Archive for anti-depressants

Not A Cute Kind Of Sloth

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Day 3 of saying fuck it and being slothful. And not the adorable looking sloths, just…ick sloth. Sluggish, slow. Whatever fire I had inside of me to get through the chaos of December and the holidays…has been extinguished. I think it is just the winter depression combined with being emotionally tapped out and mentally frustrated. The doctor increased my Cymbalta but did not send it to the pharmacy so now I am in a holding pattern on that while the pharmacy faxes his office and waits…I don’t understand how they fuck up electronic scripts so much. Man, I miss the days of just being handed a paper script. Because then I didn’t have to make multiple trips to the pharmacy cos they forgot to electronically send something.

Further adding to my icky feelings is the fact that while I Trazadoned up and slept pretty well last night…I slept until 10:30 a.m. Originally I had set the alarm for 8 a.m., fully planning to get cleaned up, go into town to pay rent…but then I said fuck it and went back to sleep because until that script is ready, I’d end up having to make two trips to town as opposed to waiting and making just one. I always feel icky when my rent isn’t paid by the 1rst but I know the landlord won’t say a word about it. It bothers me, though. I am queen of inconsistency so what little consistency I can maintain by paying rent regularly and taking care of Spook, it matters to me.

My mom went to the ER yesterday. She has pneumonia and her insurance keeps declining the $100 antibiotic she needs to start getting better. I am so fed up with doctors and hospital and pharma companies charging arms and legs and being completely unreasonable. Because of some insurance assclown, my kid can’t have the medication that works so well, she actually wants to take it. I am all for going with the cheaper option IF it is effective as the expensive med. But Concerta was the one that worked best and they won’t cover it. What is the point of insurance?

Adding to my aggravation, a $15 package of ground beef spoiled in the fridge because my kid shoved things around, tore the plastic, then didn’t shut the door entirely and I noticed she’s been messing with the temperature knobs, so who knows what will go next. I needed that hamburger, damn it. That was 3 weeks worth of meal plans, out the window, and I can’t afford to replace it. Wasting food makes me feel like a shitty human being even if does happen.

Think I am going PMDD hormonal cos I am having a plethora of fleeting but overwhelming emotions. One minute something makes me tear up, one minute something pisses me off, then I am glassy eyed and smiling and filled with warm fuzzies…And then back to Fort Blankie sloth mode. I have GOT to dig myself out of whatever this mental phase is but deep down…I know the only thing that will truly elevate my mental state will be the start of spring. Winter just flips a switch in my head and all the gray and gloom and cold and snow and ice drags me under more. Right now we are having 40’s during the day, high 20’s at night and it’s been dry but gloomy for days. I don’t think I would fare any better in a different climate, like a warm one where the season changes are barely noticable. I do occasionally love a snowy night, curled up with hot cocoa or soup under a blankie. The ONLY good thing I can say about winter is, at least I don’t have to mow this mammoth yard for 5 months.

I swear there is something inside of me trying to claw its way out. I do not want to feel these depressive feelings. I do not want to be a lazy slothful person. I WANT to get out of my own head and start LIVING life. But my brain needs to cooperate for that to happen.

It’s so bizarre how the entire world can wrap their head around appliances not working right or at all when even one little part is failing. “Yep, transmission’s out, car won’t run.”

BUT when it comes to mental health issues and our brain is basically the transmission needed to make the car go…People just do not get it at all. And that’s sad because without a working brain, we are considered braindead even if our systems are kept alive and no one is at the bedside cussing them out, “Get up and LIVE, you lazy bum! You can snap out of this!”

Mental health issues…Little empathy, zero compassion, nothing but judgment and criticisms.

One would think a misfiring brain causing systems to shut down would be the easiest thing to grasp. Our whole body depends on our brain to operate it. If yours is on the fritz and sending out the wrong information about how you are feeling and what you are thinking…I fail to see how the concept is too out there to be grasped.

I am just waiting til some dumbfuck in the powers that be system decides those with mental health issues aren’t worthy of living and create a ‘cash for human clunkers’ program.

Word Jumble

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My brain is like one of those word jumble puzzles. I am forever using the wrong words or spelling even though I know what I want to write. Earlier I wrote a comment and meant to say ‘weapon’ but wrote ‘women’ instead. Geesh. This happens in verbal conversations too. The professionals say it’s byproduct of the disorders. Personally, I think it’s 20 years of their psych meds garbling what brain cells I have left. People have asked if I am drunk when I garble my words but sadly, I am NOT. I wish, that would be a legit explanation people would embrace.

