sly-cotropics

"Is it unreasonable for me to want a diagnosis before taking any more pharmaceuticals?" I asked my mini-shrink.
Dr. Samson is about 50-ish. He's probably 5'1". He works out every morning with Eric Snidely of the Palookaville Snidelys at the Palookaville Athletic Complex, the teeming epicenter of Palookaville Society. They are usually there when the Palookaville Mental Health Alliance Walking Team 2006 convenes for practice. He freaks Siobhan out. "He's like a hair-covered adolescent. He strains so hard to keep up with Snidely. Did you see that? His eyes almost popped out of his head when he tried to lift that weight!"
Their form is terrible. When they lift the dumbells in a standing position, their upper torsos jerk backward violently. Snidely is a grunter/growler/yeller; one of those dudes who grunt, growl or yell when they lift a heavy weight. He insists on listening to 80's hair metal every morning over the Complex's system, much to the dismay of the Walking Team. He's also married to a former stripper, and will go out of his way to inform you of this and the fact that she's 15 years younger than he. It's embarrassing. When we were teenagers, he would hang out with some of the "cool" Palookaville guys. I remember talking with his friends at the beach one day. My friend Stacey inquired about Eric. "Who? Snidely?...aw, man, we're not hangin' out with that dude anymore. Last night we were out at club in Chicago and that guys dancin' like this..."Bob Fortis started imitating Snidely's dance moves. It looked like the dance Emilio Estevez does in "The Breakfast Club" and Billy Idol in his videos pre-plastic surgery and dreadlocks; sort of like throwing punches in time to the beat with a really serious look on his face."...we were like, 'Snidely, get away from us dancin' like that, ya cheesehead!'"
What's more embarassing is I rang in 1987 with Snidely's tongue in my mouth. Happy Frickin' New Year. Alcohol is Satan.

The Doc is slumped down in his chair with one leg up, resting the heal of his shoe on the seat. He looks like a strange bearded 12 year old who is so bored, he can no longer sit correctly.
"Nooo...it isn't...unreasonable." He puts his leg down and scoots back into the chair. "The thing is, it doesn't matter what your diagnosis is..." He puts both of his tiny hands in the air, palms out with fingers spread, "...there's really only ten total medications for any of 'em. You got some anti-depressants, some mood stabilizers and the anti-psychotics. The anti-depressants are preferable to the mood stabilizers because the side effects are generally more tolerable."
I have been off of any medication since October. Many of my compulsive behaviors have come back; cleaning, organizing, shopping, spending, editing and re-editing this blog, etc. I am still depressed and anxious. The level of anxiety is rising as the season moves along. Soon I suspect I will transition to my hypo-manic phase after this long depressive bout. The anxiety precedes the upswing. I am afraid I will take on too much and crash again in the fall. When I think about more than the immediate future, the cycle of thought that takes me to suicidal ideation kicks in, so I abruptly "thought-stop", a technique I learned at County Central. It involves identifying "trigger" thoughts and switching your focus to something else. The problem with thought-stopping is I can't get much thinking about long range goals done. I keep focused on what is in front of me, and that's how I can get through the day.
When I was in the hospital programs, I was taking 5 medications per day. I was so drugged, it took all of my energy to attend the 4 hours of the outpatient program. I would get out of bed, shower, put on something off of the floor, drive to the hospital, sit through the programs, drive home and climb back into bed. I did this for 5 weeks. Then, one Friday I woke up, looked at the pill organizer on my nightstand, and ignored it. Perhaps if I were 97 and in a nursing home, I could count on a staff to keep up this meds regimen. At 7 am, I was supposed to take Synthroid for my sluggish thyroid. After breakfast, I was supposed to take a Welbutrin XL-300 mg. At 3 pm, I was supposed to take 75 more mg of Welbutrin. At 8 pm, I was supposed to take 30 mg of Lexapro. At 10pm, I was supposed to take 50 mg of Trazadone. Who's life works that way? Who could remember it all? How could I ever keep this up and try to work at a normal job, let alone my job which requires complete schedule flexibility? Fuck it. Ridiculous bullshit.
"The thing about the meds is, the side effects are immediate. The benefits are gradual." Doc was using his arms and hands to demonstrate the initial intensity of the side effects(hand up high) versus the benefits(other hand down low) and the graduation of diminishing effects(slowly moves hand down) and increased benefits(slowly moves other hand up).

"Do you think it's weird that he has guinea pigs?" I was walking with Tula and Siobhan during practice. "I mean, a man in his 50's? A psychologist? With children's pets?"
Tula is from Peru. English is her second language. "How so? Does he eat them?" she asked. Seriously.
"No! I didn't mean weird like that...wait... do they eat guinea pigs in Peru?"
Tula didn't flinch. "Yes."
There was a pause in the conversation for Siobhan and I to absorb this. Bon Jovi blared in the background.."Cuz I'm A Cowboy...On a Steel Horse I Riiide...I'm Wanted (Waantteed) Dead Or Aliiiiive!"
"I will have many questions about guinea pig cuisine in a moment, but let's get back to my shrink being a 50 year old dude with guinea pigs. That he's named. He's named them-the guinea pigs."
"What are their names?" asked Siobhan.

"There's Buster, Ginger and Heather." Doc had his foot back in his chair and was counting off his guinea pigs on his fingers.
"Why would you ever name a guinea pig 'Heather'?" I ask him. No matter what we begin talking about during a session, it digresses to some inane topic like this.
"Because I didn't like Ashley." he looked pleased.
"Why would you ever name a guinea pig 'Ashley'?" I ask incredulously. "Did you want this guinea pig to grow up to be a stripper or just really common?"
I don't think he followed, just shrugged and told me he suspects Buster "slept with" Ginger. It seems she weighs a little more than Heather, indicating she might have "some buns in the oven."

"Now, wait...have you ever eaten guinea pig?" I ask Tula.
"Oh, Yes! It is a delicacy in Peru. My grandmother grows them, eh, breeds them for that purpose." Another pause while Siobhan and I process. "I've Seen a Million Faces...and I've Rocked Them Aa-All...Cuz I'm A Cowboy!..."
"How are they prepared?" Siobhan asks.
"They are broiled and served with a rich sauce. It's delicious!"Tula went on to explain that there is a custom observed when eating the head of the guinea pig. "There is a bone, shaped like a wolf. You take it out and paint it black and place it in the bottom of a shotglass. After you take a shot, your fortune can be read."