Why I Quit Meds. Part II.

Or how I learned to trust myself. Reluctantly.

As it turns out, there is no demand avoidance more hobbling than entitling a post “Part I” and having to fulfill the promise of a “Part II” and “III.” The prospect of disappointment frightens me. As a related note, I’ve also come to discover that I cannot sell a novel on contract. I need to write the thing before I can sell it because the expectations are stultifying. I imagine it’s akin to naming a child, “Nobel-winning scientist,” as far as performance anxiety goes. In any case, in last week’s installment, I’d talked about “What Happened,” as it relates to securing an ADHD diagnosis and seeking medication.

While it is still absolutely wild to me that when the occasion arises, that we are each tasked with administering personality-altering substances to ourselves and then diligently noting the pros and cons, and then filling in our own owner’s manuals based on these highly subjective observations, I am also learning that there is great merit in it. It is good for personal morale and self-esteem.

I have complaints, don’t get me wrong. Like, just once I wish proceedings on This Planet were designed to be just the teensiest bit more user-friendly. Like to where intuition weren’t quite so dulcet and narcissistic delusion not so shouty.

As a person for whom there were mostly only ever three feelings over the past four decades, namely, Hunger, Outrage or Cold (sometimes all three if the windows were opened for a large cross breeze before lunch [at me]). I feel unqualified to make choices surrounding my own care. Especially since self-abandoning and pretending I had no needs had been so effective for so long.

I’ve written about the experiences of changing my medications and dosage in a previous stack entitled, Medication Anorexia but the general TL;DR is that: