33 missed calls?

I’d rather think of that as indicator of how in-demand I am rather than my ignoring the outside world.

Today went by so fast and I can hardly remember what I did.  I think dishes, laundry, and writing, which was difficult.  I think it’s because of the chocohol.  I’ve had something like this before, on different medications, but it was diagnosed as psychogenic non-epileptic seizure disorder.

It feels like an icicle is piercing your brain and there’s ice water running through your veins.  You twitch.  You stumble.

It’s hard to read or write, your hands will unceremoniously slam the keyboard.  You sometimes forget words or you’ll start talking and forget where you were going.  You stuttter.  You slur.

Without warning you drop whatever you’re holding, which is fine when you’re holding, say, a, cotton ball, but less okay when you’re holding, say, your cell phone or, maybe, a priceless Faberge egg filled with scalding hot coffee.

You get that feeling you get when you fall in a dream and it’s like an electric shock.

I can’t say it’s the chocohol for sure but I have a feeling it is and that Dr. G is going to want to do something about it.  

I'm not fussed.  This is one of the aspects of being sick that I file in the “exceptionally annoying” folder rather than the “tormenting” folder.  

It's pretty childish but I'm just so sick of complaining to my doctors.  Since I graduated it's been one thing after another.  I know, I probably shouldn't write these symptoms off right away if there's a chance it could end up in the "preventable fatality" folder.  

I’m just glad I can cross PNESD off my list.  I have enough diagnoses to last me a lifetime.

Chocohol

So because I’m lazy and stubborn and don’t like to admit that I need medication to be a functioning human person, I let my medications run out.  I’m not talking about the anxiety medications that I’m not sure are exactly doing shit.  I’m talking about the heavy medication that stops me from, for example, thinking there’s a three-piece string quartet living in my walls playing the same four bars of Amazing Grace over and over again in order to torment me. 

Luckily there weren’t any consequences for my perilous game except that my mood slipped a bit.  Well I guess the main consequence was that when I got them filled and had my first dose I slept until 7pm. 

Last time I was on the heaviest of my current medications, I remember it being especially hard to get out of bed, but I don’t remember pulling 19 hours. 

I also remember gaining weight but I don’t remember having the mother of all sweet teeth (tooths?).  

Oh, but it’s not just a sweet tooth.  

I need chocolate.  I need chocolate now.

I realize that this blog is pretty much an open book into my private goings-on but even I have enough pride not to divulge the number of times I made the walk of shame over to my building’s vending machine and walked away $1.25 poorer.  Alright alright, sometimes $2.50 poorer. 

The shame.

I’m hoping I’m just adapting to it and that this problem with subside with time.  Otherwise, I may gain back all the weight I lost.

It’s not looking good.  No energy and a sweet tooth do not a healthy BMI make.

On the plus side, Dr. G spoke with the powers-at-be over at Chocohol (which is henceforth the name of the heavy medication) headquarters, and I don’t have to have weekly blood tests usually required when starting up this medication.  I was only awarded this courtesy because I’ve been on it before and because Dr. G is a hellcat from Brooklyn.

Pdoc love.

Refresh

Yes, I’m trying this again.  I’ve been writing journal entries to myself lately and decided to bring my writing to the web.  At the moment this blog is private, but if I manage to keep up with updates, I’ll open it up to the public.

In terms of what’s new, I’ve deleted a good portion of my writing on this blog and changed the look and name.  What’s especially refreshing, however, is that I’m now on the other side of a nasty depression. 

Let’s back up.  

My last entry was written one month into a hypomanic episode.  (Anyone who has ever been any degree of manic should chuckle knowingly at this- mania tends to inspire a person into taking up old- or new- hobbies and committing to them greatly for a brief period of time.)  A combination of dropping a strong medication and graduating from college sent my mental system haywire.  I liken the second aspect to Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: one moment of pure joy makes me cuckoo bananas. 

I was between psychiatrists at the time.  Dr. Win, my trusty psychiatrist through my college years, had to close her practice for a more lucrative and stable position due to family issues.  At the time she decided to do this, things couldn’t seem any better for me.  I had been doing so well, in fact, that Dr. Marc and I were throwing out words like “remission” and wondering if we might be able to close up shop.

