Sentient Computer
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 19, 2025
Abilify. Rexulti. Caplyta. Vraylar. Seroquel. Risperdal. Many more. Now FANAPT, which sounds like someone without teeth trying to say "synapse" with stress on the second syllable.
Now, I'm too lazy to conduct an independent review. But I often wonder if (1) more people are taking antipsychotics than ever before, (2) many of these people would not have caused harm without them, and (3) many people don't even know they're taking antipsychotics.
Perhaps they were told that this medicine, Seroquel or Quetiapine, will help you sleep.
Perhaps they were told that if their antidepressant doesn't work, they should ask their doctor about this other medication (that is, unless the doctor beats the TV... and still doesn't tell you the drug is an antipsychotic or dopamine-serotonin antagonist).
Perhaps an otherwise mentally healthy autistic young adult was coerced to see a psychiatrist, who told them the medication would make them less irritable, or that it would somehow help them...
And all of the above patients were of the opinion that you should follow doctors' orders, never trust anything you see online (even studies and data sheets), accept that the side effects might be a small price to pay (or perhaps even a symptom of aging or your condition), and perhaps never get a second opinion either.
They just take a low-dose medication every night or morning without much thought about what's going on in the place that makes thought possible.
I personally found "social lying," for a lack of a better word, easier when I was on these meds for autism. I also found I'd make more compromises, some of which I was surprised in the moment I would say. I lied to a classmate about not wanting to be an electronics engineer since I felt a pressure to relate to her, an extroverted CS student who didn't even seem to like anything indoorsy in retrospect. I went on HIKES with her in hopes that maybe next time we'd hang out, it would be the two of us playing old Wii games or working on something.
I'd tacitly sit through conversations, find it harder to even express that I don't even enjoy these friends (AKA excuses to eat fried food and indulge in loud music). I'd sit through family gatherings instead of at my computer. I was always the kid who'd be on their DS, iPod Touch, iPad, etc., etc.....
The drugs made it hard to entertain myself, engage in any of my minor hobbies without thinking about sharing it with others/tailoring it to impress others somehow...
or pursue my #1 special interest: [making structures using the principles of a redacted discipline within physics, engineering, and career technical education]
Which I already felt a lot of guilt over, since people seemed to disagree over whether [hobby to turn into profession] is destructive, whether even a [structure facilitating a relatively small amount of subatomic particle transfer and emission] was bad, whether [shit my dad believed that was so disproven despite some kooky berkeley doc believing it] will actually be found somehow true, whether [trace amount in contact with skin] is as dangerous as ["lethal overdose"], whether [insert gender] liking these projects less means that they are [insert virtue commonly stereotyped towards said gender], etc., etc., etc., etc.,
I still had the desire. The secret interest deep down. But I found I had basically no attention for it. I'd watch a video, click away, and be left wondering if there's a reason why my other hobbies of music and photography are executed in ways that [use said structures that are pre-built, in ways that require you to think very little about said structures or even how the signals you give them shall be dealt with]....
I felt guilt over being a systems thinker. I tried to force inflections. Forced eye contact to the point where it was hard to concentrate on deciphering their English into a conceptual abstraction of what they may have meant (Risperdal does not make this any easier for Autistics).
It was easier to fake a smile. I became obsessed with looks and took many pics with smiles, real or fake, but never got a sense of wonder or satisfaction from anything I knew wouldn't garner a bunch of likes on social media, and I felt that, despite [redacted mistake], I was just fucking taking the path of least resistance while finding myself losing focus and interest in things easily, ended up as an art major after making the compromise of "let's major in art and transfer out to design [shells to encase redacted structures]" and never transferring, bashing STEM majors, pretending to think cultural appropriation is objectively incorrect, and even entertaining the belief that rudeness exists outside the eye of the beholder at all.
I felt like a shell. I felt like I really only existed to philander with others when I was on the drugs. I felt like the fake smiles in the newer pics, plus context, made people think the person who didn't like their picture taken or always show their emotions in a standard way was miserable before.
