You! Stop It RIGHT NOW: ADHD meds and Psychosis

Alright, everyone STOP.

I found something to rag on already? Damn, it must be a divine plan for me to come back to this blog.

I need to stop this shit before it gets out of hand. I can’t even get through ten posts on my reader on WordPress without seeing: “ADHD medication may increase the risk of psychosis”. And I can’t read one fucking article related to that without getting this bullshit statistic of “rates of ADHD have increased by *enter bullshit number* within the last year”.

Let’s tackle this one stupid point at a time.

First of all, let’s review: The ADHD medications which are being talked about are stimulants. They are not, and let me repeat this, THEY ARE NOT CLEARED FOR NOR RESEARCHED FOR CHILDREN CONSUMPTION, and yet they are given to toddlers, pre-teens, teenagers, and people under 25. What do all those age brackets have in common? Their brains are still developing.

Some idiot doctor is quoted in this article saying “We compared amphetamines [Adderall and Vyvanse] to people who were prescribed methylphenidates [Ritalin and Concerta]. We found that the Adderall type drugs had an increased risk of psychosis”.

Wow, you guys! Really? Is that what you found? And did something similar happen when you asked people to mainline some meth? Bump some cocaine twice a day? And moreover, did you ask a thirteen year old to do it?

Someone please just take a bat to my fucking head so I don’t have to read this nonsense anymore. No one should be surprised that a type of amphetamine that has a very similar chemical structure to illegal amphetamines is causing something illegal amphetamines cause in otherwise healthy people quite fucking often.

If anything they need to take this opportunity to learn from this. They already fucked up multitudes of people’s lives. So do us all a favor. Do something you should have been doing from the beginning. Scan the brains of your patients before you put them on this shitty medication and scan their brains afterwards, when they decent into brutal, prescription induced psychosis, and publish the results. And tell us exactly what these psychiatric medications are changing in our brains.

But you won’t do that. That would harm your fucking business.

Now, obviously, not everyone experiences this side-effect. Don’t get fooled–that does not mean the structure of your brain doesn’t change. Let me share an article I posted on my job’s facebook page. And let’s really, really talk about this.

This article here is posted on Mad In America. It’s essentially an interview with a man who was on psychiatric medication, anti-depressants, and has his doctorate now, in medicine, and doing research on behalf of medication withdrawal. It was found in some studies that as much as 1/40th of a general starting dose of an antidepressant immediately effects every serotonin synapse, 70% of which are in your gut.

So let’s think about that. I was started out on 10mg on my antidepressant back in the day. 1/40th of that is .25. .25mg of that antidepressant would have had an immediate effect on me. Would I feel it? Probably not. But your body and your cells and your synapses would. And over time, eventually you would too.

Adderall is an amphetamine and therefore directly effects serotonin levels. The recommended starting dose of Adderall for adults is 30mg. Not quite sure how they came up with starting dose for anyone other than adults considering it’s never been researched on children.

.75mg of Adderall will have an immediate effect on your system. Think about that.

We have absolutely ZERO clue as to what any of these psychotropic medications do to our brains. That’s not me hating on the system, that, my friends, is simply a fact. The research is biased, often perpetrated by bribed researchers, and the media is so inept at reporting truth half of what the studies actually say are never reported. Don’t believe me? If you’re in college, take your university library card, get on the database, and go read some real journals. Trust me, if you understand statistics a lot of these studies will ultimately disappoint you.

On a child, on an underdeveloped brain, even half of 30mg is going to have a lasting effect on them.

This idea that ADHD is rising is also bullshit. Why? Firstly, doctors get paid to prescribe these medications. They get little kick backs from pharmaceutical companies. So, if you come in with your child who has a few tantrums a day and has trouble sitting in school, that doctor isn’t going to ask you what the nature of the classroom is or the nature of the household (i.e, whether or not the child is being stimulated in school, whether or not there’s enough physical activity, whether or not the child’s diet is overdosed with sugar, whether or not the child is glued to electronic devices, whether or not your parenting just sucks ass).

