MAY 24, 2013 :: 7:01 AM
It's been fifteen days of delusion at this point. Frankly, I'm exhausted. My mind trying to keep itself from spinning into terror is tiring. Work is tiring. Being normal at home and behaving normally with the dog and husband is tiring, not to mention being normal in front of people who are not the dog and husband.
I turn thirty on June 8, which is approximately two weeks from now. Two of my closest friends are flying in from New York to be with me, which is its own kind of miracle. But I worry that when they arrive, I won't really know them. They'll be as unreal as C and Daphne currently are. I won't trust that they are who they say they are, and therefore I won't be able to be affectionate without feeling a deep, aching sense of fraudulence.
I spent Monday night sobbing on the floor of the dining room, feeling lonely as all get-out because I don't belong where I'm supposed to.
Dr. M has suggested that I try Clozapine. I remember Clozapine. I first heard about it the first time I was hospitalized, in 2002; it was what the patients with schizophrenia took. However, it is also shown to cause agranulocytosis, which causes a dangerous decrease in the number of white blood cells, and has caused fatalities in some patients. The FDA has only approved Clozapine, also known as Clorazil, for patients willing and able to regularly go in for blood draws and neutrophil counts. It has five black box warnings. And it's usually used as a last resort, which means me -- I've tried every atypical antipsychotic on the block. Dr. M told me to think about it. It is, in most ways, my choice, and I don't know what to do. Do I keep living like this, and potentially let the illness (literally) eat away at my brain? Potentially live for more weeks, or months, without feeling love toward my most loved ones? Exhaust myself over and over again to keep up a front?
What do I do?