Mail-order Sanity

My meds finally arrived from India. They are in such tiny packages I hardly recognize them as medicine. You would think in America that people pull their sample medications from their purse and dance through the streets advertising them–the boxes and labels are so large and you only have five pills per box. India, on the other hand, packs 50 in a box not much larger than a box of matches. The price, too. What a difference. My medications from India cost $87 for 100 pills, whereas here in America I would pay $900 for 30 pills (that’s $3000 for 100 pills). I wouldn’t believe this myself if I hadn’t priced it out personally at my own pharmacy. The difference here is that they are allowed to sell the generic overseas while in the US patent rights are still in force and only the brand name is sold, which my insurance doesn’t cover.

With meds comes the lingering question: do I really want or need to take these? I don’t like medications very much, though I do Continue reading

A Return to Therapy

I’ve decided to return to therapy. My issues are accumulating and I feel it is all starting to affect me in terms of concentration, emotional well-being, and mood.

Immediately I appreciated my new therapist’s office for it’s modern appeal and aesthetic. She, herself, was dressed quite minimally yet sophisticated, which simply served to remind me how dowdy I’ve become, sitting there in my snow boots and torn hoodie (yes, I wore that to work, even). It’s amazing how much a new therapist can uncover about a new client in one hour when the right questions are asked.

We spoke a lot about that first year or so of psychosis and its effect on me. I wavered between tears and a more reserved affect, gaining composure when asked about anything linear. Although it helps to sort things out rationally, I do want someone who can follow the thread of emotion so I can release the tension, the sorrow, which grips me. I guess I will wait and see how things progress.