Speaking of professionals, I just got my reminder call that I see Psych Nurse From Hell tomorrow. Joy, joy, happy, happy. I have decided that I am going to get some bloody eye contact even if I have to drag a chair across the room or perch on the corner of the damn desk. I will NOT be ignored and dismissed so easily. I thought about going in in my pajamas, maybe then she’d fucking remember me and realize, hey, she isn’t doing so hot. But I doubt she’d notice or she’d just chalk it up to me being lazy. I get the impression she isn’t a big believer in her own field of choice so you gotta wonder why she went into it if not to help people like me who need help. I had a doctor like that once, he said only three drugs should be on the formulary because they are all alike. He was a nice enough fellow, but man, such stringent views doesn’t leave you much wiggle room if you don’t respond to his chosen 3. At least this nurse is open to trying stuff. Or she was, til she got on her ‘fewer pills’ kick. Hey, I am all for fewer pills since every day I chole on my wheel sized Lamictal and it gets caught in my throat and we all know that bitter taste that doesn’t quite go away…But monotherapy has never worked for me, so she can just suck it up and prescribe me a secondary anti depressant.

I cannot believe how many people with mental health issues who tell me they went off all their meds and decided to cope on their own. Some of them smoke pot to alleviate the worst of it. Nothing against them, but pot makes me stupid and I’ve tried no meds. It was not pretty. And my priority is being a good mother to Spook and I can’t manage it sans meds because my conditions are really that pronounced. Good for those who can get off the medi go round, kiss the lousy providers goodbye, and manage. I’m just not that blessed.

I have managed to run uphill today. Ran errands I’d put off cos I was NOT coping well. I tackled vacuuming, dishes, and put a load of laundry in the washer. Beyond that, I am sitting in my ‘frozen’ spot, the only place where I don’t feel like everything is out to get me and it will all fall apart. I mean, I still feel pretty unsafe and paranoid, but at least my crypt offers some warm fuzzy feelings. Even if the panxiety stomps on them. I was looking at that teacher copy of the ADHD sheet the shrink gave me for Spook and I saw so many things that fit me. Like having to have things a certain way. Oh, I can live in mess, filth, chaos, hunger, not bathing, etc. But I have my ‘routine’ that MUST NOT be interrupted or I fall apart and shrapnel flies. Like my evening ritual of watching MASH then Frasier. If our freebie antenna isn’t pulling in the channels, I start getting very riled.

I’ve been like this as long as I can remember, right down to the shifts worked by my significant others. If it disrupted my normal ebb and flow, it was the villain and I hated it and in turn, they felt I hated them. I hate instability and lack of control and a comfort zone. Not my fault they didn’t view me as disabled and dismissed it as me being a hateful control freak. Maybe if they’d been stronger in character they’d have been smart enough to realize just how sick I get at times. I know that is expecting too much. Now if I had a physical disability, they’d be monsters for not helping out, learning about it, going to appointments with me, making sure I had my meds and a comfortable space…But because I have invisible illnesses, meh, no one can be bothered to learn that so many of the ‘traits’ they consider personality flaws are things that don’t occur when my med regime is working right. When I feel safe and calm and stable, I am not a monster.Frankly, even when I am not well, I don’t think I am a monster, just troubled.

I was gonna link to a couple of previous posts that didn’t get many views but I thought they were relevant but I realize this one ran too long and I probably lost most readers after the first paragraph. But I get sick of some drivel post getting 30 likes but something I am proud of goes unnoticed.

But ya know what? To hell with it.

This one is about mental disability.
This one is about learning yesterday that my kid is ADHD and is going to be medicated.

Back to trudging uphill in molasses and dreading the NP appointment tomorrow. I swear I’d almost rather face a dentist without novacaine. She makes me that uncomfortable.

Abilify Bugs

Posted in anti depressant side effects, anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on June 5, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My Wellbutrin dose was halved, but my Abilify dose increased by 5 mg. I was wondering why I’ve felt like bugs are crawling on my skin and scalp and why I can’t sit still and am constantly restless and rocking or fidgeting. These newer antipsychotics that are used as antidepressants have all had this impact on me. It went away at 10 mg, but is severe now that I am at 15 mg. I will give it a week, and if it does not improve, then I will drop down to ten and call and tell the nurse. And I do mean tell, not ask. That woman is intent on screwing up my life with all the med changes before I can even get stabilized and I have every intention of advocating for myself. How much worse can it get?

