Noah Garcia4 said:But they haven't updated my status from an F-20 to an F-25 yet, so I guess I'll just keep making progress in every possible way, day by day. 😵
Honestly, I'm just happy to be alive myself, all things considered. 👍
And now we hear Secretary Varga has been arrested—God help us—and the new director of the Jankomir facility showed up acting like he's got a Rib in his pocket... If I had known back then that I wasn't allowed to smoke anymore, I never would have done it in the first place, right? Does that sound logical to you? 😁
Oh, sure—once you finally pull that F-20 off, you’ll be just as "supercool" as I am. Honestly, if that's your definition of success, then we're all in for a very long, very dull ride. 😵
Noah Garcia4 said:They're quiet, but for what reason? It’s not like they were there when I was actually trying to end it all—not that I stayed around long enough to hear an apology. 😛 It reminds me of that old series about the Black Rose, you know, that whole movement back in the eighties where people were essentially dropping like flies; that show still lingers in the cultural memory, doesn't it? My mother—though frankly, I have no clue if she's currently in Heaven, Hell, or some sort of purgatory 😁—was a total Rose type herself. She practically drank through everything in three days. I remember having my last cup of coffee by the ocean back in September 2014, and once I finally made it back, I just swallowed whatever was left in the cabinet. I spent twelve days in a coma, and then they hand me over to this doctor who had put me on ECT while lecturing her students about whether I was experiencing "regression" or some other clinical buzzword. Eventually, they hauled me off to Jackson—it was quite the "unique experience," to say the least. 🥳 Dealing with rebro haldol wtf at one place, or leponex wtf over at Jankomir? Now, they've switched me to Seroquel XR, and Lithium is off the table entirely 😛 because the feeding tube absolutely wrecked my thyroid. So, picture this: I stumble away from some clueless adjunct professor at the Medical School in Jankić, weighing thirty pounds heavier than when I left the bed, only to be rushed to a hospital in the city so my lungs wouldn't fail and I wouldn't drop dead. And now, 😂 I'm sitting here taking lung medication and smoking cigarettes... I wonder if I can keep this up until tomorrow.
Maybe they’ve finally pulled themselves together 🤷
Noah Garcia4 said:What’s up, everyone? It’s been quite a while, but thanks to a steady supply of Pringles, I’ve finally managed to earn myself a nickname. Did anyone actually miss me? And more importantly, what on earth has been happening in the world lately? 🤔 Oh, wait, I think I know: 🤦 I’ve basically lost my mind thanks to all these pills. Then again, maybe I never had much of a brain to begin with—just weak genes, frayed nerves, and a bunch of messy brain chemistry, right?☕
Anyway, the crazies have been quiet for a while now.
And I am definitely over here messing with my own brain chemistry too 😉
Nathan Robinson8 said:My family has this theory that she isn't meant to be around others. They think she invents things, like claiming her husband assaulted her or that she's four months pregnant. Just stuff like that, I suppose.
The poor woman is clearly in a fragile mental state—it's obvious to anyone paying attention—and she needs support as much as humanly possible.
Nathan Robinson8 said:It is difficult to talk to her right now. She keeps making things up, her eyes are darting everywhere, and she won't stop shaking. My family mentioned placing her in a care facility because she shouldn't be around people alone. I feel completely helpless. Her medication includes unknown, Cerson, Normabel, and unknown, though I am not sure of the dosages since I only managed to jot down the names when my grandfather called me.
What do you mean by "not safe to be among people"?
And when you say she's "making things up," what does that look like in practice? Are we talking about delusions, like she thinks someone is out to get her or something along those lines?
Nathan Robinson8 said:I'm not quite sure where to begin. My aunt was diagnosed with schizophrenia 22 years ago, and until about 2004, she was seeing her psychiatrist at least twice a year without issue. She got married in 2005 and everything seemed fine, at least until menopause hit. It has completely devastated her; in just the last two months, she’s already been hospitalized twice. She’s become hyperactive and even aggressive—she actually struck her husband a few times. It feels like a total downward spiral in such a short window. I guess I'm wondering if there is any hope left for her, because it seems like everyone is starting to give up on her.
Do you think it's even worth trying to talk to her right now?
What kind of medication is she on, and how long has she been taking it?
When you say people are giving up on her, what does that actually look like?
