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💊 When Your Body Stages a Coup: Surviving Withdrawal from Your Legally Prescribed Meds

So picture this: you’re minding your business, taking your meds like a responsible adult, when suddenly—boom.
Pharmacy delay. Doctor out of town. Prior authorization “pending.” Ah the setback of psych meds.
And your nervous system? It’s like, “Cool cool cool… let’s panic about everything now.”

Let’s be clear right out of the gate:
This isn’t addiction.
This is what happens when your body gets used to something your doctor prescribed, and then it disappears faster than your motivation on a Monday.

For people managing chronic pain, ADHD, bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, anxiety—basically anything that makes life feel like juggling flaming swords—missing meds can wreck your whole week. Sometimes your whole month. It used to be pain meds were controlled, well I got off all them and then I find out one of my meds for my mental state is controlled too.

So here’s the practical, not-patronizing guide to surviving it.


🧠 1. Know What’s Happening — It’s Not “Just in Your Head”

Your body doesn’t care that you’re being responsible. It just knows chemistry changed.
Withdrawal from meds like antidepressants, or mood stabilizers can cause:

  • Flu-like symptoms (the fever, chills, and “oh God, why” kind)
  • Dizziness or brain zaps
  • Stomach chaos (you know what I mean)
  • Anxiety that feels like being trapped in your own skin
  • Crying at car insurance commercials

You’re not crazy, dramatic, or weak. You’re literally detoxing from a medication your body depended on.


🩺 2. Call the Pharmacy and Doctor — Every. Single. Day.

Yes, it’s annoying. Yes, they hate it. Do it anyway.
Sometimes the squeaky wheel really does get the refill.

Ask for:

  • A partial fill (even a few days’ worth helps)
  • Generic or alternative options
  • If your doctor can bridge it with samples or a similar med

If you can’t get through to your doctor, ask to speak to the nurse or pharmacist directly—they can often light a fire under the process faster than anyone else.


🧘‍♀️ 3. Temporary Coping Tools (That Actually Help)

You can’t cure withdrawal, but you can soften the edges.
Try:

  • Hydration like it’s your job. Electrolytes help your body flush junk out faster.
  • Protein and complex carbs. Blood sugar swings make symptoms worse.
  • Body temp tricks: cool showers for feverish restlessness, warm baths for muscle tension.
  • Magnesium and vitamin B supplements (if cleared by your doc).
  • Ginger tea or mints for nausea.
  • Noise + comfort TV. Distract your brain from itself. (“SVU’ or ‘Chicago’ shows is a favorite here.)

And yes, sleep whenever you can. Withdrawal can feel like a bad breakup between your brain and your body, and you’ll need rest to survive the drama.


🚨 4. Know When It’s Too Much

If your symptoms go beyond “ugh” and start looking like “dangerous,” it’s time to get help.
Go to urgent care or call your doctor if you experience:

  • Suicidal thoughts
  • Chest pain
  • Severe confusion or disorientation
  • Tremors, seizures, or blood pressure spikes

No guilt, no hesitation. This isn’t weakness—it’s biology in meltdown mode.


💬 5. You’re Not a “Druggie.” You’re a Human Being.

Let’s kill that stigma right now.
There’s a difference between dependency and addiction—one means your body adapted to a med, the other means there’s misuse or compulsion.

If you’re following your prescription and life implodes when you miss it, that’s not moral failure. That’s chemistry. And it deserves compassion, not judgment.


🌿 Bonus: What to Do Once You’re Back on Track

  • Ask about tapering. Even a few days’ gap can make restarting rough.
  • Set up refill reminders. Calendar, app, sticky note, carrier pigeon—whatever works.
  • Request overlap fills (some pharmacies will fill a few days early if you ask).
  • Stock an emergency buffer once you can, even if it’s just a few days’ worth.

And most importantly: forgive yourself for the mess that isn’t your fault.
Medication management in modern healthcare is like playing whack-a-mole blindfolded. You’re doing great just by surviving it. Dependency is’nt addiction. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!


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Notifications from My Chronic Illness Squad

Sometimes living with multiple diagnoses feels like I’m stuck moderating the world’s most chaotic group chat. None of my conditions text in complete sentences, everyone interrupts, and nobody ever seems to be on the same page. Honestly, if you peeked at the notifications going off in my brain, this is pretty much what you’d see…

Good Morning!

ADHD: “GUYS I just had the BEST idea! Let’s reorganize the closet at 2 a.m. while blasting music!”

Fibromyalgia: “Cool, but you’re going to need a heating pad, three naps, and a chiropractor after.”

Bipolar: “YES. Let’s do it! Let’s paint the closet rainbow colors and start a whole new side hustle around it!!”

Anxiety: “Wait. What if the paint is toxic? What if you mess it up? What if everyone laughs at you? Also, did you lock the door?”

Depression: “lol. what’s the point of even having a closet.”

PTSD: [randomly sends 17 fire emojis]

After Lunch:


ADHD: “Oops, forgot the drawers. Now I’m starting a craft project.”

Fibromyalgia: “Oh, awesome. Guess who’s going to need three days in bed because of hot glue injuries?”