A friend offered me a gas card if I can find a new shrink center. I’ve been calling the state capitol which is a hundred miles round trip but every time I find one that accepts my primary insurance, they don’t take secondary and want cash up front. If they take my secondary, they don’t take the primary and want cash up front. Then are the ones who interview me like I am applying for a job only to call back and say, no, we won’t be taking you on as a patient. Could this process be more frustrating?

I am about to go the other geographical location but this city is nearly 200 miles round trip. They do however have an expanded psych care program affiliated with one of the hospitals, though I haven’t checked to see if they do outpatient med checks or just in hospital care these days. It was 7 years ago last I dealt with any of them and that was because they were contracted to be telepsychiatrists at my center. Since the center is aiming for doctors from the capitol, I can only assume they have cut ties with the hospital that is further away. But that will be tomorrow’s project, I am tapped out from rejection from every direction.

And the sensation of bugs crawling all over me is driving me mad. I keep rocking myself, bouncing my knee, unable to focus. Maddening side effects. Like I said, one week at this dose and if it doesn’t alleviate, I am going back to the original dose. Has anyone else ever had the ‘buggy’ sensation from these atypicals? I try to explain it to the professionals and they seriously look at me like I have sprouted two heads and started talking in tongues. I am NOT making this shit up. I think back to yesterday when my kid saw the counselor and man, I was pointing out how she couldn’t sit still or stop moving her hands, and there I was, shifting in my chair ten times a minute, digging mints from my purse, folding and unfolding my hands, and being an all around spazz.

This was one of the biggest problems I faced with working while trying new medications. They don’t give you any slack because your medication makes your tongue dart in and out of your mouth like a frog catching flies and you don’t even realize you are doing it. They don’t cut slack because you’re itchy, or sweaty, or for whatever reason, you suddenly need to pee ten times a day whereas before the medication, you did not. And before I started putting my foot down and refusing the coma meds, I’d often have to take a week of unpaid medical because I couldn’t stay awake for my shift and had a hard time waking up just to show up.

But these doctors and nurses will never admit these meds have such hobbling side effects. That would fly in the face of what their books taught them and what they learned from a hundred other patients. We are individuals. Treat us as such.

Can An Antidepressant Rewire Your Brain So Drastically It Robs You Of Creativity?

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on August 15, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I had an abrupt epiphany after a much needed (and questionably acquired) but dream plagued sleep: 5 months ago, I was depressed but I wasn’t having so much trouble sleeping and I was definitely not having so many bizarre dreams.

Enter Cymbalta.

Suddenly my sleep troubles increase ten fold and I have neverending dreams/nightmares. No matter how awful they are, though, sleep is still my happy place and waking up is a bummer.

So while I’ve known a long time that mood stabilizers do indeed alter your personality/creatity a bit because, hey, manic is bad, gotta tame those too happy self destructive chemicals somehow…I’ve never taken much of a look at the impact antidepressants have on your mind. Can’t have the ‘stay in bed, let me die’ depression so of course, your brain chemicals have to be altered by the medication in a way that’s positive, right?

We’ve all heard the stories-or lived them- where antidepressants, the very meds we count on to make us not depressed, often worsen the depression, or worse, make us have icky suicidal thoughts.

But has anyone ever studied how these medications can affect our personalities? Because I don’t care how depressed you are, some things lock in at a certain point and you are who you are, a medication generally can’t rob you of this.

But here I am, unable to even write a poem, because since starting Cymbalta, the only creativity in my life is in my dreams.

That was when it hit me like a ton of bricks. Last night, I had a ton of fucked up dreams. One was some foreign wedding with these bizarre food rituals and then the groom’s mom pulled a skeleton in chains from the pool and announced the groom had murdered the guy years before…OMFG. That is not how I dream! That is how I THINK! Because I am creative and I am a writer and instead of that all being robbed by Cymbalta, it hasn’t gone away. It’s just been displaced to my sleeping moments!!!!

Obviously, Cymbalta has got to GO. I have to convince that doctor tomorrow that this stuff, while once a great med for me, is no longer working and if anything, it is disturbing my sleep and robbing me of the creativity that makes my waking hours liveable. I suppose this says something about my psyche that I spend so much time entrenched in fiction, whether sleep or awake, but it’s a writer thing. And now that I know I wasn’t mere deluding myself with thinking I was a writer (in spite of half a dozen manuscripts and god knows how many computer versions). I am THRILLED! I can get that part of myself back! I just need to get off this medication and start another one and Iam thinking…

Back to basics. SSRI’s served me pretty well, Prozac specifically, and almost no side effects. Obviously my chemistry has changed so it may not work any better than this current regime, but if it gets me back my wakeful creativity…I’ll roll the dice. Gotta try something.