What this is doing is invalidating the people who really do have deficits in their attention. You could go in a doctor’s office and say you’re having trouble focusing and walk out with a fucking Adderall prescription.

Recesses are being taken out of schools or the time outside is being shortened. You think that’s not going to affect a child? Even though I was silent throughout my school years, when it was raining and we weren’t allowed to go outside I got fucking restless. Why? Because I was a fucking kid. That’s why.

I feel bad for the children who really can’t focus, who literally spend every day and every night fighting their brains, trying to finish a paragraph in a book they’re assigned to read. While their classmates talk out of turn one time and are suddenly given a prescription.

Then everyone wonders why, when that child turns 13, she has a psychotic break.

For example, I have attention problems. I start things and I don’t finish them. I space out when people are talking and then randomly blurt something. I’m either very interested in one thing, or interested in nothing. But I function like every other person. I love school, and learning, and my attention issues have never been a problem for me, even as a child. I didn’t grow up with the t.v on every second, with a smart phone in my hand, eating freaking Frosted Flakes with extra sugar. Whenever a psychiatrist asks me if I have attention problems I always say no because I’m not going get punched with a label I don’t need when there are people out there who literally have breakdowns because they can’t focus.

Everyone STOP this MASS HYSTERIA. And think CRITICALLY. Please don’t believe everything you read–including me. Go research for yourself.

And stop trying to find quick fixes for every little hiccup in your life. Because quick fixes don’t exist.

Loss

Eleven years old was the first time I wanted to kill myself.

I remember the day pretty well. We were living with a family in their house behind Burger King. We’d been there maybe a few weeks, and had a room to ourselves–my mother, father, and me. It was better than where we were a few weeks before, which was some hotels and a tent. The woman who owned–or rented, I’m not sure which–the house worked as a worker at an animal shelter and liked adopting and fostering different kinds of animals. At one point there was at least four+ dogs in the house, one of them as large as a medium sized bear. The PitBull puppy they brought home they named DeBo (think about the movie Friday) was six months old and he helped me overcome my fear of dogs. I’ve loved Pitbulls every since. They are a bunch of sweeties.

But the day I wanted to kill myself DeBo wasn’t there. I was with a small white kitten who loved me. I can’t remember what they’d named him. But he curled up next to me on a bench they had shoved underneath a tree in the front yard. I was listening to fucking Chamillionaire’s “Rain”, writing, and crying. I remember the words coming into my head: I should kill myself. What did I have? I didn’t have a home, I’d lost all my stuff (what we couldn’t fit in a small storage unit, we had to toss in the dump, including my bed), I didn’t have friends at that point, my father was drinking a lot, and my mother worked all the time. I didn’t see prospects of the future, and I certainly couldn’t see me sitting here at 23 writing about this.

I remember feeling hopeless, feeling worthless, feeling confused, and listening to a depressing song really wasn’t helping. I don’t remember what I did the rest of that day, a lot of crying, a lot of writing, a lot of music. It’s like the moment is just a snapshot in time.

This was before the woman’s daughters and her friends slashed the tires of our car and put a sign on our door that said they didn’t want us there. Because we really wanted to be there, with her mother drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels and taking pills and threatening to kill herself every weekend. Yeah, great environment, I really, really wanted to stay there.

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Anyway, we lost that car to their ignorance.

I think I’m thinking about these things because my therapist called our conversation out on being too logical. I don’t speak with a lot of emotion often, or include a lot of emotion when I talk about things that have happened to me, or things I have done, or pain I’ve been through. I think it’s a coping mechanism I learned over the years that needs to be broken. But it’s interesting to feel as I write this the same sense of loss I felt as a child. It’s weird for it still to linger and still to be so ingrained. It feels like I’m eleven again, sitting on that bench with that cat. It feels like I just learned they slashed our tires and one more thing that I loved dearly (it was a 1972 Ranchero) was being left behind and therefore taken away from me. Something I’ll never get back. It sounds silly, but I didn’t think three years of running around living from place to place could have this much of an impact on me as an adult ten years later. That’s trauma, I guess.