Bipolar: “WE CAN SELL IT ON ETSY! MILLIONS!!”

Anxiety: “What if nobody buys it? What if they all leave one-star reviews? What if we end up bankrupt??”

Depression: “same.”

PTSD: [sends an old photo no one wanted to see]

Mid – Afternoon

ADHD: “Oops! Forgot the craft, but I DID deep clean the fridge!”


Fibromyalgia: “Congrats. I’ll just be over here, inflamed like a balloon.”

Motivation (rare cameo): “Guys… maybe we… clean the kitchen?”

ADHD: Ignore Motivation, he’s on vacation most days


Bipolar: “OMG let’s turn this into a cleaning business! Million-dollar idea!!”


Anxiety: “What if someone hires us and we miss a spot and they never forgive us?”


Depression: “We wouldn’t go anyway.”


PTSD: [sends a soft focus picture of nothing in particular]

2 A.M. Chaos 🌙

ADHD: “GUYS! Big idea! We should make a podcast!”

Fibromyalgia: “We can’t even make it through a shower without a recovery period.”


Bipolar: “No, no — THIS is the idea that’ll change everything!!”

Anxiety: “What if no one listens? What if EVERYONE listens?!”

Depression: “lol. either way, pointless.”

PTSD: [sends a GIF of an explosion]

And that’s just one day in the group chat. Tomorrow they’ll be arguing about whether to try a new hobby, cry about laundry, or plan an entire business venture at 3 a.m. Living with ADHD, bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia (and the rest of the crew) isn’t neat or predictable—it’s messy, noisy, and sometimes ridiculous. But at least if I can laugh at the chaos, I get to feel like the one running the chat instead of just stuck in it Till next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!

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The ADHD Shopping Experience: How I Went for Milk and Came Home with a Succulent, Three Notebooks, and No Milk

A play-by-play of my brain vs. reality, or: Why simple errands are never simple

Setting the Scene: Just need milk. One item. Simple mission. What could possibly go wrong?


In the Parking Lot

ADHD Brain: “Okay, milk. Just milk. Wait, should I make a list? No, it’s just ONE thing. But what if I see something else we need while I’m there? Maybe I should text hubby and ask… no, that’s ridiculous. It’s MILK. But what kind of milk? 2% or whole? Did we discuss this? Should I check the fridge from here? Can’t do that. Focus. MILK. M-I-L-K. Got it.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Why does every parking space require a trek equivalent to hiking the Appalachian Trail? And why is it windy? Wind makes everything hurt more.”

What Actually Happened: Sat in my car for 5 minutes trying to remember if we needed 2% or whole milk, googled “difference between 2% and whole milk nutritionally” fell down a rabbit hole about dairy farming, got distracted by a text from my mom, completely forgot why I had googled dairy farming, and finally got out of the car having made zero progress on the milk question.


Entering the Store

ADHD Brain: “Straight to dairy section. Do not pass Go. Do not collect impulse purchases. Laser focus. I am a milk-seeking missile.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Of course I grabbed the cart with the wobbliest wheel in existence. Every step is sending shock waves through my joints. This cart sounds like a dying pterodactyl.”

Bipolar Brain: “Actually, this is kind of fun! Look at all the possibilities! So many choices! I love having choices!”

What Actually Happened: Grabbed the first cart without testing it (rookie mistake), immediately got distracted by the seasonal display of Halloween decorations prominently displayed in August, spent three minutes judging the capitalist machine that pushes holidays earlier each year, then realized I was still standing at the front of the store holding a cart that sounded like it was powered by wounded animals.


Stop #1: The Pharmacy Section

ADHD Brain: “Wait, didn’t I need to pick up that prescription? When was that due? Was it today or tomorrow? Better check while I’m here. Multitasking!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Standing in lines is torture. Why does every person in front of me have the most complicated prescription issue in pharmacy history?”

What Actually Happened: Joined the pharmacy line without checking if I actually had a prescription ready, discovered I didn’t, but got into a fascinating conversation with the pharmacist about medication timing, learned three new things about drug interactions, forgot why I came to the store entirely, then remembered MILk when I saw the refrigerated section behind the pharmacy counter.


The Succulent Section (How Is This Even a Section?)

ADHD Brain: “Ooh, plants! I could be a plant person! Look at this tiny perfect one – it probably needs rescuing from this fluorescent wasteland. I would give it a good home. I’d name it Gerald. Gerald deserves better than this. I’ll just—NO. MILK. FOCUS. But Gerald is so small and perfect…”

Bipolar Brain (manic whispering): “Plants are scientifically proven to improve mental health! This could be your new hobby! You deserve nice things! Gerald could be the first of many! Think of the Instagram potential!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Bending over to look at these tiny plants is making my back scream, but Gerald IS pretty cute…”

What Actually Happened: Bought four succulents (Gerald, Susan, Peter,and one I didn’t name because I was trying to show restraint), plus a decorative pot that cost more than the plants, and mentally planned their placement in every room of my house despite historically being a plant serial killer.


Stop #2: The Drive-Through Coffee (Because Obviously)

ADHD Brain: “I should get coffee for this epic grocery mission. Caffeine will help me focus on the milk objective. This is strategic, not procrastination.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “My head is starting to hurt. Coffee will help. Coffee fixes everything.”

