your mind depends entirely on what you put into it. And there are so many readily available poisons today. And we wonder why kids are shooting up schools. We wonder why the entire human race seems to be going insane, or lapsing into incurable stupidity. We wonder how it is that no one seems to be able to think intelligently.
Oh, we make up lots of conspiracy theories to justify this situation. It’s a plot to dumb down the masses so they can be better controlled by their leaders. But look at our leaders. Our entire government has become dysfunctional to the point of total shut down. Is there something in the water in Washington? No. Are they all taking orders from some satanic phantom government? No. The one question that will never be asked, which should be asked, is what meds are they on?
No, I’m not in a position to save the human race from its foolish need for a little pill to fix every little problem. That is not the question I find myself facing this morning. My quandary is, does this sudden realization make it possible for me to finally forgive X? And, surprisingly, I find the answer is yes.
It will never be a matter of my expecting X to get back to being the person X once was. That person, I’m sure, is quite dead and incapable of being resurrected. And I can not feel the slightest bit of affection for the person X became. But all of my contempt for that person is gone. My need to force some semblance of rationality on that person has passed. It doesn’t matter to me anymore whether X understands that it wasn’t me who changed, or that any apparent changes in me resulted from what I was allowing X to feed my head with.
If you get out of your head what you put into it, I was indeed filling my head with X in those days. And that was my favorite poison at the time. So it seems we don’t even have to take the drugs ourselves. We just have to be closely involved with someone taking them, and the resulting insanity spills over into us, poisoning us, making us do things we should know better than to do.
I’m sure I will never know what became of X. It’s really none of my business anymore. But, if X should still be reading, all my former curses are withdrawn, including my famous pony curse. My ponies don’t hate X anymore. And, consequently, I don’t have to look on my ponies negatively anymore. Maybe I’ll get them out again and enjoy having them around. Maybe this whole Brony thing will stop bugging me so much.
It has taken 6 years to fully comprehend all the ways in which both X and I were affected by the poison of both the drugs and the internet. It is my hope that I have finally purged the last of it – that I may move forward with my life as myself, rather than what that poison tried to make of me. Or, at the very least, that there will be no more silent swearing sessions every time I remember something X did or said that made no sense.
A world on drugs is a world down the rabbit hole. It’s no place to be expecting anything to make rational sense. And all those expecting things to make sense are doomed to disappointment. Is survival possible in a world of irrationality? Maybe. Let us hope so. But if so, we will have to stop seeking solutions in a rational manner. We shall have to become masters of our own insanity, developing new rules of the science of illogic. The older folks will surely hate it. But the young folks born into it will probably get along quite well in their brave new wonderland.