Better Living Through Chemistry

Friday I saw Dr. Altman in the City. It's the middle of the seventh month where I'm solely on the Geodon. Now more than ever I understand it's crucial to be honest with him about everything. I learned the hard way after two decades living with the SZ that any unusual thought is fair game because it could be the result of the illness. For too long, I was loathe to use the schizophrenia as an excuse for my behavior, so when the troubling thoughts appeared, I told myself it was something I was doing that was wrong. In reality, the SZ had found an opening in which to insert itself. It loves an opening.

As my therapist, Max, has told me, "You have some control up to a point, but only some control." I did all I could before I needed to go on the Stelazine, and right now, I've done all I could on my own with the Geodon. I felt I was wrong for not being able to control it, and now I accept that it hasn't been easy, and I forgive myself.

Sitting in the chocolate brown leather chair across from Dr. Altman, I told him what used to go on in my head in the 1990s for five years until I started grad school. A troubling thought would pop into my head uncontrollably, and it upset me. I hadn't told my first psychiatrist because at the time, I hadn't connected the dots and realized it could've been brought on by the SZ. Now I know better.

When I said that sometimes it's still hard on the trains and in restaurants, he suggested we consider going higher on the Geodon, especially because I haven't experienced any side effects. When I was younger, it was a point of pride to be taking only 5 mg of Stelazine and nothing else. In reality, that was way below the maintenance dose. In 2003, as soon as I began seeing Dr. Altman, he raised it to 10 mg, and shortly after, I began having new troubling thoughts-different ones. As loyal followers of my blog know, in April 2007 Dr. Altman instituted a cross-titer from the Stelazine to the Geodon.

From the summer of 2004 until he switched drugs, I've lived with a subtle worry, as documented in Recovery Café: Robin and Chris, my inaugural blog entry of that series. Looking back, I can remember when it all started. In August, 2004, I was the featured performer at the Italian American Writers Association's poetry reading at the Cornelia Street Café, in the West Village. I had my fifteen minutes of fame behind the microphone. That night, I read the breakdown scene from my memoir, Left of the Dial. I ended my reading with a victory scene.

It's not what a lot of us would've done, and to this day, I have no idea why I chose to publicly disclose on stage. Exactly one month later-on September 11, 2004-I was on the bus and then the Staten Island Ferry going to the City to attend the poetry reading, and I had a mini-meltdown. Looking back, I realize that was the beginning of my recent worries. Yet again, at the time, I felt responsible for what was going on: if I tried harder, wouldn't the thoughts go away?