Category Archives: Medication

Diagnosis is just the beginning

 

When falling apart, themostserene requires extensive scaffolding and buddhist monks

“The week after my 30th birthday, my best friend had me committed to a psych ward. Two days later, I had emerged with a life-changing diagnosis. The hard part hadn’t even started yet.”

I read this post a few weeks ago. I didn’t cry, but I did let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Everyone’s different, but that’s how it feels to me when I read a story that resonates so deeply with me that it makes me feel that from this point on I will breathe easier, just having borne witness to someone else’s journey. I was lucky that I was not hospitalised. And I use luck in the sense that it had nothing to do with me or any coping skills I had, it was just the weird happenstance that I had a mother who was working in the mental health field at the time who watched me, while making frantic calls to line up a decent psych referral. It did mean that I could be in a familiar place physically, even if not mentally. It probably was not a great thing for Mum’s mental health. You just don’t have the distance when it’s your own.

I love hearing stories of recovery. It’s why in my personal life, I’m not super-shy about sharing my own. I do get pissed when certain friends asked “if I’ve been taking my meds?” when I display any uncomfortable emotion. But sadly, women get challenged on the validity of emotion-sharing all the time, so that kind of gets filed with the sitcom-standard “have you got your period?”, although in both cases my respect for the questioner gets less every time. They’re not showing concern, they’re invalidating your response and making you question whether you really are falling apart again. It’s bullshit and unfair. /rant

Rookie » On Falling Apart.

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Medicated Woes

Well…

Its been nearly three weeks since this new journey began, and for the record, I want it to stop. Or maybe to fast forward. Either way, this has not been the high point of my life so far. First of all – withdrawing from medication. Not as bad as it could’ve been since I was feeling so crap that my compliance had been erratic to say the least.

But when you think about it, when is the worst time to come off all psychiatric medicine? Perhaps when you’ve been seriously considering your last hoorah. On the plus side I was so whacked out on the anti-psychotics that I was given to get rid of the edginess of withdrawal, I was probably safe, since I could hardly form a more coherent sentence than “Ok, I think it might be time for me to go for a little nappy-nap”, never mind for a plan for anything more taxing than calculating the shortest distance at anytime between me and my bed.

By the end of that week then, I was starting to feel a bit better, thoughts starting to form recognizable shapes in my little head.

Of course, I had forgotten the joy that is starting new medication. I’d also forgotten how long it takes for your body and your head to get used to the new cocktail that is coursing around. It’s been two weeks now and still… I mean its frickin six in the am and I’m buzzing like a bee, unable to sleep, but I know that when the land of nod finally beckons there will be no waking me til at least four. That’s right new medication turns this camper into a sixteen year old boy. Grrr.


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