4
Ursula, i think, would be so unhappy if . . . my default narrator said. But “if what?” He finished his sentence, if she wan’t a politician what would she do, for example? She’d probably be depressed all the time and unable to sustain a relationship. but maybe . . . but no—no buts about it; she was doing, thankfully, what she was born to do, and I’m only sorry that everyone cannot experience that. But we needed to usher in the future, and the future looked like most work was optional because we were already provided for; you might not get rich, but you could live, and marry, and raise a family. AI was going to do everything else. so I asked Ursula, “What kind of love do you expect?” And I was hoping she’d say a slightly volatile one—that was my game. I liked to push and pull a little—working through neuroses and inhibitions that got in the way of total, uncompromising love for another person—digging into their back a little and reshaping them in our image.
My plan right now was to substitute Lurasidone (fewer side-effects) for risperidone and get off both the Benztropine and the Lexapro. I couldn’t stop looking forward to it. I didn’t plan on doing a lot of masturbation, or compromising my integrity by dating someone that can’t have children anymore, but the ability and the capacity to have good, unproblematic sexual experiences was beginning to mean more and more to me. I also thought that, in getting back some of my dopamine, and lowering my prolactin levels, I would find more energy to sublimate, energy that would make it possible for me to dig even deeper into the human condition, and, ultimately, allow me to reclaim some of the telepathic work I was doing when my schizophrenia went untreated. I definitely didn’t want to go back there, ever, but I felt that dopamine could contribute to my ability to modulate frequencies and speak and or send emails across time and space—I expected prayer to be more channeled, that is to say, where prayer could mean literal prayer directed to the Heavenly father, or simply dedicated thoughts that made me, ultimately, a better and potentially more successful person.
Right now I felt as if I’d hit a little wall. Ursula sounded a little too far away, but she existed, and so there was hope, in the same way that you might get an erection every now and then, so orgasm might’ve seemed possible, even if it wasn’t. But there was hope—and we were going in that direction. Urgh—so many pills! I don’t know if Ursula said that or not, but one of my exes did, the one that is both a racist and a bigot, at least when it comes to what she thinks in private. Maybe it was me that said that—as in, I have some confidence back, i don’t find myself daydreaming in bed about overdosing out of existence, so what’s so wrong with letting “me” re-enter the frame (just a little, to see what happens)? I’m not saying I’m not schizophrenic—I know I have a condition, but maybe, just maybe, there are some good things about being schizophrenic (neurodivergent) and my doctor and I can work something out that lets me hold onto that—while still taking an antipsychotic.
Lurasidone it was, then. Abilify might make it difficult to concentrate on math for long periods of time—i.e. to sit relatively still; so it was my third option—but possibly allowed for the most dopamine. But switching from risperidone to Lurasidone felt like it might not make as many waves, and, for now, it seemed like the most viable option. The most important thing of all was that i could get to sleep within about fifteen minutes, and I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night and find myself unable to go back to sleep. I was really looking forward to it, and I was thinking, well, we’ll meet with the doctor more often for a while, so she can monitor how I’m affected by these changes. So yeah, “Urgh, so many pills,” but, also—they helped me, overall, to stabilize over the past decade, and I’d accomplished, in that time, an awful lot. So i didn’t want to mess with my creativity and my thinking too much—i just wanted to add a little dopamine and lower the prolactin so that I could channel my energies more efficiently, and, quite possibly, find myself doing some of the most important work of my life. I had Ursula’s support, anyhow. Her only concern is that I might, at some point, think—“hey, my neurodivergence doesn’t come with a condition that I must both treat and monitor, and, therefore, I’ll get the most ‘genius’ out of me by getting off all medications together.”
If the past was any pattern—well, I was too neurodivergent to actually do things for about a decade—I could only work for a couple hours a day. With treatment, and determination, I work all through the day, watch an hour of TV as opposed to watching twelve hours a day. Right now I kept finding my default narrator having conversations with my doctor—practicing what I might say when I have my appointment. I didn’t want my default narrator to take over because i didn’t feel that person was entirely me—and, for that reason, i was legitimately worried about taking a lower dose of anything—I wanted to take something that I could substitute for risperidone, but I wanted a healthy dose—a robust dose that wouldn’t leave me distracted and unable to project Ursula’s voice.
Instead of locking my sexuality out of the house, I wanted to integrate that energy, and I believed that I would, in fact, continue to do important work, especially if I made these adjustments (again, while sticking with medical and professional treatment). I kept tapping my foot I was so excited. that was partly, too, i think, because I’d figured out how to make reels out of my paintings and my songs and, in doing that, a lot more people were getting exposed to my work. It made me so happy I was anxious, and, honestly, a tad hopeful that I’d calm down a little. (I don’t enjoy tapping my foot—making anxious movements.) I could tell that Ursula was happy—that, indeed, she had been concerned about the sexual unhappiness I had been experiencing and tolerating for the past decade—not to mention the constipation—the constant stopping up the toilet, forcing me to put my scat in a bag and take it outside—the extra ten pounds that didn’t make a lot of sense, etc. She was looking forward to the change, too. I know she wanted me to look at her with desire—I know how a look like that can cut to the core of your being and make you feel happy, aroused, and alive, seemingly indefinitely.