I am traveling through each day at 1,000 miles an hour, unable to stop and take a breath, take a moment, take my time. In a paradox that seems unfair at the very least, my ability to accomplish anything has been greatly diminished. There is so much to do and I am doing so much, yet I haven't done anything. It is a maddening cycle of days, endlessly repeating and compounding.
My irritability finds new intensity with each 24-hour spin of the earth. There is no one particular source of this mood; there are, in fact, several.
My body has forgotten how to sleep properly. It was insomnia that first brought me to the point of seeking medical help for the storm in my head. I remember asking the doctor, "Does insomnia cause depression or does depression cause insomnia?" He never answered my question, but he wrote a prescription for Lunesta and sent me on my way. A month later, he added Lexapro, a move that only prompted my brain to induce its first full-blown hypomania. Years later, I find myself taking eight medications, six of which have or are intended to have drowsiness as a side-effect. Why, then, can't I sleep?
I am afraid that one day my brain will implode, leaving me without the ability to recover. In my fear-stoked version of saving for a rainy day, I have crammed every day full of work, work, and more work. My doctor, my husband, my therapist all warn me to slow down, take it easy, take some time and then get some sleep. They don't understand--my level of activity isn't causing my insomnia; it is a response to it.
I'm not having manic symptoms. I know this because I am only irritable and tired--I'm not talking too much, but more telling--I'm not funny. No, everything that comes out of my mouth is laced with the snap of impatience. The glass is very much half-empty and my brain seems to be capable of generating only complaints. I annoy myself, so I can't even imagine how everyone else is perceiving this mood.
And that's what it is--it's a mood. I'm tired, I'm in chronic pain, and my resources are so depleted that patience is not even in my repertoire. What is the answer to pain that doesn't respond to treatment and sleep that never comes? My time is coming out all wrong. It's all wrong.
Complain a little more, May. It's doing so much for your image...
7 comments:
Oh my god, May. "...he added Lexapro, a move that only prompted my brain to induce its first full-blown hypomania."
You mean you were diagnosed with bipolar on the basis of a drug side-effect?
Yes and no. That first doctor (a GP) just kept upping the Lunesta and Lexapro. Then he chided me with, "You're supposed to be getting better, not worse." Indeed. That's when I went to see a psychiatrist on my own. He asked me a few very probing questions, but mostly he listened. He listened to me tell my story, which I did with detail and notes of personal self-observation. I talked for almost an hour straight, and then I got my diagnosis.
If the first doctor hadn't been so intent on an easy fix for a problem that he believed was "my" problem, I wouldn't have been compelled to seek out a specialist.
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You might be interested in this blog:
http://thememoryartist.wordpress.com/
Alas, my BP is quite real and correctly diagnosed. My symptoms went back for decades and worsened exponentially with each untreated year. At that first appointment with the pdoc, I adamantly refused to believe what he was saying. He pulled out the DSM-IV and of ten sypmtoms listed, I had eight. The first doctor was left behind in an insurance change, but the second guy (my current doctor) took me off of my medications and started over.
As much as I hate my diagnosis and the fact that I take medication, I have to admit that when I was without medication, I stopped living. I did not function. I have seen life before, during, and after medication and I know that there are some things only medication can fix. When the GP put me on Lexapro, he was treating the wrong illness. SSRIs are known to aggravate all forms of BP. The LExpro didn't trigger my BP symptoms, it just made them much, much worse until the psychiatrist immediately pulled the drug. He said my GP's egregious misdiagnosis and inappropriate prescribing were "borderline malpractice."
Like the writer of the Memory Artist blog, I would love to cure myself, but I tried that and it definitely didn't work.
We all do what we must. Just reading about what your first doctor did made me cringe. It sounds like malpractice to me. Only you can know, but I guess he was one of those who didn't want to listen to you about how you knew you were feeling. There are a lot of those out there. Treating the wrong illness is a disaster, no matter what the illness is. That's what happened to the memory artist. She didn't have bipolar, she had PTSD. I already know (unfortunately) what SSRIs do to THAT (a disaster), so I figured it was worth bringing you the address when I read about the SSRI incident. So many people seem to have trouble with those drugs. I think doctors should be more careful with them if the person hasn't taken them before. They might be good for straight up depression, but they sure seem to cause a mess for people who have other things going on.
My GP is the one who fired me as a patient. I have since met four other people who were humiliated by him or improperly treated. Arrogant SOB deserves to die from his own incompetence.
Hello there May, fellow woman of incandescent light and irrational darkness? I fell upon your blog sight as I clicked on one of my interests that happened to be one of yours..i also have Bipolar, and can amazingly relate to much of your writing, and I think we are strangely similar...i see your brilliance..and know we are a people who are gifted, though this condition is so difficult in which to deal, we must hold fast to the deliverance that will come! I would love to chat more. My name is Deidre Mae Ater and my blog address is keepitraw-deidre@blogspot.com--peace to you my friend in giftedness!
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