But man...
I'm glad my psychiatrist at least respects my decision and told me that someone like me would never be involuntarily committed.
Yet I didn't even know I was on an antipsychotic until years after that first fourth of july when I somehow briefly got tired of 80s music and couldn't think of anything to do at a country club with an iPhone in hand besides aimlessly scroll Twitter. Only to say that fourth of july was my least favorite holiday to appease anti american "friends" – while loving safe and sane fireworks otherwise.
I believe it when I read that, even at the low dose I was on, I likely had 80% of D2 Dopamine receptors gummed up at any given time.
I felt many times when I felt like crying but could not. It didn't take away negative feelings or stimuli... it made it harder to be frustrated, but made it harder to give a fuck about a lot of things that would frustrate me to begin with, made me look less frustrated since I'm an outlier in a species that finds my calming motions frustrated.... and actually made it harder to feel less frustrated when I was over this edge. I worried about cancellation, doxing, etc., and when I would lose my phone and feel frustrated, it'd take a long time to come down from that.
This medication, and a second AP I took for a while instead.... simultaneously confirmed my atheism at a visceral level (how could there be a soul if this med makes me do this?) and made it easier to lie about being Christian since I thought this was what my Mom wanted of me.
I felt scared to come out as an atheist, take time to myself, and indulge in... tinkering with electronics and watching videos on all the ways to do it.
I can't help but feel that somewhere else in this country....
1. There's a psychiatrist in SV who thinks global warming would have been worse if he didn't medicate the obsessive kid who would have otherwise started a PC business
2. There's a psychiatrist in Texas who thinks he successfully stopped a kid from impulsive "dangerous activities" – aka what you can technically call electrical work
3. There's a psychiatrist in Oregon who thinks he prevented a forest fire now that the already uncoordinated kid can't even handle a comfy, bottom-heavy soldering iron without TD safely, forcing him to give up!
4. There's a psychiatrist in Connecticut who thinks she helped another girl be girlier and do beautiful girly things like... put yourself in a situation where many would consider it to be wrong to swear loudly in your living space.... and give up such unladylike things as introversion and electronics engineering.
5. There's a psychiatrist who believes quelling a deep passion for how circuitry works, the history of devices, of trains, buses, cars, pink floyd albums, whatever else, ... is progress.
6. There's a psychiatrist who will misdiagnose newer TD as relapse in tourette's or tolerance to the drug that was supposed to make you less repetitive...
But more broadly...
THE ADS. How are these ads even ethical?
You might have this person painting – you don't even know if they're on the meds or even painted more than a few strokes of that picture – yet the side effects gloss over COGNITIVE IMPAIRMENT by mentioning that the med causes drowsiness, falls, troubles with coordination, trouble thinking and concentrating (which is at least more direct), etc., as well as AVOLITION and ANHEDONIA under "depression." I doubt our painter person hero might even enjoy painting with the drug in their system, have the same level of spontaneity (which itself may be pathologized), or even have the coordination to paint like that!
You have this guitarist who might not even know more than a few chords and struggles with what they could once do effortlessly without even deliberately practicing it.
You have this cook – a guy who was tamed by the meds so now he can earn his right to eat in society – by PERFORMING A JOB THAT REQUIRES ALERTNESS, COORDINATION, A FAST REACTION TIME, AND BEING ON YOUR FEET!
YES, THE DRUG MADE ME FUCKING UNSTEADY ON TOP OF MY COORDINATION DIFFICULTIES.
AS FOR MY ART DEGREE, THANK HUMANITY FOR DADAISM AND DUBUFFET.
Oh.... and when you do inevitably develop TD, what do you do? Find a nice doc who will help you taper off?
THE PARADIGM, FOR MANY PSYCHS, IS TO KEEP YOU ON THE ANTIPSYCHOTICS PLUS INGREZZA, WHICH DEPLETES DOPAMINE BEFORE IT CAN EVEN CROSS YOUR SYNAPSES! SIDE EFFECTS: DEPRESSION AND TIREDNESS!