I suppose this is why I don’t think about things emotionally, or talk about them emotionally, I can never handle the emotions that surface. I’m trying to stay present to finish this post, but the tears are heavy and the dissociation is real. Emotional flashbacks, I’ve learned these are called.

I guess the conversation yesterday that I overhead about people’s depression and when it started got me thinking about my own depression. It’s interesting that these feelings mimic those feelings of loss I had when I started getting paranoid and lost all my academic abilities. There’s been a lot of loss in my life, over and over again, as I’m sure it is in many people’s lives, and I’m curious how other people deal with it in a healthy way. I’m not sure I know how. I don’t think I ever learned.

When did your depression start? How have you dealt with it? How do you deal with loss? Those are questions I wonder about you, reader.

And that’s today’s mental truth: loss is a bitch.

Story Time: When I Learned What Was REALLY In My Food.

Wild Imagination.

Some kids, when you show them a cardboard box with squares cut into it and miniature cardboard furniture inside, will look at you while they rip the box apart and call you a moron.

Some kids love homemade toys.

Some kids skin animals in the forest because they’re “curious”.

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Don’t Get Your Brains Scanned Kids, You Might Be A PsYchOPaTH

Some kids are robbed by (or gifted with) an imagination that sucks them away from Earth and into a different consciousness, like Jani Schofield.  But that’s a whole other opinion waiting to happen, so let’s move on.

Then there are kids who were like me, a lot probably, who teeter somewhere between what you would expect in an imagination and what you wouldn’t expect. Or maybe you should expect everything, and that fact that people don’t is why some kids are “normal” and others aren’t.

This thought came to me today, a few minutes ago, a memory that had been long hidden that for some reason was brought out by watching eleven minute YouTube videos of people scarfing down Carolina Reaper peppers.

When I was still in elementary school, we only had one car and it was a truck my mother used to get to work in. My father would walk with me to school and from school. On the corner about two blocks away from my school, there was a little orange market that sold cold drinks, ice cream, and these weird little pastry balls filled with meat. I don’t remember what they were, and I haven’t seen anything like them sense. The market was owned by a family with some kind of Asian descent, so I believe it was a home recipe of theirs. This market is now Front Street Offices. Kind of weird to think about.

I was sad when that little market went away. I was in there almost every day, and across the street from them I found a really heavy, large, expensive-looking watch hanging in a tree. I still have it.

I didn’t like the pastry things. I didn’t know what kind of meat it was, and it smelled like someone boiled the dough, stuffed it with meat, and sprayed some more tap water on it to keep it moist. I don’t know.

I used to get Push Pops. I think those still exist. These things:

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Push Ups, Pop ups, Push Pop, Pop Push, Pop Ups Push down. Whatever.

I liked them until one day I got a red one. I got a red one and ate it happily until there was some weird, slimy mass in my mouth. In fact, there were two of them. I stopped eating and spit it out. I looked at the chunky globs: the Push Pop had frozen off my tonsils. That’s what they were, they were my tonsils and I was standing there terrified, trying to halfway swallow my tongue so I could see if my tonsils were there or not (I couldn’t feel them), and almost crying because was I bleeding? I was!!! Was I going to die? I was going to die. Why was the Push Pop Company trying to murder me? Can I not even trust ice cream in this godforsaken world? 

I didn’t tell my father why I had spit out the chunks. There were no more in the ice cream, so I licked it, paralyzed mentally, until the rest of the murdersicle was gone.

When I didn’t die, I started getting scientific. I knew I couldn’t come to a conclusion about my tonsils because a true theory needs to be tested with multiple experiments. My finishing hypothesis was that the Push Pop hadn’t taken out my tonsils, but that they were putting meat or organs in the ice cream. In order to test that, I would need some more red Push Pops.

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You Fucking See It?? OHEC

I was about seven or eight.

So I got another Push Pop. I got another. And another. They ALL had chunks.

I never ate another Push Pop after that, not the orange ones, not the multi-colored ones. I stopped eating Popsicles in general for many years. Because Push Pop was lying to the masses and putting OTHER people’s tonsils, their organs, KIDS ORGANS into their ice cream, the sadistic bastards.