But I knew it was something very different from the days of old where all I wanted was to go to sleep. That was dark depression and there was no solace at all in dreams. For three months, I have sought sleep not to rest but because that’s where all the dark creative stuff happens. If I can have that back while awake, then I will probably sleep better. And no, I assure you, I have no notions of murder, self harm, robbery, sexual promiscuity, whatever fucked up dreams I’ve been having. Whoever said dreams are some subconscious desire is full of shit. My dreams are screaming GET US BACK TO YOUR WAKEFUL MIND AND WRITE A DAMN GOOD NOVEL, YOU TWONK!

I can’t believe it took so long for me to put two and two together to realize what was going on with Cymbalta. But now that I know…I don’t feel so lost. I think that stuff altered me on multiple levels in how I view my reality. Situation may not be ideal but it’s also not awful. Maybe a different med can get the circuits working in a more positive way. And give me back my warped creativity which is all that makes life worth living sometimes.

Bye bye Cymbalta. I have some vampires hungry for veinilla ice cream and they’re counting on me to bring them to life on the computer screen.

(Veinilla, omg, that is so funny, Mr. Mumple, you nailed it.)

Depressive Artifact:It’s More Than Just Sadness

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on June 21, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I am struggling today and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s all the depressing news contributing to a low mood or my daughter’s incessant shrieks of boredom and blaming me for everything including the Lindburg kidnapping. Or maybe, even though Cymbalta helped lift me out of an abyss, depression artifact remains.

There’s a common misconception that depression is merely acute sadness. Even I believed this, until a couple of half decent doctors educated me on what depression really entails. Unfortunately, even these doctors are so busy covering their own asses and treating my depression conservatively, I am the one flailing in limbo here, being throttled by depressive artifact. A dose increase might help, but it would also help if they’d call me and inform me who I’ve been assigned to since my doctor left and I kind of need an appointment in the next couple of weeks.

Depression is so much more than just feeling sad and hopeless.

It is anxiety. It is lack of focus. Lack of motivation to do things that desperately need to be done. It is guilt and shame and self loathing. It is chaotic thinking, a swirling funnel cloud in your mind, so you can’t organize your thoughts enough to begin to accomplish things. It impacts memory so that you forget something that was spoken 30 seconds before and those around you either think you’re ignoring them or a total flake. It is lack of concern with basic hygiene. It is a rabid aversion to doing anything remotely social involving other humans. It is irritibility. Sometimes inexplicable anger. Sometimes heightened emotions that aren’t comparative to what is bothering you.

Depression is a machine with many moving parts. Nothing works the way it should. Parts that should go up and down move side to side. Stationary parts move wily nily and it creaks and groans like a dying furnace choking on a rusty chainsaw.

The worst part is that, this is your life, 24-7, and the so called professionals often blow off your concerns, your feelings, and make you feel like you’re not even participating in your own care. Because they have degrees and know best yet they spend maybe 15 minutes every two months with you and don’t know you at all. The doctors don’t have to live this way. They’re not left trying to explain to the people around you why if your medication is working well enough that the doctor won’t increase dose, why do you still act so cranky and not want to be around others? Obviously, the doctor thinks you’re doing well enough. But again…the doctors don’t see us struggling after the appointment where we were in a good mental space.

I am grappling with artifact here. It was all I could do last night to get my kid and myself bathed. I’ve been doing battle with myself all week to do dishes and stick a pot roast in the slow cooker and…I got nothing. I go in to maybe run the water…and within 20 seconds, I’ve gone off track and my disorganized brain won’t let me get back on the track. I did manage to clean cat boxes today, but I meant to do that 2 days ago so the accomplishment comes with procrastinator’s guilt.

Anxiety is another artifact of depression. Today I feel it though I don’t know why and it manifests with cold sweat pouring down my side despite multiple applications of anti-perspirant. I wasn’t sweating this way during the 6 straight days it was in the 90’s and the house was 88 inside even with the AC and fans running. Nervous sweat is baffling. And other than the phone ringing a couple of times with irritating telemarketers there’s been no trigger for nervousness. It’s random, it’s brutal, it’s…artifact.

So, no, depression isn’t just sadness. It is furnaces grumbling and rusty chainsaws roaring and you cling for whatever vestige of sanity you can find but…hey, your brain is not on board with this because it’s so disordered.

Depression is hell on Earth, 24-7, and anyone who says otherwise isn’t clinically depressed. A condition that negates your very identity and turns you into a hot mess despite the best intentions of efforts…That’s so sadistic, Satan himself must have created it in conjuction with the Marquis de Sade.

