So if I can’t remember the name of the kid that was in those commercials, now you know why.

I had my quarterly check-in with my psych nurse yesterday.  I basically sat there on her giant couch, surrounded by vaguely-Pier-1-looking pillows, and said:  “I am a raging lunatic.  I am in a more or less constant state of anxiety.  I don’t remember what it’s like to NOT be this way.  I have thought about it, and thought about it.  And the thing is, I KNOW you’re not going to put me on an SSRI.  Or a benzo.”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Right.  Because that was our agreement.  I can’t be on anything that I’m going to particularly ENJOY.  I don’t GET to take anything that I’m going to use as a mental vacation.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So I need to know – is what I’m on, like, the MAXIMUM of what I can take?  Because this is situational.  I get that.  I am going through something that – I don’t know – TENS OF THOUSANDS of people are dealing with right this second, right?”

“Yes…”

“So why am I like this?  A couple of weeks ago I had a total meltdown on the porch in front of our next door neighbor, Andy, who’s super nice and was very polite to me, but I’m sure he thinks I’m completely insane now.  He’s having new siding put on his house, and when I go out to get the paper in the morning, the contractors all kind of smile and wave and look away.  And maybe that’s just the way they are, but I’m thinking maybe Andy said, ‘DON’T TALK TO THE CRAZY WOMAN NEXT DOOR.'”

“I really don’t think Andy said anything like that.”

“I guess I need to stay on what I’m on, but I’ve got….a…an ANVIL on my chest.  What do I do?  I’m going to meetings.  I’m talking to other caregivers.  I never – EVER – lose my shit in front of my mother-in-law, even when she spends 40 minutes drying the sink.  DRYING THE SINK.  Did you know that’s apparently a THING?”

“Drying the sink?”

“Yeah.  It turns out that nearly every insane thing that she does is not unique.  She hoards paper towels.  I find them EVERYWHERE.  She folds them in thirds and puts them in drawers, in cabinets, in the dishwasher…”

“Uh huh.”

“…and it turns out that at least 10 other caregivers say the same thing.  Paper towels.  Kleenex.  But I really thought I was onto something new and extraordinary with the sink drying thing.  I mean she will wipe down every inch of that sink until it’s dry as a bone.  And then the other day this woman Rhonda from my group mentioned that her mother won’t stop drying the sinks, and BOOM!  My head completely exploded.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.  God.  I’m so tired.  But I’m wired.  Tired and wired.”

“Well, I’m going to keep you on what you’re on, okay?  Only I’m going to tweak it a little so you can take 300mg more a day, if you need it.  And you probably need it.  For now.”

“Is that cool, though?  I mean, that’s not going to do anything weird?”

“Well, this would put you at 1,200mg max, which is still fine, although you MIGHT have some issues with word recall.”

“Really? Huh.  Is that why it’s called MORONtin?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

One thought on “So if I can’t remember the name of the kid that was in those commercials, now you know why.

  1. Between a rock & a hard place. Damn! People who are not going through this kind of caretaking have a hard time grappling with the magnitude of it all. You have my complete empathy here.

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