I haven’t had the problem with side effects that others have had. Except for the weight. The fucking weight. I went to my endocrinologist the other day and learned that my A1C levels had gone down five points. Of course, I over-ate to celebrate, but the maddening thing is that my weight isn’t changing: I continue to hover between 250 and 260 pounds! We have no explanation for this, my doctor and I, but it is noted.

Damn the weight! The blame falls almost entirely on my Risperidone, an antypical anti-psychotic. My mood stabilizers are kind on this point, but my Risperdal has transformed me from a reed shaking in the wind to a baobab — a huge club of a tree that eats up city blocks in Africa. The other night I took a nearly nude selfie. My stomach stood out like a bump on an oak tree. I looked like I was heavily pregnant, ready to drop a cat or a foal. The hair on my belly spread out from my navel like grass on a tiny planet. But I have been rewarded with calmer moods, gentleness, and peace of mind. I’ll find a way to reduce the weight.