Hard pass

Okay, I can finally stop gaslighting myself and admit with confidence: the Seroquel is making me feel worse—not the side effects, the Seroquel.

My body frightfully faint, my limbs hopelessly heavy, as though I’m wading through water with my clothes on. Seroquel really is the ankle weight of psychiatric medication.

My heartbeat ticking erratically as though I’m losing time, my anxiety untouched —like a virgin. I thought this drug was supposed to be anxiolytic?

Sure, Seroquel sends me to sleep with the grace of a punch to the face. —And let’s face it, I’ve never been able to resist a smooth-talking sedative. However the morning disorientation and grogginess far outweighs the illusion of a genuine restful nights sleep.

I really hoped this medication would blunt my untameable emotions, but instead it has blunted something far more essential: my creativity, my vocabulary, my mind. Over the past few days, I’ve felt cognitively stunted—as though English is no longer my first language. Words vanish from my mind as I reach for them, leaving me feeling disconnected from the very thing I love the most — writing!!

I cannot tell you how long I have been working on this post, my brain in its current state has the same enthusiasm and vigour as drying paint.

And honestly, I’m not one to be overly fastidious when it comes to drugs. If this medication granted even a shimmer of relief —a sexy, buzzy high, or a seductive veil of calm—I’d gladly accept the dulling as fair dos. But there’s no reward. Only the feeling of my mind being eroded like the White cliffs of Dover!

I did not take my Seroquel tonight.