Break Point: Game, Set, Match; updated

My aging mother other and father were glued to tennis on the telly recently: Wimbledon, I presume.

 

Well my own situation is brewing to a break point.

 

As i waited for weeks for new the medication, Nuplazid to be prescribed, approved, ordered, and dispensed from a specialty pharmacy, my entire life was in the pipeline and by the time the medication got here i was up to the present. Now, I am taking both the Nuplazid AND the Clozaril that I was on before. They will be “titrating” the Clozaril out slowly. I am at wits end with the Clozaril. I have had pneumonia 4 times since last December because of sleeping in spit. Its horrible. You’re up all night long with too much saliva.

So i am eager to get rid of the Clozaril. It’s really a matter of life and death.

 

In the meantime as the days pass on Nuplazid, so far I am noticing positive changes. In this medication my mind is going to the places where I was human. Where there was pain. And the one I am here to talk about is pivotal.

 

I got tasered

I had a thrown hot coffee at my son.

 

I was scared because they were having a party. His girlfriend was there with all the men. My son had shoved me in the guts–disabling me–because I said she couldnt sleep over. Because of this i had been in bed for several days writing my last will and testament andd assigning my assets. My husband had said that he was going to let the daughter of our best friends, with whom we had some serious jealousy issues, throw a party in our house, that night.

 

I was off my meds because I had been in the hospital and was released on a med that I couldn’t afford.

 

So, I couldnt explain to the police. I didnt know that the coffee had hit him in the eyes.

 

So i refused to accept handcups. A second later, they tasered me. It was only this year, 2019, that I stopped having convulsions. That was 2010 I believe, I can’t remember for sure. All my memories are jumbled around the moment of the tasering.

 

So, after the cops took me she had the party.

Sick.

The police denied that it happened. But my therapist knew about it so people had heard.

 

I am looking back now in horror at how things progressed, and struggling to regroup.

I texted my son; he refrained from visiting with his girlfriend this weekend as planned.

My dental work hangs in the balance.  My ex husband is refusing to pay and my parents are being cagey.  I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon, and then three more appointments for two crowns and an appliance.  In the mayhem of the last 29 years since Alex and I met, I have lost 7 teeth: not good.  And there’s not a thing I can do about it.

I am about to copy this post into an email to my ex:  “You are getting bad press.”

 

 

 

 

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