It’s a total joke—absolute beggary. You go see a private psychiatrist, and they won't just hand you a prescription like a normal human being; instead, they give you some clinical report where they scribble down whatever therapy they feel like prescribing at that exact moment, and then you take that little note to your primary care physician (who, let’s be honest, often decides on their own whim to simply refuse to fill the medication they were actually prescribed) . So, I find myself sitting there, crossing my fingers, praying that the GP actually writes the script so you can finally pick up your (sedative) medication at the pharmacy.
Give it a rest... this forum practically raised him, 😬 so why don't you just leave him alone, 🙂 Lawrence Bailey77😁
Intellect? Is that what we're calling it now? Are you reading? Are you actually thinking? Honestly, I feel like throwing myself off a bridge—though maybe I won't, because let's be real, things aren't always going my way...
Lawrence Bailey77 said:Coming from you, that's just a pathetic, hollow sentiment devoid of any actual substance or motive.👍
and yet, here you are, poking at people struggling with their psychology—people who might not even have the mental capacity trenutno vidjeti neke stvar?
I’m honestly spiraling into this total paranoia that I’ve gone and developed cancer—mostly because my smoking habit is becoming absolutely relentless, and despite the constant, nagging fear clawing at the back of my mind, I just find myself lighting up even more than before.😕
graniteorca62 said:Hey everyone, so, just a quick bit about me—I’ve been dealing with F20.0 paranoid schizophrenia. Currently on Zyprexa at 7.5 mg. I was wondering if anyone else here is navigating the same diagnosis... and honestly, does this thing even have a cure? Like, is there actually an end goal here or is it just a lifelong thing? Also, another thing—I stopped seeing my psychiatrist at the public hospital and decided to switch over to a private specialist instead. The prescription hasn't changed, but I'm curious... will my local family doctor actually write me a refill for a script that was originally ordered by a private doctor? Thanks in advance for any insight,
You aren't "sick."
Just keep taking your meds.
It can be cured.
A prescription from a private doctor carries the same weight as one from a state clinic.
Uširo says: I’m done. I can't deal with this sub anymore because of you illiterate, self-proclaimed healers, amateur psychoanalysts, and the whole gang. You guys even had the nerve to call my 80-year-old mother on some cheesy late-night TV show just to ask $48 about how her son's health was doing.
As long as there are sheep, wolves wearing whatever skin they want will never go hungry... It’s just in a wolf's nature to hunt, and in a sheep's nature to stay at the bottom of the food chain... Everyone plays their part in this ultimate game of existence...
Only a select few actually forge things that the average person simply can't wrap their head around.
Which is exactly why I can't help but act a bit smug on this forum whenever I manage to grasp something profound.
I’ll be the first to admit it—I am a coward, and I find myself desperately clinging to the idea that someone, or perhaps something, actually cares about me. Though, if I’m being honest, there was that one time when I walked away from everything this world had to offer—which led me through some truly grueling stretches of life; though, I suppose the more sensitive types would say I went through hell itself —and frankly, that word crosses my mind far more often than I care to confess.
In my somewhat cowardly worldview, Jesus stands as the ultimate embodiment of love, yet as a mere observer of life, I tend to choose love simply because it feels like a... how shall we put it? A sort of intellectual crutch.
The churches here in the States just seem to ring too loudly; they’re always overcrowded, and the clergy are busy doing whatever it is they do in there.
If I really sit down and think about it, I might just cast aside everything I currently hold true, provided someone could actually present me with something better—or, God forbid, something more beautiful.
Dry platitudes and those cold, hollow comments from others have never really held much interest for me.
And regarding death—which is the actual subject at hand—as a creature driven by a primal instinct to survive, I am absolutely terrified of it.
The absolute worst part about death—if you can even call it that—is this nagging suspicion that "I" won't exist anymore. This specific version of myself, the one sitting here right now, just... vanishes. Maybe that’s why I ended up turning toward Christianity in the first place; it was born out of pure, unadulterated fear. We can speculate all we want, dive into endless philosophical rabbit holes, but at the end of the day, we're left with nothing but what's right in front of us—and I desperately hope I’m more than just some biological accident, a mere organism that happened to evolve by sheer chance.
Death is inevitable—there's no escaping that grim reality—and if I'm being honest, I'd just love for it to be easier. To pass away with some sense of peace, feeling as though this truly is my time to go, and that I've finally made my peace with the inevitable.