It wasn’t until I started high school did that fear subside and did I realize, after finally eating a Push Pop styled ice cream, that the red chunks were strawberries.

That was a lot of years of fearing popsicles. Six years to be exact.

Things have never really been what they’ve seemed to me, and I’ve been open to all possibilities, bizarre or not. Why did I revert to this non-common-common-sense tactic of mine as a child, I don’t really know. I think at that point I was so used to weird shit happening—all the nightmares, the demons in the woods, time travel, learning about the weird world of quantum physics (although I didn’t understand much of it until Junior High)—that corporations shoving children’s tonsils and organs into ice cream didn’t seem that far off. 

I guess these memories are popping up more frequently because 1) my birthday is coming up and everything in my childhood seems so separate at this point, so separate from me and my life and 2) because of drones and the puppet Trump and whichever world organization is his puppet master, and police and that boiling Culture Of Fear that’s brewing on the stove top of this world.

Maybe the red chunks in our ice cream ARE tonsils. Maybe every single thought I’ve ever had is true and real and if so then I guess I don’t have any reason to fear them.

Tonsil ice cream tastes great.

FTW. 

*Note* I actually fucking HATE strawberry ice cream. It might have something to do with the truama of all the aforementioned.

Christmas And The Internet

 

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Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate such things. Happy holidays to those who don’t, and happy Solstice to everyone. Yay, the sun is coming back.

I am now a proud owner of a ChromeBook.

I hated them when they first came out until I saw how useful it could be for school. Since my old laptop currefntly has two broken legs, a fractured wrist, and part of its brain is soft and squishy, I knew I’d need something a little more portable and practical than my 24in desktop. It’s 18 pounds. I refuse to be this person:

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I have a 10 inch, the size I wanted. It flips backwards with a touch screen to go into tablet mode and it’ll come in handy for my online class.

The irony of it all? I don’t have a stable internet connection. I just think it’s funny I get technology that relies on the internet I don’t have.

I’m using it to type this post and honestly I’m impressed with how smooth the keyboard is. Although the screen is smaller than your average laptop I can see things just as clearly. I don’t need giant screens.

One complaint I always had with my laptop was when I sat at desks in public places, I felt like everyone was staring at my screen. Not the people who glance and walk past, but like people set up chairs behind me just to watch.

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Exactly Like This

With this thing I can at least block the screen.

Hackers. They’re all hackers, I swear.

Enough paranoia. Here’s why you should get a Chromebook for this coming semester/quarter/year/for your kid you don’t want to buy a 500 dollar laptop for.

And that’s my main goal: it’s much cheaper. You don’t need to buy all the subscriptions that come with laptops. Do you remember the days you could walk into an electronic store and buy a computer pre-loaded with Microsoft office? Remember when you had to put a product key in your office account within thirty days before it expired so you could use word? Remember when you didn’t have to pay for annual subscriptions? Remember when things made fucking sense?

I don’t like that they raised the price on the electronics, took everything important off them, and then still make you buy subscriptions. I think it’s a joke, it’s a scam, and if I don’t need it for work purposes or school purposes, there’s no way in hell I’m going to pay 600$ for something worth 200.

I don’t care if I put the dollar sign on the wrong side. I type it how I say it. Six Hundred Dollars.

 

hqdefault2Why complain about not having Microsoft word installed on a Chromebook when there’s a little thing called Word Online. If you didn’t know, now you know. It’s not as fucking horrible as Google Docs and you can basically do everything word does, except for free. And save it online. Where it will never be a corrupted file. It might get stolen by internet hackers but dude, no one wants your fucking history notes.

If you have a dropbox, it’s even easier to transfer and edit documents online with Microsoft Word for free. 

Have kids? Have 12 year olds? Don’t want them watching a lot of porn? Get a Chromebook.

Have kids who like to play video games on their computer instead of doing homework? Get a Chromebook. Bitches won’t be playin’ no games. Not unless they can handle some serious lag.

Don’t think your ten year old needs electronics to live by? Already mad your brother bought her an Iphone? Does she need to be on Google Classroom for her school because apparently that’s a thing now? Get her a Chromebook. There’s an app for that.