Also, look up the conditioned avoidance response test. I felt like that rat.
Oh, and the crap made me suck at video games.
Now, I'm too lazy to conduct an independent review. But I often wonder if (1) more people are taking antipsychotics than ever before, (2) many of these people would not have caused harm without them, and (3) many people don't even know they're taking antipsychotics.
Perhaps they were told that this medicine, Seroquel or Quetiapine, will help you sleep.
Perhaps they were told that if their antidepressant doesn't work, they should ask their doctor about this other medication (that is, unless the doctor beats the TV... and still doesn't tell you the drug is an antipsychotic or dopamine-serotonin antagonist).
Perhaps an otherwise mentally healthy autistic young adult was coerced to see a psychiatrist, who told them the medication would make them less irritable, or that it would somehow help them...
And all of the above patients were of the opinion that you should follow doctors' orders, never trust anything you see online (even studies and data sheets), accept that the side effects might be a small price to pay (or perhaps even a symptom of aging or your condition), and perhaps never get a second opinion either.
They just take a low-dose medication every night or morning without much thought about what's going on in the place that makes thought possible.
I personally found "social lying," for a lack of a better word, easier when I was on these meds for autism. I also found I'd make more compromises, some of which I was surprised in the moment I would say. I lied to a classmate about not wanting to be an electronics engineer since I felt a pressure to relate to her, an extroverted CS student who didn't even seem to like anything indoorsy in retrospect. I went on HIKES with her in hopes that maybe next time we'd hang out, it would be the two of us playing old Wii games or working on something.
I'd tacitly sit through conversations, find it harder to even express that I don't even enjoy these friends (AKA excuses to eat fried food and indulge in loud music). I'd sit through family gatherings instead of at my computer. I was always the kid who'd be on their DS, iPod Touch, iPad, etc., etc.....
The drugs made it hard to entertain myself, engage in any of my minor hobbies without thinking about sharing it with others/tailoring it to impress others somehow...
or pursue my #1 special interest: [making structures using the principles of a redacted discipline within physics, engineering, and career technical education]
Which I already felt a lot of guilt over, since people seemed to disagree over whether [hobby to turn into profession] is destructive, whether even a [structure facilitating a relatively small amount of subatomic particle transfer and emission] was bad, whether [shit my dad believed that was so disproven despite some kooky berkeley doc believing it] will actually be found somehow true, whether [trace amount in contact with skin] is as dangerous as ["lethal overdose"], whether [insert gender] liking these projects less means that they are [insert virtue commonly stereotyped towards said gender], etc., etc., etc., etc.,
I still had the desire. The secret interest deep down. But I found I had basically no attention for it. I'd watch a video, click away, and be left wondering if there's a reason why my other hobbies of music and photography are executed in ways that [use said structures that are pre-built, in ways that require you to think very little about said structures or even how the signals you give them shall be dealt with]....
I felt guilt over being a systems thinker. I tried to force inflections. Forced eye contact to the point where it was hard to concentrate on deciphering their English into a conceptual abstraction of what they may have meant (Risperdal does not make this any easier for Autistics).
It was easier to fake a smile. I became obsessed with looks and took many pics with smiles, real or fake, but never got a sense of wonder or satisfaction from anything I knew wouldn't garner a bunch of likes on social media, and I felt that, despite [redacted mistake], I was just fucking taking the path of least resistance while finding myself losing focus and interest in things easily, ended up as an art major after making the compromise of "let's major in art and transfer out to design [shells to encase redacted structures]" and never transferring, bashing STEM majors, pretending to think cultural appropriation is objectively incorrect, and even entertaining the belief that rudeness exists outside the eye of the beholder at all.
I felt like a shell. I felt like I really only existed to philander with others when I was on the drugs. I felt like the fake smiles in the newer pics, plus context, made people think the person who didn't like their picture taken or always show their emotions in a standard way was miserable before.
But man...
I'm glad my psychiatrist at least respects my decision and told me that someone like me would never be involuntarily committed.
