I have nothing to do. I can’t read.

If there was a medication that could heal you of your crazy but it meant you couldn’t enjoy reading, would you take it? I bet most of you wouldn’t.

They never told me this would happen as a side effect. They never told me the side effects. THEY NEVER TOLD ME THE SIDE EFFECTS OF MY MEDICATION.

A (distant) future in grad school?

I just feel kind of lost in life. My job’s not very fulfilling so I’m toying with the idea of getting my PhD but I’d have to study for the GRE and my attention span is not so good because of  my meds. So I guess it will just take longer, a little at a time. I think GRE scores are good for 5 years so I’ll have some time if I can just score well once. Too bad my original good scores expired. I can’t believe it’s been over 5 years since I took the GRE. Damn.

 

But yeah I would really love to do actual research instead of manual labor for a pharmaceutical company. It’s just a totally different degree of cognitive engagement. Academia is more engaging. But it has its cons, as well. Funding is competitive, as a professor. Money is short. I would also have to T.A. to fund myself, and my attention span issue there, plus poor motivation.

 

One possibility, and this is a stretch, is that if my mental illness gets better for some odd reason (off pot for long enough, possibly?), then I can get off my meds and my attention span and motivation will recover. This is a long-term possibility, thinking like years here. But it’s the best one.

What do you think?

Maybe the psychosis will just go away on its own.

You know what started it? Pot. I had my first telepathic experience on marijuana, and it was excruciating. I still get spikes of it from time to time.

If it IS pot, if I exercise enough the deposits in my fat should burn away.

Might also explain why exercise seems to increase symptoms, and not in a regular pattern.

I just want to tell my psychiatrist how presumptive and how much of a prick he is. I might drop him a note as he’s leaving Kaiser for UCSF in two months, at the end of his stay. Positive criticism, give him some personality stuff to work on.

Kratom never caused my psychosis. Kratom is a helpful plant. You just have to respect it and dose gradually.

This place is sort of the unofficial log of my schizophrenia. I am diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder but I’m not depressed anymore so I think the diagnosis should be changed to bona fide schizophrenia but they didn’t do that because psychiatry is an ineffectuate shitshow. I can’t stay in my room too long because of the ants. What I mean is, there aren’t actual ants here, but I am antsy. I am restless. I can’t just sit or stand and enjoy being alive. I am not happy to be alive. There is nothing to be happy about, and I am not happy about nothing. My mood is not too good. The voices show hints of starting in the afternoon and progress pretty seriously, regularly, in the evening. So that’s like around four to five or probably sooner is more accurate, as I am wont to dumb things down and make everything seem rosy when it’s not. No one knows who I am, and they say they understand my condition but they don’t. My dad doesn’t even think I have one. He’s opted for the conspiracy theory one, where the government intelligent agencies are using advanced technology to disrupt my cognitive patterns. His too. He has schizophrenia, paranoid, but his is undiagnosed and he doesn’t want to believe it’s a medical condition. He’s never done drugs so he has no idea how powerful the human mind is. I have so I have a hint, but even if I hadn’t I think I would still be convinced it’s a medical condition. But I’m not. When I’m schizophrenic, I believe voices are real, and I’ve given up trying to explain how they happen. I.e. what their mechanism is. So my condition is calling and I can’t write anymore right now. My instincts are fucked, I get called by them to get up and walk down the stairs, go outside, vape a few minutes, go back inside, sit at the computer, realize I have nothing to do here, vape a little, go back outside downstairs, repeat the whole process ad nauseum. I can’t read. I envy, really really, people who love reading. It’s such a rewarding peaceful thing. My mind is not at peace. I have to go back to work in a month and I hope I will probably be able to, but I don’t anticipate my condition leaving any time soon. I think this may be permanent. I think I just don’t have a life anymore.