tardive dyskinesia

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He was in his mid-fifties and seemed pretty clueless.  What’s more, he had more abnormal movements than any 20 people and looked like he was dancing with an invisible partner.

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He sat at home all day trying to get himself involved in things like doing laundry and watching television so that he could get himself tired enough to sleep, focused enough to avoid the voices. He was safe — no forced hospitalization was necessary or even possible here. He promised that he would not harm himself no matter what the voices said, but it became clear that he lived in a world where devils and demons gave him a continuous commentary on everything from why Obamacare would never help him to — the size of his wife’s behind. There may have been some exhortations to harm self or others in the distant past, but they were indeed distant.

He said he had no medicine for the past ten years.  I asked how he lived and he said his family was no help, but his woman was. He was married to someone else but this woman was the only person who knew his day-to-day life and she had brought him to the clinic, so I got a release signed and got her in there. I told her he said he had no medicines in say, the past ten years or so.  She started laughing.

“He ought to be telling you the truth.  He gets his Mama’s old Seroquel whenever he can. Makes the voices shut up so he can sleep a little. ” Read more on Taking Mama’s Pills…

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