Apparently, when medication is right, you might not even feel it. I was legitimately afraid while psychiatrist was switching me to quetiapine, tossing black humour quips with my brother over the side effects list, that this is how I'll die -- after a long stoke-induced coma that'll happen when trying to reconcile in my chemically stunted brain evaporated libido with priapism... but it's been almost two months of them working like magic and leaving no side-effects beyond dull-ish short-lasting headaches at odd times. My manic episode was nonexistent, excess energy looking more like the (almost certainly misdiagnosed/misinterpreted) ADD I had since early teens if anything. Lower mood was hitting hard at first, but now it's just that instead of something where it made everything some raw-willpower effort aided by motivational tricks to get the brain and body going, often separately and on different gears. It's like I can stand beside my thoughts, qualify and analyze them enough so that therapy begins to help rather than cause more doubts.
Many of you here deserve thanks, but I'm gonna single out goobster for filling in so many, most unstated or yet unknown, gaps so early on. 'Simply' knowing the direction of future questioning is good 70% of learning.
And, hey, as a curative bonus, I stuck with Latin and Greek. Δίκα δὲ τοῖς μὲν παθοῦσιν μαθεῖν ἐπιρρέπει became somewhat of a mantra, because if you allow some customary wiggle room in translating poetry: "[justly,] to learn your lesson, you must suffer first."
Thank you, to all who reached out.
I had some more things and thoughts to add about the last drive to Ukraine, but it's not even clear to me where to start on that one.