6a00e5536443eb88330147e384504b970bWhy do little kids have Iphones? Don’t give me that “they need a way to get in contact with me” bullshit. Listen. When I was eleven we were homeless and lived in a different town–same county, different town. I went to school in my home town area and often had to walk places to meet my parents to pick me up or went to friends houses until I could get picked up. They bought me a phone so I could stay in contact with them. Sure, this was before fancy touch screens but I didn’t get no Motorola Razor, I got a prepaid cell phone where you had to buy minute cards from Valero.

Because that’s what you give to fucking kids. Phones that aren’t going to make deficits in their attention when they’re in high school.

“My kid is going to be made fun of if they don’t have a phone!”

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Just . . . shut . . . shut the fuck up and get off Earth. Get. Off. Don’t come back until you get a new brain.

Do people not realize what frame rates do to developing brains? You’re teaching them to multitask and not in a good way–too many fast things. Even I notice a difference in myself compared to people barely ten years older than me. I’m jumping around from topic to topic, I’m doing about ten different things on three different devices at once.

Imagine that in your thirteen year old, but ten times worse.

Whatever.

See, I went on a whole tangent and I was talking about fucking Chromebooks.

best-samsung-chromebook-2-11-inch-laptopChromebooks are slim and easily portable.

They take care of all your school needs without any subscriptions.

No, they will not be powerful like your laptop, so don’t post an online review complaining about it. If you don’t understand the specifications of 2ghz and such when you’re reading about them, either do some research or don’t buy it. Don’t consider it a bad product because you’re a fucking idiot.

Taking online classes? Perfect. That’s what I wanted mine for.

Easy access to dropbox/cloud documents. Edit and share documents anywhere.

Eye hackers who gawk at your screen will have to squint and that will give you time to block your screen and whip your head around at them and hiss.

There are some Chromebooks the size of laptops, but . . . that kind of defeats the purpose. Unless you need larger print and webpages for visual reasons.

If you go to school, these are a must. If you don’t think your child needs a piece of high tech technology (you’re absolutely right), this is the perfect beginning device for them. Don’t want them on it all night? Turn off the internet.

maxresdefault2There are simple ways to keep your kids from getting addicted to technology. You just have to be smart about how you buy. Chromebooks are stylish and cute so your kid won’t be made fun of, if you’re one of those superficial people, but they also keep their focus directed on one thing. And like I said, just turn off the modem if you don’t want them on it. They won’t be able to do jack shit.

That’s supposedly a lot of complaints is that it only runs on the internet but think about it . . .what do you do when you get on your desktop? Laptop? Probably Facebook. So . . . what are you complaining about?

Perfect for school. Need to save a bunch of pictures and documents and shit like that? Well, save up your money and buy a laptop. Need something cheaper and more practical because you’re a broke college student eating Ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Get a Chromebook.

Mine resembles a Macbook. So I mean, fool your friends.

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Except that it says Asus.

So I mean . . .

Fool people for .1 second.

Hope everyone is finding some way to enjoy their holidays.

Shout Out to all the ten year olds with Iphones this Christmas. Congratulations, your high school years will be hell when you realize books don’t have apps built into the pages.

Titillating White Candle Holders

I’ve said it a million times in other posts and I’ll say it again, straight up, for any of the general public people reading this who have never encountered mental health issues of any sort, who have never experienced it themselves, have never taken a psychology class or who have never read up on the development of a child brain: get educated.

I mean, really; 58,000 children without a diagnosed mental health issue taking Anti-psychotics like Risperdal and Abilify?

From ages 1 to 6?

While you’re at it, let your doctor toss ’em a couple painkillers for that scratch they got yesterday when they tripped over the stone; they could have a broken leg.

“Serious behavioral problems such as hyperactivity and aggression”

I’m assuming that means a tantrum? Two year old Little Jimmy didn’t get in the car when you told him to for the fifth time this week and stomped his foot and scared you so horribly you took him to Dr. Pusher who held his mouth open with clamps and tossed in some Risperdal, Abilify, maybe a dab of Prozac or something, some Lexapro. Now little Jimmy sits very quietly and does exactly what you tell him to. Mission accomplished.

