As I alluded to in my previous post, there has been a lot of sleeping, lying around, procrastinating, and general malaise going on around Diva Headquarters lately. For about the last week and a half, I just haven’t wanted to do very much of anything at all. Nothing seems to really rouse me from my semi-permanent stupor. Except The Musketeers. God I love that show. I digress…
Unsurprisingly, this coincides with an increase in the dosage of my Depakote, back to 1250mg per day. This is the dosage I was at a year and half ago when I was basically so depressed I could barely climb a flight of stairs because it seemed like too much effort. I went back on Depakote because nothing I’ve taken has ever controlled my mania (which presents as anxiety) quite so well. But I knew when I chose to do that, that becoming depressed was a possibility.
This is the hell of psychiatric drugs. There is no question in my mind, nor in the minds of anyone who knows me, that I need these medications. I would not be alive without them. Read that again. I would not be here.
But…ah, but…such a carnival ride. What’s going to work? Anti-depressants (hell, no)? Anti-psychotics (aw, HELL NO)? Mood stabilizers (OK, maybe…). Now, choose between side-effect profiles. Blind (no, thanks)? Panicky (rather not)? Dead (um…)? Fat, tired, and bald (well, if that’s the best that can be expected). Dosage? Somewhere in the sweet spot between Tigger and Eyeore, please, even if it takes six months of tinkering to find.
I tell you, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But I do it. And oddly, I only kind of do it for me. I do it mostly for the people who love me and have to be around me. If it were just me, by myself, I’d be tempted to go live with my dog under a bridge somewhere. I do it for them, because they are the people who moor me to this earth on the worst days. Like today, when I am so burned out and hopeless and tired and my hair is falling out and I’m getting fat because that’s what these meds do.
But I persevere. I take my medicine. I go to my therapy. I visit my shrink. I use my phototherapy lamp. I promise (and fail, mostly) to get up every morning, not sleep all day, do stuff around the house, eat right, exercise. There’s only so much I can do, really and when I can’t do it for myself, I can do it for the sake of those who love me.
It’s not all sunshine and rainbows here. Not every post is going to contain perky advice or wise social commentary. Some days it’s just going to be this. Me. Raw and unfiltered and imperfect.
Some days, the mantra is just, “Cowboy up, Cupcake.”
And that’s good enough for now.