Thought of the Week: Don’t Stop the Meds

All right, confession time: about four weeks ago I stopped taking my medications.

I didn’t actually intend to – it just sort of happened. It was all very complicated and messy, to be honest with you; a while back I got too much of one prescription, which meant I still had some when it came time to renew the other ones, and suddenly I wasn’t able to keep track of which ones were current, which ones needed refilling and which ones had no refills left. I got scared of going to the pharmacist to find out, and worse, I had to cancel my psychiatrist appointment, and with the mess of drugs I never got the courage to pick up the phone and make another appointment.

Eventually the meds ran out, and I just stopped taking them. I suppose I have to admit that there was also a part of me that wondered if they were actually having an effect anyway. And for a while, there was really little effect.

Then I got sick, and it everything got screwy. I can’t honestly say whether not being on the meds contributed to it, but I came down with a fever, and it didn’t break for seven days. I had to call out of work, I felt completely delirious, I spent all day in bed alternating between shivering chills and drenching sweats. I suppose I’m lucky that I didn’t get a gastrointestinal bug and actually could stay in bed all day, but it certainly didn’t feel like it at the time. I would wake up and be completely unaware of what time it was, or even what day it was. I would dream that I was late for work, and believe it when I woke up. I felt like I was permanently eating metal (does anyone else get that weird feeling in their mouth when they have a fever?).

Eventually it started to fade, and I was able to watch TV or go for a walk. It wasn’t another week fully before I was feeling myself again. Except, I wasn’t myself, because by then, the effects of going cold turkey on my medications were starting to kick in.

Believe me when I say it was the weirdest feeling I’ve ever had. The heat that had begun during my fever didn’t abate, and I would drip sweat sitting around in my underwear with the air conditioning on. I don’t think I started shaking (or rather, it didn’t get any worse – I was already shaking from the meds in the first place), but I know that my mood and temper went suddenly out of whack. I got angry at the weirdest things. I don’t mean things that wouldn’t normally upset me, but things that wouldn’t normally upset anyone. I remember freaking out driving down a road because the branches of the trees on either side of the street weren’t the same height.

And with all of this came a sudden drop in mood, a depression that I of course didn’t recognize. I stopped writing; I stopped caring. It was a classic return to form for me, and it was a place I hadn’t been in for a long time. It was a place I hadn’t really wanted to return to, and mainly because once I’m there, I don’t want to leave. Depression is an addiction for me, and something I need to stay away from, for my own good.

In the end, it all came out that I wasn’t taking my medication again, and with help I was able to go to the pharmacist and find out that I did, in fact, have renewals for almost all of my prescriptions. I got them; I got back on the drugs. And the result?

I’ve written three chapters of The Redemption of Erâth, Book Two: Exile in less than two weeks, something that is quite a feat for me (I’m a comparatively slow writer). I noticed a bounce in my step the other day (I kid you not – I was highly embarrassed). And things aren’t bothering my anymore.

And well, really that’s it. I went off the meds, suffered the consequences, and went back on them. I suppose if anything, it proved to me that I really do need them. I still don’t know if I need all of them, but at this point I’m not willing to risk the consequences again.

So lesson learned: don’t stop taking the meds.

~

Featured image taken from http://www.petinsurance.com/healthzone/education/pet-poisons-and-toxins/toxic-meds-for-pets.aspx.

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The Redemption of Erâth: Book 2, Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Tale of the Illuèn

In the end, Brandyé and Elven stayed for several months among the Illuèn, and came to learn their ways. It was some time before Elven was well enough to walk again, and longer still before he had overcome his incessant desire for corinthiaë. The Illuèn healer told them that they had discovered a hitherto unknown property of what was commonly known as a pain reliever. Brandyé was curious, but wished heartily that he had never come across the plant. Too many nights had he sat beside Elven, sweating and shivering, crying desperately for more corinthiaë and speaking to people who were not there.

During his time on their island Brandyé discovered many wondrous things, but none so startling as the great population of swans that lived with and among the Illuèn. Great birds of purest white, the glided serenely on the water or settled on the grass near the Illuèn’s homes, and Brandyé recalled the one time he had seen them before, with his grandfather on their journey to Daevàr’s Hut in his youth. “The most graceful birds in all of Erâth,” Reuel had said of them, and Brandyé could not help but agree. He found it peculiar that there were so many living here in the middle of the Trestaé mountains, and asked Elỳn about them.

“You did not think there were only creatures of Darkness?” she asked with a smile. “The swans are our own – creatures of light. They are gentle but powerful, and they remind us of the splendor of the world that once was.”