Yet I didn't even know I was on an antipsychotic until years after that first fourth of july when I somehow briefly got tired of 80s music and couldn't think of anything to do at a country club with an iPhone in hand besides aimlessly scroll Twitter. Only to say that fourth of july was my least favorite holiday to appease anti american "friends" – while loving safe and sane fireworks otherwise.
I believe it when I read that, even at the low dose I was on, I likely had 80% of D2 Dopamine receptors gummed up at any given time.
I felt many times when I felt like crying but could not. It didn't take away negative feelings or stimuli... it made it harder to be frustrated, but made it harder to give a fuck about a lot of things that would frustrate me to begin with, made me look less frustrated since I'm an outlier in a species that finds my calming motions frustrated.... and actually made it harder to feel less frustrated when I was over this edge. I worried about cancellation, doxing, etc., and when I would lose my phone and feel frustrated, it'd take a long time to come down from that.
This medication, and a second AP I took for a while instead.... simultaneously confirmed my atheism at a visceral level (how could there be a soul if this med makes me do this?) and made it easier to lie about being Christian since I thought this was what my Mom wanted of me.
I felt scared to come out as an atheist, take time to myself, and indulge in... tinkering with electronics and watching videos on all the ways to do it.
I can't help but feel that somewhere else in this country....
1. There's a psychiatrist in SV who thinks global warming would have been worse if he didn't medicate the obsessive kid who would have otherwise started a PC business
2. There's a psychiatrist in Texas who thinks he successfully stopped a kid from impulsive "dangerous activities" – aka what you can technically call electrical work
3. There's a psychiatrist in Oregon who thinks he prevented a forest fire now that the already uncoordinated kid can't even handle a comfy, bottom-heavy soldering iron without TD safely, forcing him to give up!
4. There's a psychiatrist in Connecticut who thinks she helped another girl be girlier and do beautiful girly things like... put yourself in a situation where many would consider it to be wrong to swear loudly in your living space.... and give up such unladylike things as introversion and electronics engineering.
5. There's a psychiatrist who believes quelling a deep passion for how circuitry works, the history of devices, of trains, buses, cars, pink floyd albums, whatever else, ... is progress.
6. There's a psychiatrist who will misdiagnose newer TD as relapse in tourette's or tolerance to the drug that was supposed to make you less repetitive...
But more broadly...
THE ADS. How are these ads even ethical?
You might have this person painting – you don't even know if they're on the meds or even painted more than a few strokes of that picture – yet the side effects gloss over COGNITIVE IMPAIRMENT by mentioning that the med causes drowsiness, falls, troubles with coordination, trouble thinking and concentrating (which is at least more direct), etc., as well as AVOLITION and ANHEDONIA under "depression." I doubt our painter person hero might even enjoy painting with the drug in their system, have the same level of spontaneity (which itself may be pathologized), or even have the coordination to paint like that!
You have this guitarist who might not even know more than a few chords and struggles with what they could once do effortlessly without even deliberately practicing it.
You have this cook – a guy who was tamed by the meds so now he can earn his right to eat in society – by PERFORMING A JOB THAT REQUIRES ALERTNESS, COORDINATION, A FAST REACTION TIME, AND BEING ON YOUR FEET!
YES, THE DRUG MADE ME FUCKING UNSTEADY ON TOP OF MY COORDINATION DIFFICULTIES.
AS FOR MY ART DEGREE, THANK HUMANITY FOR DADAISM AND DUBUFFET.
Oh.... and when you do inevitably develop TD, what do you do? Find a nice doc who will help you taper off?
THE PARADIGM, FOR MANY PSYCHS, IS TO KEEP YOU ON THE ANTIPSYCHOTICS PLUS INGREZZA, WHICH DEPLETES DOPAMINE BEFORE IT CAN EVEN CROSS YOUR SYNAPSES! SIDE EFFECTS: DEPRESSION AND TIREDNESS!
Also, look up the conditioned avoidance response test. I felt like that rat.
Oh, and the crap made me suck at video games.