“We would hope these would be used cautiously”.

Don’t make me laugh, really. Since when have humans had the capability to do anything cautiously to the extent they should?

Anyway, I got bored tonight and started flipping through articles and if you’ve been following me for a while you know how much I love to rant and rave on this type of shit. I mean, damn, you must have one aggressive one year old to be condoning use of anti-psychotics on them.

But at least I feel content enough to write shit about all this again. I even plowed through my Chem homework like I was going to get a box of kittens afterwards. If I had a box of kittens I’d be so happy. If I had a box of puppies I’d be so happy. If I had a box of kittens and puppies I’d be rolling around in the floor basking in their cuteness and never again step foot on a college campus, let alone out my door. Baby animals are the last bastion of American Freedom.

I never had a problem opening up to animals. They connect with me. Even my boyfriend’s dog, the one who barks and bites at everyone who isn’t close family, the one everyone is scared of, sniffed me and let me be the second time she met me. She growled and bared her teeth the first time she met me, just in case you were wondering.

I was attacked by a Chihuahua when I was two or three, scarring me with dogs for most of my childhood, and those are the dogs that to this day always chase me and bark and lash their teeth out. I don’t know why they don’t think I won’t snatch them and grind them into taco meat.

It took a playful Pit-bull puppy to break me out of my dog phobia, ironically. I still get nervous around dogs; I won’t feed them food and I don’t like letting them lick my hand because I’m convinced they’re going to rip it off, but hey, I’ll pet them and hug them. That’s huge progress compared to the days I would cross the street to avoid people walking their dogs on the sidewalks.

People though, that’s a different story. It’s odd letting go of secrets that have been crowded in your head for so long. They’ve become your little buddies. The musings in my head, the analysis of my feelings and of the world around me that runs on a constant assembly line and probably goes a little deeper than it should, keep me company during the day. A destructive type of company, but company nonetheless.

All I have to comfort me through this uncomfortable time is my music. It’s always there to lend a helping hand. I grew up around live bands and concerts and cope with my daily social anxiety with an earphone in my ear. If I can’t find my earphones before I leave, my entire day if ruined. I’ll get highly aggressive and uncooperative (oh shit, toss me a Risperdal) and I won’t be able to focus. There’s music playing as I write this. There was music playing as I did my homework. I played music going into the library, while I was in the library, while I printed my paper, and while I came back home. I can’t drive my car if I don’t have a sustainable source of music, preferably not the radio but I make it work if I have to. The radio is a last resort, the commercials drive me insane. Literally. My road rage is 10x worse if I have to listen to some chubby muffled voice blurt a bunch of stupid shit about liberals or conservatives or whatever.

If my ear phones break, within the next minute I’m in Best Buy or Sears buying a new pair. That’s a class A emergency, one of the most urgent. Even my parents are aware of this fact.

I usually have four or five fully functional spares and maybe one or two half-functioning (one ear works) spares.

This summer I broke my last functional spare and couldn’t deal with listening to music through only one ear. That also drives me to the brink of insanity; I hate the quiet of my mind, hence the constant stream of music, but I also hate the cacophony of the outside world, hence the constant stream of music.

Anyway, I ordered a new pair of earphones on Amazon because I wanted over-the-ear headphones with good bass. Well, the mail lady put my box in the mail box for the apartment next to me and I received their package. In my blind elation I tore it open without looking at the name and, having already been rather depressed and irritable that week, you could imagine the devilish fury across my face when the two plain, white candle holders stared back at me.

She Must Have Been So Excited To Get These. They’re Absolutely Titillating.

I have trouble talking with people as it is, so my mom went over and informed them our packages had been messed up. They didn’t check their mail for three damn days. I was writhing in silent agony on my bed for three damn days. You couldn’t talk to me without sparking an insult from my mouth or a sarcastic remark. Music withdrawal is a bitch.

Bottom line of this scattered post? Stop giving your 1 year old Risperdal and if you ever meet me in person don’t touch my earphones if you like your head being attached to your body.