Sonora, having circled anxiously over Elven during his fever in the forest, finally came to rest with them on the Illuèn’s island, and did not particularly like the swans much at all. To her they were too large, and would not let her near the water. It was a consolation that she was by far faster and more agile than they, and she would often dive headlong in the water of the lake, retrieving a fish and taking it high in the branches with her – always in the view of many swans.

Elỳn introduced Brandyé and Elven to many of the folk, including Elven’s healer, whose name was Rỳlan, and Kayla, who helped him regain his feet afterward. Kayla had been among those who had fought the fierundé, and from her Elven learned many techniques of combat, and they spent much time together.

As for Brandyé, his desire for combat was less than ever, far from the fantasies of glorious battle from his youth. He had seen too much death, first in Consolation and then among the Cosari, and did not wish to learn how to deal it. For him, he was far more interested in learning of the Illuèn, and the nature of their influence upon the world.

“You are clearly not everywhere,” he said to Elỳn, “yet there is light everywhere. I can see you have great control over light and its power, but how is it you can influence what is seen hundreds of miles away?”

“We were responsible for bringing light to Erâth in its earliest days,” she replied, “but we are not ‘light’. Light would exist without us; yet our existence brings light to the world.”

“I do not understand,” said Brandyé. “What were to happen if there were no Illuèn?”

“There will soon enough be none,” Elỳn said with a sad sigh. “We are relinquishing our influence over light, leaving it to the natural course of life. In some centuries, no doubt, we will be no more. You have perhaps seen some of our people that do not appear quite as the others do? They are those who have begun to fade from this world already.”

Brandyé shook his head, for this was difficult for him to grasp. “Where are they going to?”

“Not here,” she said simply, and Brandyé could understand no more of it.

So it was with much of what he encountered during his time with the Illuèn. He could not understand how their orbs of light functioned, and thought it must be magic, though they assured him it was not. They would give no further explanation, however, and he wondered if perhaps the Illuèn themselves no longer knew how their homes had once been built. […]

Read the complete chapter here.

Thought of the Week: Rules in Fiction

A writing friend of mine recently shared a Facebook post about sticking to the rules in writing. I tried to share it but for some reason it wouldn’t let me, so I thought I’d write a short blog post about it instead.

The gist of the post was that in fiction, it’s important that the characters and situations abide by whatever rules are set up in the first place. Not necessarily the rules of the real world – if that were so, pretty much all fantasy would be out the window. Rather, each world that each author creates must have its rules that the characters must be bound to – whether they be rules of physics, of etiquette, or culture. Fiction is rife with examples of this, and the reason is simple: in a world where anything is possible, everything becomes mundane. We don’t want our characters to suddenly have superhuman powers because it’s convenient at that point in the story; we don’t want our spaceships to just instantly be somewhere else because it avoids the tedium of the journey.

Star Trek (a favorite of mine) is a wonderful example. From The Next Generation onward, they hired scientific consultants to make sure that the ideas they had obeyed – to an extent – the real-world rules of physics. Warp drive is one of them. If a spaceship could simply go as fast as it needed to, there’d be no fun in the adventure of getting there. Instead, they borrowed from Einstein and simply pushed the limits of the speed of light a little bit further. It turns out that the reason a ship can’t travel past warp 10 is because it would require an infinite amount of energy to do so. We aren’t bound by technology – we’re bound by the rules of the world around us.

Harry Potter is another good example. One would think that in a world of spells, curses and magic that pretty much anything could be possible. We can levitate objects, we can transform into cats, we can have light whenever we want because it’s convenient to do so – except, you have to be extremely skilled to be able to do such things. Wizards and witches are bound by the limitations of their own capabilities; Harry and his friends can’t do everything they want to, because they have yet to learn how. Even the most powerful of wizards can’t do anything, because some are better than others at various aspects of the wizarding world. Dumbledore can’t turn into a dog; McGonagall can’t predict the future (though of course, neither can Trelawney). Harry can’t stop Snape invading his mind, at least at first. (Truth be told, I haven’t read past The Order of the Phoenix, so forgive me if some of this is wrong).

From my musical background, I’m reminded of something the great Russian composer Shostakovich (I think) once said:

“The more I restrict myself in my writing, the better my music becomes.”

Alright, it’s a paraphrase and it might be from a different composer, but the point is the same. Restrict yourself as much as you can, and your writing will be the better for it.

~

Featured image from http://www.deviantart.com/morelikethis/127027387?view_mode=2.

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