Off My Meds

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• February 4, 2026

Towards the end of 2025, I had absconded my meds for a number of reasons, but perhaps the most honest reason is that people with bi-polar II tend to be completely unreliable with their meds. This is was a common trend with people with such mental problems. I was no exception to any rule. After losing a TV writing gig mid year, I spiraled a bit, but the Fall turned out to be fruitful with freelance work and comedy gigs. The holidays, I already knew, would slow down work wise, but I also enjoyed the holidays and would allow myself to shed adult worries in the orbit of childhood wonder of the little ones in my life. Plus, Hawaii was already on the books to kick off the new year. A phantom kidney pain came and went, and it’s more likely from drinking and sleeping pills than prescribed drugs, but the hypochondriac in me never allowed me to believe I wasn’t the next person to be dying of cancer. Too many people in my life had cancer. Including a 3 year old. This obsession with death always created an urgency in my mind to fill my life with experience, because I was so sure there wasn’t enough time. To live this way was simultaneously foolish and wise. It was unbelievable how much of my life was a contradiction.

I was, in fact, living like a person in a mental hospital. The only times I went to bed at a normal hour was with the help of sleeping pills. Otherwise, I would be up until 3am. Despite my difficulties getting to sleep in the evening, if I woke early, it was no problem going back to sleep. Work was sporadic, and half the work I got I did from home anyway. So if my body wanted to sleep ten hours, I’d let it. I spent too many days starting to write something I’d never finish, underlining meaningful sentences in books I read, coloring, watching TV shows and movies, making simple yet satisfying meals. All in all, I felt okay. I didn’t have much responsibility besides worrying about the future, which I did a great deal of, but only allowed myself to be out of the present for so long. Yes, I went out to dinner with friends, had occasional dates that went no where, and drove out to Long Island to play with my little nephews and niece. Besides the dread of what’s to come, being half unemployed wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Since I was treating myself with kid gloves anyway, I didn’t see the need for my meds and was unsure they were helping at this point anyway. After a week off of them, I felt no better or worse. There was no illusion in my head that I’d be back on something in 2026, but I always thought it was good to detox from drugs from time to time.

Only a few days into the New Year in Hawaii (I flew in New Years Eve), I had a panic attack. What are you doing with your life? How are you going to make money? Why won’t anyone return my emails about gigs or jobs? Luckily, Hawaii is a place that pulls you into the the now— what’s going to be will be. New York is a frozen Hell tundra, you are missing nothing. If you had a million dollars you’d be trying to get where you are now, in Hawaii. Enjoy it, dummy. This voice in my head won the battle, but the negative voices didn’t try much, knowing they had a great strategy to win the war in my head.

Job hunting wasn’t going well. As a comedy writer, I had a very particular set of skills, if not merely peculiar. I figured people aren’t going through resumes anymore. Companies use computers/AI to sift through applicants, searching for the right words or familiarity with whatever software companies use. It seemed futile applying anywhere without some sort of in.

I was clueless where to focus my energy. Stand up now seemed like a game reserved for people with huge social media followings. I’d rather get staffed a show or sell a screenplay, but those goals felt further away than Hawaii did back home in New York. Of course there was the temptation to move to Hawaii, or anywhere warm, and write books instead. It was an obsession of mine to have recognition and success as a writer, not merely for my ego, but I was rather certain I was lousy at almost everything else, and worse, I’d be miserable to the point of self harm. Even though it’s well known that even the most revered writers still killed themselves.

I’m unsure anyone else could even tell when I was on or off meds. Save for little moments. At best, meds slowed down looping thoughts and curbed serotonin. At worst, side effects included worsening those things, or it affected your skin and sex drive. Those who meditate daily probably have it figured out best. Though I don’t exactly meditate, I do try to practice gratitude on the regular.

These days I tend to have long phone calls. Sometimes up to two hours. Frequently with my Mom, cousins, or certain friends. This always makes me feel better. Close connections can be as powerful as meds. This much I know.

There was a time when I felt like the crazy one in this world. But every time I read the news, open a social media app, it is clear now that the world has out-crazied me. In fact, I seem rather sane comparably. And it’s not that I’m sane at all, just self aware. I think I preferred it the other way. I think I preferred it when I was worrisome person, and the world had some order and kept its shit together. Now, it seems like the whole fucking world is off their meds and desperately needs to find something to hold onto. We’ve lost control of the plot.

It’s a dark thing to feel like you’ve lost control of your mind. It’s kind of like being on that carnival ride, “The Gravitron,” where you’re spinning so fast, your body is pressed against the wall. If you try to outstretch your hand, the force may cause you to slap your own face. Meds do help with this. It’s no defeat to get help when you need it. I was long over any shame I once felt being medicated. Meds were among some of my longest relationships. They knew me too well. Even when we are taking a break.