photo, Religion

Caffeine & Lithium Drug Interactions

Here is interesting stuff… so I was using caffeine to increase getting rid of the lithium. However, at that time I didn’t know that I’d been given Clonazepam. It is counterproductive on getting rid of Clonazepam.

[Three doses of] Lithium arguably did something good for me. It released this maniac that I adore… finally I’m the “me” I was when I was younger. Self-confident and assured. Alive and thinking. Living and focused. However, it appears just a half-dose would have done it, as their repeated doses kept me awake for 10 straight days, and besides Navy Seals, I can’t find anyone else who thinks that’s cool, nor good for me.

Clonazepam on the other hand is what makes a real life psycho. Manic sprees, up and downs. Chemically induced symptoms presenting as bipolar.

I’m kicking the caffeine again in favor of being rid of Clonazepam not a day longer than the torturous six months reported half-life.

Momma, keep me safe from these goons. Why don’t they believe me when I tell them their medicine will kill me? Isn’t it right there in all their own drug interaction sheets? I marvel at the psychologist who gave me sheet after sheet of drugs she wanted to “try” on me.

Um, I was just fine before they thought they knew more than me. I am SMRT, and waaaay SMRTer than Valerie, C. Castro or that other guy who barely rates in my memory.

All they did was fuel my apathy and create a revolutionary out of the sleeper that once was busy day dreaming about love, and living forever in a paradise earth that looks a lot like La Jolla. That I blame squarely on the almighty God Jehovah, and being raised as a Jehovah’s Witness. They say religion is just a form of insanity. Perhaps that’s the only means by which I could be convicted.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,… if only I believed in hell anywhere besides on earth.

Ancestry, Neuroscience

Born to Be Happy, Through a Twist of Human Hard Wire

“I know, you’re bi-polar.”

“Old man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.”

Born to Be Happy, Through a Twist of Human Hard Wire


In the course of the last year, the woman lost her husband to cancer and then her job. But she did not come to my office as a patient; she sought advice about her teenage son who was having trouble dealing with his father’s death.

Despite crushing loss and stress, she was not at all depressed – sad, yes, but still upbeat. I found myself stunned by her resilience. What accounted for her ability to weather such sorrow with buoyant optimism? So I asked her directly.

“All my life,” she recalled recently, “I’ve been happy for no good reason. It’s just my nature, I guess.”

But it was more than that. She was a happy extrovert, full of energy and enthusiasm who was indefatigably sociable. And she could get by with five or six hours of sleep each night.

Like this woman, a journalist I know realized when she was a teenager that she was different from others. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing to be so cheerful and happy all the time,” she said. “When I was in high school I read the Robert Browning poem `My Last Duchess.’ In it, the narrator said he killed his wife, the duchess, because, `she had a heart – how shall I say, too soon made glad?’ And I thought, uh-oh, that’s me.”

These two women were lucky to be born with a joyous temperament, which in its most extreme forms is called hyperthymia. Cheerful despite life’s misfortunes, energetic and productive, they are often the envy of all who know them because they don’t even have to work at it.

In a sense, they are the psychiatric mirror image of people who suffer from a chronic, often lifelong, mild depression called dysthymia, which affects about 3 percent of American adults. Always down, dysthymics experience little pleasure and battle through life with a dreary pessimism. Despite whatever fortune comes their way, they remain glum.

But hyperthymia certainly doesn’t look like an illness; there appears to be no disadvantage to being a euphoric extrovert, except, perhaps, for inspiring an occasional homicidal impulse from jealous friends or peers. But little is actually known about people with hyperthymia for the simple reason that they don’t see psychiatrists complaining that they are happy.

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