A while back I took myself off of lithium and Prozac to reclaim some mental sharpness. That’s left me with mirtazapine (Remeron) and propranolol (Inderal), except I’m slowly having to admit that neither are really doing much for me.
I was put on mirtazapine to boost the Prozac, and I liked it because it helped me sleep – it did such a good job that I stopped abusing over-the-counter sleep meds. But, and that’s a really sad ‘but’, for the last couple of months it’s been getting harder and harder to fall asleep. It’s not that I’m thinking about anything in particular, or that something’s overly worrying me – more that I’m just restless somehow. When I do get to sleep I get locked into these strong dreams that mean I wake up feeling exhausted. Dr T would say that’s good in a way, because it means my brain is processing something. It’s hard to hold onto the positivity when you’re really tired.
It doesn’t help that I’m not very physically well either – I’ve had an infection for a little while now that I can’t seem to throw off, and over time I’ve felt increasingly nauseated, dizzy, and sometimes a bit feverish. MQ, go see your doctor. No. I don’t want to show the infection to anyone, let alone a doc. (And no, not because it’s self harm or anything like that). I know that’s stupid, and childish, but it’s not enough to get me over the line to ask for that help.
I felt so unwell yesterday that I couldn’t go to work. Truth be told, I didn’t really feel a whole lot better today, but it struck me that I could be off work indefinitely if I didn’t toughen up. That won’t work; as ever the world demands money.
I might try and cut down on caffeine, see if that helps with getting to sleep. And I’ve got a bath bomb kicking around somewhere; I could have a long, late bath.
I wasn’t expecting the blues to hit until tomorrow evening, but with an evil laugh they’ve found me today. Somehow I ache with a pain that it so hard to describe to those who’ve never felt it themselves. There’s something of a tragedy in that.
This ache makes me irritable. I look around and find myself hating everything I see. Hating the way things are, and hating my inability to change them. Money. Time. They aren’t my friends.
In an hour or two I’ll swallow something like seven pills, but none of them will really get in there and treat the pain. It’s not what they’re for. The only pills that would actually do that are the ones that are illegal, or dangerous. So instead I’ll turn to the safety I talked about yesterday; an early night.
I’m not smiling though, because that safety has some small print; may contain nightmares. Loved ones turning into metal. Screaming. Crying. Stress and pressure.
My seven day week has a strange structure to it – if I can get through Monday, I’m safe until the weekend. Safe because work will distract me, and pull me out of the black clouds for a few hours. Yesterday a friend asked me if I enjoy my job, and I couldn’t say yes because the work itself is straightforward admin and IT, but I do enjoy my work environment. I haven’t lost the ability to interact with others. I’m still able to join in with office banter. And then once I leave work, I take my meds and let sleep take me away asap.
I realised this last night: I go to bed weirdly early (never much past 8pm, if that) because its the safest thing to do. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t have to read or respond to emails, or answer phone calls. And I don’t have to stress about insomnia because I know we have the right med combo now, which means I won’t be stuck awake thinking over things that aren’t pleasant. Bed time is a safe time.
Recently therapy has felt increasingly unsafe; it’s not anything that Dr T has done, but a gut feeling of ‘wrongness’. Today I was sorely tempted to skip therapy altogether, because that would have been the safe thing to do.
I’m going to try and really appreciate the next day and a half (before the weekend hits).
This made for a very interesting read, especially the following:
…those with depression dream five times as much as other people…they spend a lot of time in REM sleep as their brain tries to process their problems…they don’t spend much time in deep sleep, which is when the body repairs itself. This is why they often wake feeling shattered…
Last night was just weird, full stop. I think I had three or four hours sleep, max, and spent my morning buzzing with nervous energy despite being really tired. Fortunately my therapist helped me to start climbing out of the dark hole I was hiding in; we didn’t really identify why I’m so low at the moment, but it was good to talk about the symptoms and open up a little bit.
I bought some sleeping pills this afternoon, and I intend to take a few and start over tomorrow (yes, this is a stupid idea, but no, I don’t care). That means I’ll probably feel ill in the morning, but I’d rather that than risk having another crazy night ending in me making the cut across my hand even worse – I can already see that the skin isn’t knitting together right, so that’ll be another scar to add to the collection. Yay…