It’s the reason so many psychiatric patients eventually exhaust all but the most devoted of their support system.
Come clean—I stopped taking one of my meds.
But be fair—I told my doctor, my psychiatrist that is, and though skeptical, he agreed.
It’s called Remeron and it has two faces. The first is to lift the spirits. I looked it up on a great website—crazymeds.org. OK, maybe not the most reliable, but definitely more readable than the drug-sponsored sites.
This guy’s take (site is obviously written by a manic)?
Might be. Because it does exactly what dope did to me, those many years ago when I was young and experimental.
Remember the munchies?
“Coffee ice cream!” I shouted over my shoulder at Raf, who was puzzled—why was I going to CVS at 11PM? And why couldn’t I stop and answer, so urgent was the craving?
Oddly, I don’t actually like coffee ice cream—but four hours after taking Remeron 15mg PO at HS (that's for Ruthie, to remember her nursing days) I would commit armed robbery to get it.
Well, it wasn’t doing my blood sugar any good—to say nothing of my cholesterol. And my other antidepressant—Lexapro—had worked fine for two years, until Wal-Mart sacked me when I was working my way through the death of Franny.
I convinced the psychiatrist. And I tapered off the drug, as instructed.
First days were fine. Actually, almost better than fine. I was in Culebra and had an exalted moment. I was on the morning trot, listening to The Creation, when it hit me, how uncannily apt the music of my journey had been. Starting with Winterreise as I went into the bottom of death and despair. Then Beethoven, the Heiliger Dankgesang—as I moved through sickness to health. Lastly, The Creation, as I gave birth and set forth a Franny—a new Franny, my Franny—into the world again.
The Creation—get it? The gods aren’t subtle around here....
We came to a hill, Franny and I—she was trotting alongside of me—and the Haydn came to a long, achingly beautiful ascending—acsending, catch that word?—passage.
Right, so we were three: Franz Joseph, Franny and I.
So I had Franz Joseph in my ear. I reached out and grabbed Franny by the shoulders and hugged. And we sailed up the hill together.
Right—all was well for the next couple of days. But then I stopped writing. Got off my normal schedule. And two days ago, had a very strange thing happen.
Well, it’s happened before. And somehow, it was 2PM and I hadn’t eaten anything. So I went to the café, and they made me a very good, very large tuna sandwich.
Oddly, the sensations didn’t go away. For me, hypoglycemia is about anxiety. I get desperate / frantic to eat.
You do, and it goes away.
Why wasn’t it?
Right—went to CVS and bought orange juice. Drank the full container.
Still felt hungry.
Then Miss Taí calls—she’s sensing a rat, or maybe something fishy. I tell her about the hypoglemia. Call tomorrow.
By the time Raf arrives, I’m pretty much a wreck. Now I’m having muscle cramps, and I decide I need magnesium. And oddly, the muscles cramping are ones that never cramp—my fingers and the top of my ankle. Then I notice that I can’t really breath. Well I can, but not easily. And damn, what’s going on with my blood sugar?
Why am I so anxious?
And why was I still feeling strange the next day?
And feeling dammit it’s not fair why has my life been so fucking hard I’ve had to STRUGGLE FUCKING STRUGGLE for fucking years now and I’ve never had it easy and fuc kingf can fuqeiufam l;alcqm09rinf p’
Phone rings. Miss Taí, wondering how my mood is?
Can’t talk, I need to eat, call me tomorrow.
But she made me think. This couldn’t be hypoglycemia. Come on, Marc—you’re an old nurse. Think it through. What’s different?
I go into the kitchen. Why am I here? Why is a banana in my hand? Am I supposed to eat it…..
You can eat it if you want. Now go back into the kitchen.
Why am I standing in front of the sink?
Water—you need water.
And now the pill.
I see the pill in my palm. I take it and swallow it. It is four fifteen.
At five, I am doing dishes. I am telling myself, ‘you’ve also been given stuff many people have not. You are way talented in ways many others are not. You see things others don’t. You had wonderful parents, and have a long stable marriage. Yes, it’s been hard. But others have had it harder….’
OK—so Taí? Call me at four—let’s figure out how to sell this book.
And thanks! 