God, that seems like a lifetime away.

It was hardly a week after graduation that I stopped sleeping.  (Sleep is your most sensitive barometer of mental wellness, especially for but not exclusively to those who are mentally ill.)  I’ve had problems with insomnia since the fourth grade, but I always found that I severely missed the sleep I wasn’t having- I wasn’t missing sleep now.  I was feeling no pain. 

Seeing as I’m relentlessly neurotic, it was hardly a heartbeat before I hopped on over to my bestie, WebMD.  A couple days into my sleeplessness I emailed Dr. Win- “I’m having all the symptoms of mania except that I’m not being reckless.”

“Sounds like you’re hypomanic.”

She prescribed me a new medication and told me to hang tight until I saw my new psychiatrist, Dr. G, who she recommended as her replacement and is my current psychiatrist.

My first appointment with Dr. G was colorful.  I was able to give an amusingly thorough and comprehensive account of my mental health history.  I walked away from that appointment with three diagnoses: bipolar II (which would later be changed to bipolar I), obsessive-compulsive disorder, and generalized anxiety disorder. 

I’d had diagnoses thrown around for most of my life, but never had I had anything securely in place.  I never had anything I could identify with or come to understand as the reasons behind my quirkiness. 

I soon became acquainted with words like “rapid-cycling” and “ultra rapid-cycling” and “ultra-ultra rapid-cycling” (better known as “ultradian rapid-cycling”) and the terror that is “mixed moods”.  If you were ever under the impression that mania merely consists of being super stoked all the time, you should come to learn these definitions, as well as the kind of damage a person in an excessively good mood can do.  You should be aware of unbearable anxiety and uncalled-for irritability.  You should know that a person will do and say things they can't take back.  You should be aware of the fact that what goes up must come down. 

Like. A. Bitch.

Dr. G wouldn’t even say the word.  She called it “the big D”.  We did everything to prevent it, but to no avail.

I spent two seasons under the thumb of the big D.  We tried countless medications to manage it, only to end up back on the medication I initially dropped before graduation, the one that was supposedly unnecessarily strong.

Such is life.

10 months later, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself.  Initially I had to put off getting a job because of the mania, then it was the depression, now it’s the side effects.  Yes, I realize that I'm running out of excuses- I don’t know what I would do even if I was 100%.  I feel like I’m not good for anything except my story, which may be what inspired this writing.  

I believe I have a story to tell.

So, let’s see if I can stop being a lazy-ass and write.

An odd sort of druggie.

This one I’m intrigued by.

Feb 6, 2:46 am
Furnish room w/ drug rep medication promotional goodies

I wasn’t sure how to phrase that at 2:46 am. In fact, I’m still no sure how to phrase it.

But I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve ever been to a psychiatrist’s office- or at any doctor's office, it seems- you’ve seen them. Seroquel pens. Clarinex clocks. Viagra tissue
boxes. (Think about it a second. Got it? Yeah.)

These objects inexplicably tickle me and I'm incredibly drawn to the idea of collecting a whole range of such ridiculous objects. True, most of them are pens. But occasionally, you come across such a rare beauteous gem as this:

A Paxil CR Floaty USB Mouse.

There's fake pills floating around in the bottom part of the mouse! How cool is that?!

The only way this drug rep promotional goodie could be goodier would be if they were real pills. It could be your pillbox!




Sadly, when I came across this item on Ebay, it came with the news that drug rep promotional items as of Jan 1, 2009, are no longer being distributed. It didn't go into detail, and I haven't been able to dig up any more information on it, so I'm not relying to much on that one source, especially since they're attempting to sell me something. At any rate, if it's true, I'm very saddened by this possibility. Those kitschy, over-the-top items were always my favorite part of so many doctors visits.

Well, I suppose I now have a mission. I don't just want to collect pens, but it may come down to that. Ebay has a plethora of promotional pens. But I know that occasionally I'll come across a goodie as goodeous (new word, trying it out) as the Paxil floaty mouse.

If I could find a Viagra tissue box I could die happy.

That would be my holy grail.