Medication, or the lack thereof, can either be the most helpful thing to a person, or the worst. Granted, there's a lot of misdiagnosing going on, children needlessly being poisoned because their parents are too busy to deal with their behavioral issues. Want less hassle? Zombify the kids. Every lackluster parents' answer to their child's incessant curiosity and boundless energy, "My kid has ADHD!" or some other label to explain away their child's lack of manners, social ettiquette, lack of respect for authority, question everything nature... start in the home to find soultions to those "problems" before looking to get that "magic pill". Some kids need the help, most don't, they're just being kids.
Then you have the adults, ones who've been on medication all their lives for a single problem, like ADD, and the older they get, the more medication they're handed to cope with whatever is ailing them; insomnia, heart problems, arthritis, liver damage, muscle soreness, I'm sure they have a pill that makes you like brussel sprouts too, isn't there one for every "ailment" known to mankind?
But when does taking these medications and feeling the way one does, become habit? It takes approximately 21 days to form a new habit.... what about 21 years? Being originally diagnosed when they're a kid, how many actually go and get re-evaluated. The problem with the psychiatrists and psychologist, is that as long as you have a history of having a certain problem, they won't bother to re-evaluate you unless: 1) they care more for the patient than the money and kick backs, 2) you ask for a re-evaluation and fight to get one done (which may or may not lead to being put on more medication for being aggressive and non-compliant) or 3) They ignore the original problem altogether to label you for new ones.
Furthermore, you're never put on just one medication, eventually your medicine cabinet will resemble that of a small pharmaceutical quality control room, with one medication to counteract the side effects of another and another to counteract the side effects of the one used to counteract side effects of the first little poison pill you're given, so on and so forth. See where I'm going with this? Its the snow ball effect. Soon you're taking so many pills that your stomach actually fills up and thinks you're eating food, culling your appetite even futher but then reeling back in horror at the fact there are no vitamins or proteins to distribute to the body. Solution: more pills, of the supplement variety.
You leave one downward spiral for another and get caught in the proverbial catch-22. If you stop taking your pills, your body goes into shock, your brain tries to compensate for an endocrine system that's been suppressed for years, if not decades, neurotransmitters go haywire, like ants with a caved in tunnel, flooding the body with monoamines racing full throttle through the twisted nether of the circulatory system, trying in vane to stabilize everything, which, in short, makes you go temporarily neurotic. Depression, paranoia, anger...
The only way to stop the madness is to fuck it all, wean yourself off, learn some self control... impossible when your future hangs in the balance and depends on everything you have on the table at this very moment. There are no breaks, no way to seclude yourself, no chance of delaying projects and commitments, no time to make health a number one priority in this dog eat dog industry.
Ultimate solution, move to France.
Those of us who witness the ups and downs in our beloved friends are sometimes left with a spirit so shredded and mangled you might as well add milk and eat it for breakfast. Wanting to help, but not wanting to exacerbate the problem by encouraging more pill popping. Listening to the tirades, the outburst of anger, the loathing of self-pity and doubt. Sometimes we sit in a dark corner with our friend, holding on to their huddled, sobbing mass as tightly as we can, lest the winds of agony carry them off to drown in a sea of despair and failed dreams, rocking them back and forth in an attempt to throw them a life preserver of comfort and hope; to shine a light into the darkness encompassing their soul.
The worst of it is not being able to be there, in person. You can't slap a face, hide the bullets, dull the knives, stop traffic or make duct tape as useful as ever. Wrecked with worry, fear, heartache, anger; helpless to do anything except leave messages when the phone isn't answered or the login id is not signed in... frantically dialing every number you can think of to try and get a small army to the rendezvous point and start the search for a lost soul wandering the streets of Santa Monica and lending moral support and a comforting voice to the nerve wrecked pregnant wife sitting at home wondering what the hell went wrong ("Well you see hon, back in high school..."), keep her occupied, keep her mind off it. All the while keeping it on the down low so the drama starved press won't have a field day playing hacky sack with the feelings of a tormented celebrity. Faith, trying to put faith in that the universe will do what needs to be done and hoping that includes bringing him home safe, sane and alive, is getting harder to keep a grip on the longer this takes.
All's quiet on the txting front... no news is supposed to be good news... not in this case.
Edit: So as soon as I posted this, I got good news. Everything's okay, he decided to sit on a hillside to watch the sunrise and was making his way back home. So, he's somewhat good. Thank you universe!
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