Bipolar Brain: “Treat yourself! You’re doing great! You deserve a fancy drink!”

What Actually Happened: Ordered a complicated seasonal latte, paid for it, thanked the barista, drove off immediately, got three blocks away before realizing I never actually received my coffee, circled back through the drive-through again to explain my ADHD brain to a confused teenager, got my coffee and a pitying look, then sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes mentally writing this exact blog post.


The Notebook Aisle (My Natural Habitat)

ADHD Brain: “These are on SALE! I always need notebooks! What if I run out of places to write my brilliant thoughts? What if this specific type gets discontinued forever and I never find another notebook that feels this perfect in my hands? This is an INVESTMENT.”

Bipolar Brain: “Look at all these possibilities! You could start journaling again! Or write that novel! Or organize your life! Each notebook could be a fresh start!”

What Actually Happened: Bought notebooks in three different sizes for “different purposes” – one for grocery lists (ironic, considering), one for “important thoughts,” and one for daily planning that I’ll definitely use this time, unlike the other twelve identical notebooks at home. Spent fifteen minutes arranging them in my cart by color.


At Checkout

ADHD Brain: “Mission accomplished! Wait… what was my mission? Milk! Did I get milk? I feel like I’m forgetting something important. Why do I have plants? OH RIGHT, Gerald!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Why is this checkout line moving so slowly? My feet are killing me. Should have gotten a scooter cart.”

Cashier: “Did you find everything you needed today?”

Me: “Everything except what I came for!”

What Actually Happened: Paid $47 for succulents, notebooks, Halloween candy (forgot to mention grabbing that), fancy soap that “smelled like my childhood,” and a magazine about organizing your life. No milk. Not even close to milk.


Back Home

Family: “Did you get milk?”

Me: “I got… life lessons? And Gerald.”

Family: “Who’s Gerald?”

Me: “My new succulent son. Also, we still need milk.”

ADHD Brain: “But look how happy Gerald looks on the windowsill! This was basically a success!”


The Moral of the Story: Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. Sometimes that journey involves adopting plant children and buying notebooks you don’t need. And sometimes you just have to go back to the store tomorrow for milk, but with Gerald watching over you from his new pot. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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My Brain Buffering: A Love Letter to the Thoughts I Forgot Mid-Sentence

Let’s be honest: if forgetting what you were saying mid-thought was an Olympic sport, I’d have gold medals in every category. Freestyle Rambling. Synchronized Brain Fog. And my personal favorite: Disappearing Train of Thought With a Triple Mental Backflip.

People say “don’t be so hard on yourself,” and I’m like—buddy, I’m not. I’m just trying to remember what I came into this room for. And repeatedly. I’m not being ‘so hard’ on myself, I’d say I’m at least the appropriate level of hardness if not under lol

Somewhere between ADHD, fibromyalgia fog, bipolar whiplash, and a few hundred browser tabs in my brain, my inner monologue starts to sound like a dial-up modem trying to load a YouTube video. In 2003. On satellite internet. In a thunderstorm. A mile and a half down a country dirt road where theres NOTHING for miles

🧠 Exhibit A: “What Was I Saying?”

It’s not even a joke anymore. I’ll be mid-conversation, completely coherent, and suddenly—boom. Blank screen. I can literally see the words running off a cliff like cartoon lemmings.

“Wait—what was I saying?”

No really. What was I saying? I know its annoying to you, do you know how annoying it is and how much I absolutely hate the part of my brain thats supposed to remember things? Me and my brain are in an absolute love/hate relationship and we are definitely in our Hate each other era.

🤯 Fibro Fog: Not Just a Myth, Unfortunately

If you’ve never tried to function while your entire nervous system is on delay like it’s waiting for subtitles, congratulations—you’re not me. Fibro fog isn’t just forgetfulness. It’s walking into a room and standing there like you’re the main character in a slow-motion scene… except no one yelled “Action,” and you definitely missed your cue.

My body hurts, my thoughts hurt, my hair hurts, and occasionally my elbow forgets how to be an elbow. But hey, at least I still remember none of my passwords!

🎢 Bipolar Bonus: Now With Extra Whiplash!

Imagine being hyperfocused on color-coding your sock drawer one minute, then sobbing because your spoon fell on the floor the next. Now toss in some guilt about not replying to texts from 2017, and you’ve got the Bipolar Expansion Pack.

Highs that make you reorganize your pantry at 2 a.m., lows that make brushing your hair feel like a heroic feat. All while your memory plays musical chairs.

💁‍♀️ So What’s the Point?

The point is: if you’re out here trying your best with a glitchy brain, a misfiring mood system, and a body that acts like it was coded in beta—you’re not alone. You’re in deeply relatable, exhausted, beautifully chaotic company.

Some days I cry over spilled plans. Some days I laugh at my own internal commentary. And most days, I absolutely forget what I was saying.

But I’m still here. Still making stuff. Still showing up. Even if it’s ten minutes late and I forgot to put on pants. Til next time guys, take care of yourselves, and each other.