medication brainspill

There’s something about waking up early that makes me feel incredibly productive and positive. Even if I’m exhausted for the rest of the day, I have better days when I wake up at 6 AM than I do waking up at 9 AM. (I mean, between motherhood and my thyroid, I’m usually exhausted regardless of how long I sleep, so I figure I may as well get a head start.)

I didn’t know this about myself even just a handful of years back. Or, maybe I did, but I was too busy laying in bed all day and night to worry about the time. Back when I used, the only time I was productive was when I was taking something to help me stay up all night. Amphetamines were one of my favorites. I didn’t need to sleep; I would just frantically clean and then be hysterical after being awake for two or three days straight. No big.

My best day using doesn’t touch the peace and joy that I have in my life now.

The thing about my behavior was that I knew it wasn’t normal. I felt like I was cheating at life. I felt like I was getting one over on everybody by hacking my body and making myself into this driven machine. What I was really doing was trying to find a way to be more like other people. Folks who had their shit together made me envious. That’s how I wanted to be, and I didn’t think I could get there without using.

And by my mom’s standards, I guess I’m still using. I’m just using an SSNRI and an atypical antipsychotic instead. It makes her worry, and sometimes it makes me worry too. Long-term effects and lapses in my insurance freak me out. Still, it’s worth it to me.

It took me a decade of searching, stumbling, being disappointed, and trying again, but I found pills that work for me. I’m so glad that I didn’t give up.

pre-medication adjustment

Seasonal depression always hits me pretty hard. I’m surprised it didn’t really make a dent until December this year. Usually, my mood drops pretty dramatically in early September (cool holdover from past trauma!). Finding a way to cope in the past was, frankly, not as important to me as it is now. Having a toddler who depends on me has made a huge impact in my desire to find solutions rather than just sitting in bed and eating dry ramen.

Been there, done that. It’s still an oddly appealing option, but I don’t succumb to the urge. I thank my meds.

After my daughter was born in October of 2015, a social worker came into my hospital room and asked me questions about my mental state. In the past, I may have dodged these questions out of self-preservation. Sobriety (not just abstinence, but a commitment to personal growth) has taught me to do otherwise. Giving birth terrified me. It was the reason I didn’t want to have children up until this point in my life. The inevitability of giving birth was, to me, a thousand times more daunting than any part of motherhood. I admitted that I had suicidal thoughts and that I self-injured during my pregnancy.

She called CPS.

The woman my family and I worked with during my daughter’s early life had no desire to take her away from me. She told us flat out that she didn’t think she needed to be involved, but we were required to continue through the process anyway. We were required to have routine inspections, take Lorelei (my daughter) to her checkups, and I was required to go back to therapy and see a psychiatrist. The idea of trying medication again, after many failed attempts, was daunting, but I was not willing to risk losing my little newborn.

I tried a small handful of medications before landing on the ones I’m on now – Rexulti and Effexor. I know it disappoints some people that I’m on medication (namely, my mom), but I’m not sure if I’ve ever had such clarity as I do when I’m on the correct dosages. If there is some amount of mental willpower that I need to exert in order to feel this way, I don’t without my medication. I don’t have the drive. I am too easily distracted by my anxiety and my mind racing with absurd hypotheticals (if you don’t hold your breath until the light turns green, a car will smash into the passenger side and you’ll die!).

To bring it all back, I am sinking.

Today is my last day before I move up to 2mg of Rexulti. I am making this adjustment because the suicidal thoughts have come back. When Lorelei sleeps, I sleep. And she sleeps a lot, so I do, too. My paranoia is creeping back in, too. I recently half-convinced myself that my partner was cheating on me. A friend brought me home from work and I decided to surprise him by not telling him that I had gotten a ride, but when I reached our apartment door, I was struck with the realization that I should have messaged him to give him time to let his lover leave. At least I haven’t deteriorated into believing that Greg (my partner) is in touch with my rapist and that they’re conspiring some way to ruin my life and then murder me. I’ve believed that one before, with many of my partners. (I would venture to say most.) (Yeah, I still write stories, they just don’t typically leave my head.) This paranoia caused tension in a lot of relationships, but I don’t feel it so much when my medications are at that sweet spot. My unfounded paranoia is one of many symptoms of my mental illness.

May tomorrow be better.