How Do You Know When An Anti-Depressant Is Working?

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on May 10, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

It seems like such a no brainer, right? Obviously, if an antidepressant is working, you’ll no longer feel depressed, duh!

If only it were that simple.

I’ve been taking Cymbalta two weeks now, ten days at 40 mg. I can’t say I am dancing on the ceiling or in the streets. My motivation is still on the side of a milk carton. My energy is still tapped out by 8 p.m. and sleep seems the only escape. By that measure, it’s obviously not doing much, is it?

Thing is, I look back at posts from a month ago prior to Cymbalta, and I was less focused, more encapsulated in my woe-is-me misery, totally honed in on the darkness of my own mind and the stress.

Recent posts have actually been more targeted, topic driven, and less about my personal situation and more about coping with my disorders. I still ramble, but I think that’s just who I am and as far as flaws go, I could do worse.

While it is not exactly known how antidepressants work on a depressed brain, it is well known that many of these medications can take up to six weeks tos how optimal results. And often, a dose increase is required to reach that optimal result.

So antidepressants aren’t like taking a Tylenol and an hour later, oh, headache’s gone, it works.

This is a tedious, weeks-long process of discovery, discerning if your mood has gone up, stayed the same,decreased. And after my experience with Effexor this last time, going from bad to worse, I am wary the same could happen here with Cymbalta.Fact is, I have not had a lot of luck with antidepressants. I am a magnet for the worst, most abnormal side effects and bad reactions. They often conk out after several months. But since Lamictal contols my extreme highs but does nothing for the lows, an antidepressant is pretty much a requirement in my treatment. It’s frustrating, disheartening, often demeaning when med after med fails.

I tried to explain to drive thru shrink Dr. H that I am not seeking joy in a pill. I know the meds can only do so much, they’re not going to change my financial situation or fix my personality flaws or whatever. I just want a medication that puts my brain chemically on the right track.

Is this one it?

That remains to be seen.

But the fact that it is making me write more coherently and with a little objectivity and self awareness as opposed to drowning in my own sorrow?

That’s a cause for hope and I can live with hope.

Splat Happens

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on August 14, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

It was inevitable after so many consecutive days in the dish being the functional person I am expected to be. It’s why I could never hold a job for more than a few months at a time, even part time, because faking it and the anxiety just tap me out.

Had a decent run, 4 days or so I didn’t feel like dying.

Today has been awful. Instead of running errands while my kid was at church, I lolled in bed til 11 am. Then I got up and took my meds and…lost the lottery and got very ill with neausea and stomach cramps and bathroom trips.

I’d like to say it got better but my mood went Splat when all the kids started bullying Spook (or so she claims, I witnessed nothing other than some mouthing off about who was going to play with who and of course, the tweens and teens are always gonna ditch the 8 year old, cruel but true.) I started feeling incompetent as a parent. My mood went splat, and the dark thoughts crept in and are still hanging around.

I was even gonna let my kid have a friend sleepover as a before back to school treat. Instead that girl, who is ten, fell victim to all the rumors the older girls were saying (we have lice, fleas, bedbugs, etc) and suddenly she had to go home. Odd how she spent 7 nights here over the summer with no complaint about any of that shit but the second a teenager she wants to fit in with says it…Spook and I go under the bus.

By then all the drama had given my a migraine complete with more nausea to go with my lingering med nausea and I was grateful the girl went home. Enough with the drama and stress.

Early bedtime tonight. Brain needs a reboot and hopefully tomorrow will be better. As long as R doesn’t beckon and expect me to feign this functionality thing again. I can feel the seasonal affective disorder settling in even if the psych professionals say it doesn’t start this soon. Every August for years since having my kid, I’ve warned the docs the meds need tweaked cos I could feel the seasonal splat coming (my knees start aching when there’s an abrupt weather shift and 98 degrees one week down to the sixties the next week…Yeah, knee ache city.) Every year I warn them, every year they ignore me until October when it’s too late because I’m already half way down the rabbit hole.

I am gonna try to advocate for myself when I see nurse doctor next. But if the splat decline keeps going, I may well be a basketcase by then and all this progress made on Trintellix will have been undone because others expect more of me than I can safely give without it costing me tremendously psychiatrically.

Fort Blankie time as soon as I tuck in the spawn. Sometimes when your mind gets this blackened..all you can do is retreat and reboot and hope it’s a cyclothymic low that will shift upward after some rest.

I can’t spend much more time with a brain sending me such bleak self abusive thoughts. That sadist Fifty Shades of Grey character could learn a few things about cruelty and torture from my brain.