Oculogyric Crisis: A Rare & Terrifying Side Effect of Schizophrenia Medication

In the vast landscape of neurological oddities, there's one peculiar phenomenon that stands out like a sore thumb – Oculogyric Crisis (OGC). Picture this: your eyes decide to take a spontaneous field trip and aim for the stars, leaving you feeling like a confused stargazer in the midst of a bustling office or behind the wheel of a car. Let's take a whimsical journey through my experiences with OGC, sprinkled with a dash of humor and a pinch of resilience.

It all began in the hallowed halls of my workplace, where the daily grind meets the occasional whirlwind of chaos. Twice, amidst the hustle and bustle of office life, OGC crashed the party uninvited, turning me into the unwitting star of a bizarre eye-show. Picture the scene: colleagues frozen in disbelief, guests raising eyebrows in confusion, and me, trying to maintain an air of professionalism while my eyes decide to break free from their earthly constraints and aim for the ceiling.

But OGC wasn't content with just disrupting my workday – oh no, it had grander ambitions. Enter the world of driving, where OGC decided to make a cameo appearance at the most inconvenient of times. Whether it was a leisurely drive from the local sci-fi convention or or a frantic rush-hour commute, OGC never missed an opportunity to hijack the steering wheel and turn a routine journey into a white-knuckle rollercoaster ride. Who needs theme park thrills when you've got OGC-induced panic attacks, am I right? And these episodes didn't last just a few minutes, we're talking hours. Eight, even ten hours I would be stuck in this state of sheer terror and yes, pain, too.

I'm still not exactly sure how I managed to make it home safely all those times. I guess it was the peripheral that helped me steer straight, along with tagging along behind the big semi trucks and staying in the slow lane. Overall, it was agreed that I should never ever do that again-ever.

Now, you might think that unraveling the mystery of Oculogyric Crisis would be a straightforward affair – a quick trip to the doctor, a few tests, and voila, problem solved. Well, think again. For me, it was a three-year odyssey of misdiagnoses, false starts, and enough hospital visits to rival a season of Grey's Anatomy. It wasn't until I found myself ringing in the New Year in the emergency room, eyes glued to the ceiling and mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions, that the pieces of the puzzle finally began to fall into place.

In the midst of the chaos, there were moments of levity – like the time I found myself in the ER on Christmas Day, trading holiday cheer with the nurses while my eyes played a game of cosmic peekaboo, and then again on New Year's. And let's not forget the countless doses of Ativan and Xanax, each one a tiny lifeline in the tempest of OGC-induced panic. But Xanax and Ativan are habit-forming, right and so they are doled out sparingly. In my experience, I never had enough to cover all the episodes.

Through it all, I clung to humor like a life raft in a sea of uncertainty. Because when faced with a phenomenon as bizarre and bewildering as Oculogyric Crisis, sometimes laughter is the best and only medicine. And as I continue to navigate the labyrinth of life with schizophrenia, I do so with a wink and a smile, knowing that even in the darkest of moments, there's always a glimmer of light to guide the way.

It should go without saying that I discontinued the Geodon and switched to another medication, and then another, and so it went and so it goes-unless or until more AR/VR solutions are offered to folks like me.

Until then, stay connected and stay informed!

Kat King

MindTech Insider