I’ve already written about psychiatric drugs, but this is a new post, and perhaps more personal than the last. For me, and I suspect others, taking psychiatric medication is a problem every day of my life. It’s like I have two people in me, one saying – ‘Yes, you know you need to take them,…
Author: Dr Rebecca Lawrence Tipper
I am a psychiatrist living with mental illness. In my twenties I developed psychotic depression, later diagnosed as bipolar disorder.
The good enough psychiatrist
As patients, we often ponder whether our doctors, nurses, and other health care professionals are caring enough. As a psychiatrist myself, I assume that I am caring. But how do you measure caringness, what exactly is it? How do we know if we have it, and how can we train others to acquire it? Even…
Pan
I am a godyet no godchild of noneand feared by all. None knows where I come fromsave Inone knows what I amsave I. I dance and I singwith drink I make merrybut none can stomach my joysave I. I’m the black of the sky andthe green of the oceana child’s high-pitched scream andthe tumult of motion. None can escape…
Electricity
I lie there, flat upon the bedMy eyes are wide, unseeing wide,The plastic mask conceals my faceA needle pricks my hand.I breathe in fear, a blowing fear,And then what passed was lost A rising tone bore me awayTo somewhere I forgot. I wonder what was done to meWhat currents crossed my mind?What sin had I committedTo be…
Saying the wrong thing
Mental illness is very personal, and also very immediate. When it happens to you, it is all that there is, surrounding you, bending your thinking, affecting what you say to others. But those people that are listening to you are not always in the same place as you, even those who have experienced similar illnesses…
Dead Toad
Dead toad on the roadWhere were you going?Who did you hope to meetWhen everything stopped? Toad you are forgottenNo-one mourns youWhat spawn you have begottenThink not of you.
Frog
Frog, your legs were long, symmetrical and braveAnd also deadYour arms were crossed across your breastYou looked at rest. What creature killed you, Frog,And left you there?A sacrificed amphibianOn a cold, stone stair.
Sour
My mind is souredLike pickles caught in teethLingering past the tasteAnd spreading doubt.I hate the cloak I wearOf clinging knowledgeI hate the doubts I feelAnd they are me and youAnd you.No longer do I taste of milkFresh and sweet and pureMy thoughts are long fermented.I will never know quite whereBut the road to deathIs paved…
Remembering life and illness
So many moments make up a life. Some are forgotten almost instantly, some fade with time, and some are written hard on memory. Some of these are happy, some painful and humiliating. Do we really remember them, or do they curl into something else, worn by memory itself? Do we talk about them, look at…
Of my daughter
My second child was due to be born when my daughter was four years old. Psychotic depression, before and after her birth had meant that we thought we would not have another, and it was a joy to think that we might have a different experience. I had been on lithium when the baby was conceived,…