Stand and deliver, and the Devil...he may take ya (Day 1.)

For some of you, you may be thinking, "Christ, another blog? I don't even like Piss and Vinegar. Others who might not be aware of Piss and Vinegar, hey...check it out. It's a lot different from this blog.

And for the one or two of you who might be thinking, "I like Piss and Vinegar, what's going to happen to it?" Well, rest assured. It's not going anywhere, although it won't be updated nearly as often as Days Gone By.

All of my life I've dealt with extended bouts of depression. Which I guess most people do, because hey...such is life. Such if life, I suppose. But right around the age of twelve they began to become quite extended, sometimes for weeks on end. A lot of it led to these small bouts of anger where I literally could not control what was happening.

As time progressed it got a lot worse, at which point I began to attempt to counteract it with humor. And it's strange, when you think about it, how it's the person making people laugh the loudest, and joking the most...thats the one that needs to be watched closely. Just look at Richard Jeni.

By the time I was in High School though, it sort of came to a head. One afternoon, I'd make a joke about hanging myself in the auditorium in celebration of another Pep Rally. This off the cuff comment landed me square in the chair of a psychiatrist who'd came all the way from Phoenix to have a word with me. By the end of a very, very (very) lengthy session it was determined I was manic depressive/bi-polar disorder. Enough so that it was suggested I seek further help and get on medication.

I have, and always have had a strong disposition towards psychiatric medication. Not against anyone else taking it, but for myself solely, because taking those pills equaled so many things in my mind. It equaled weakness, it felt embarrassing that I couldn't function like a normal person and had to have the aide of something to dictate my moods and thought process. It still feels somewhat embarrassing; I feel weak and completely helpless and useless on one hand, and the other side of the coin tells me its okay, that sometimes you need assistance. You wouldn't continue (logically, I mean you might. Some people do.) driving a car 2,000 miles past when an oil change was needed. If a belt slipped, you'd replace it. But its so confusing, and right now its very polarizing inside my own head even.

But mostly I worried that I wouldn't be able to continue writing. Last year I lived for a good portion of the year in Albany, New York. During that time I had the longest bout of writers block I'd ever had. I also felt numb the entire year, and I truly believe that had a lot to do with it.

I can't write unless I'm having an episode. When it feels like the entire world is crumbling inside myself, when I feel the familiar pangs of a panic attack lurking is when I feel I'm capable of writing. And so my biggest fear is that by going on these psychiatric meds, I sacrifice the biggest part of me just to be like everyone else. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

But I never went on the meds in High School. In the end not having health insurance, and other pressing medical maladies took precedence over being crazy.

But the longer it went, the more drastic and impulsive the spells were. Instead of finishing out High School and walking, I wound up dropping out a month before graduation. There are a few benefactors as to why; I'd completely blown out my right knee and missed a fuck-ton of school. Coupled with being crazy and on a lot of hydrocodone, it got to the point where the principal and nurse would get involved by waiting with security at the gates for me to not allow me on campus because of the narcotics I was on. I'd also had enough of everyone and everything seeming so fake, so one day I just...stopped going.

After about a year I'd been working at a hotel. I probably can't say the name, but I will say this; that Inn was quite Comfortable. After a while, things had been mounting up and panic attacks were becoming quite frequent, so I quit. The pressures of the job were astounding for such a shittily paying job. For example, it wasn't uncommon for me to wind up working...16-26 hour shifts a few times a week.

So one day I put in my two weeks. And I did what any self respecting self-deprecator would do, I went home and I drank. After about a week of drinking and blowing off steam, I received a phone call from my former boss asking me to work another night, as the person I'd train to replace me couldn't handle the infrequent hours. I agreed too, but I was also good and drunk, too.

Going to work drunk is the ultimate culmination of freedom...and it might just be why America is so great. Especially if you're like me, and hide your intoxications well.

But the problem with booze, and having a nice good drunken feeling going is...it'll eventually fade without provocation of more booze. Around two am I had my first bout of psychosis, which thankfully was my only dance with Lady Lock-up.

Because I was a night auditor, I basically was alone. To tell you the truth I don't remember much, except while it was happening having enough wherewithal to lock the door, put up a no-vacancy sign, and get to a room where there weren't objects to hurt myself.

It lasted for a few hours until I realized I was bleeding from the nose, and had a bunch of my hair in my hands, and on the floor. Not a good look for anyone, I don't think. I don't remember anything else from that night except walking home and sleeping for 16 hours, which...I don't normally get more than three-five regularly.

The coming week, the best I can explain it as...I stopped sleeping, and I felt like a zombified version of myself. My drinking had increased substantially, and it was during this time that I drank pretty much four times a week anyway.

But you get to this point where you just...want to give up. Every moment feels like Hell, and theres no way out of it. Your heart races, and its the culmination of being scared, apathetic, nervous, elated, depressed and scared all in one. Your throat constricts and your thinking becomes erratic. Enough so that it never stops.

And all I wanted was to not feel anything.

It got to the point where I decided suicide was the one thing that made sense, and I prepared to down a whole bottle worth of hydrocodone and naproxen and just fuck it.

Instead I was on the next flight out to Los Angeles. I'll reserve that for another time.

The third big episode I had came directly after a break-up that lead me to move to Albany.

Recently I got on Government Health Care for the State of Arizona. It's called ACHHHS, and it's been very good to me. It's helped me catch (early) melanoma, it's helped with my re-occurring knee issue, as well as other issues.

But about six weeks ago I felt another episode forming. A lot's happened this year, and I don't deal with my own issues. I just don't have the heart anymore to try. It led me to have a long and serious introspection: What I decided was, I felt like I should have been institutionalized. I have more gun-in-the-mouth fantasies than I think are...well, healthy.

I started the process, and saw a few doctors in the span of less than four hours. I was 'advised' to come in for a psych-evaluation, which is similar to what happened back in High School. At the end, I was prescribed Ambien for my sleep issues, and Lamictal. The side-effects scare me to no end. Especially with my skin having a fancy for skin cancer.

For the next fourteen-days I will be taking one tablet of 25mg Lamictal. At the end of the fourteen-days, it's to be increased to two tablets a day until the 25mg is out. Once that ends, I begin taking one 100mg tablet of Lamictal a day for seven days. Once the period of seven days has passed, the dosage increases to two tablets a day. After this is done, I return to visit the psychiatrist and we see where things are, and continue taking it for...basically the rest of my life, as well as whatever added medication for depression.

Lamictal acts as anti-seizure medication, as well as being a mood stabilizer.






(Yes, that is a rubiks cube I mastered. Be jealous.)


The smaller ones are the 25mg's, and the big ones are the 100mg's.

I have to admit...it's strange looking at something that can possibly be the rest of your life in the palm of your hand.

After the first day, I've had headaches and been somewhat disoriented. I don't know how I feel right now, and it can take some time before I notice any time of change.

Feel free to email me at: aaron.halewilliams at gmail dot com. Please do if this is something you go through as well, or have went through. Please spread the word.

Thanks guys, I'll talk to you tomorrow.