Mind Hell & Magical Medication

It is May. Almost the end of May. Since March there have been three children’s birthdays, my Mum’s 73rd birthday, what would have been my parents 52nd wedding anniversary and Mother’s Day. Days and dates that are significant. Residing with the fun and joy of my children’s birthdays, is the sadness and grief of my parents absence. I would have visited my Mum on her birthday. I would have bought her scratchies and a card. I would have visited her on Mother’s Day. It’s a Sunday, so my Dad would have been visiting her aswell at the nursing home. My brother probably would have been there too. I think about all the years they were married. They made it to their 50th wedding anniversary the year they died. Their anniversary falls on my ex partners birthday. I think about the 24 years we were together and how I feel conflicted by the feelings of what was, what could have been and what is.

My last rambling here was quite sad and depressed. Life was bleak and hopeless, everything took effort and I was exhausted. Two months ago, I sent a message to my psychiatrist, “I’m wondering if you have any urgent appointments available this week? Unfortunately, I’m not doing so good.” She got back to me and said, “Today at 4pm?” “Yes, that will be good. Thank you,” I replied. She knows I only reach out when things are bad. I let them get too bad, trying to white knuckle my way through the mind hell. Five days prior to seeing her, my ex stayed with me and our kids. There is a safety he provides me with when my mind feels wrong. Despite all the things between us and our separation, when I’ve not been doing so well, he tries to be supportive.

I packed my bags before my appointment. I was convinced she would send me to hospital again. I felt like I needed to be in hospital again. This wasn’t acute suicidal hell like in December. This was a four month slow burn. Grinding myself into another dimension of mind hell. “Why am I like this?’ Waiting for my appointment, I was on edge, fidgeting, teary and anxious. I was on the verge of a panic attack and about to lose my shit. When I finally went in and had my appointment I felt sick. She went over the last few months of meds, what was working, what wasn’t, what hasn’t worked in the past, what has made me worse and what has worked or at the very least, what has not given me ridiculous side effects. “So, SSRIs are not good. Remind me what other antidepressants you have been on?”she asks as she flicks through the notes on her computer. “Zyban and Valdoxan,” I say. “Valdoxan gave me an uncomfortable wired, anxious feeling after a couple of months, and Zyban started making me anxious too.” She looked through her notes and mentioned to me that at the time I stopped Zyban, there was quite a lot of life stuff going on. It was clear in hindsight that my relationship was coming to an end during that time. My psychiatrist discussed this with me and her thoughts were perhaps my anxiety was due to life circumstances more than the medication. I agreed that it could very well have been the case. She gave me a new prescription for Zyban, spoke to me about the plan around starting it and continuing with my other meds.

I was relieved when I left her office, I had convinced myself that I was heading to the hospital that afternoon. The next day I started Zyban again. In other countries it is also known as Wellbutrin, it's compound is called bupropion. It's a widely used medication in psychiatry. This time round it has been magic for me. Within three days of taking it, I felt better. I was suspicious and didn't trust it. I thought perhaps I was imagining it. “This is some kind of voodoo,” I thought to myself. It has now been just over a month back on Zyban and I feel so much better. In fact, I've been concerned about how well I have been feeling and have been wondering if maybe I've been hypomanic. I did download a dating app. That's a red flag for being manic, isn't it? It's a real worry so much so that in my appointment recently, my psychiatrist has changed my meds regime and wants me to take an antipsychotic regularly. She did prescribe me a new one to try. My thoughts were, “Here we go again playing medication wheel of fortune.” But I know she is trying to find the right regime, which is always about balance with bipolar. Not low and not high. Just right. I tried the new antipsychotic for a week and I couldn't sleep. Bipolar minds and no sleep is a recipe for disaster. Fortunately, my psychiatrist said to go back to the old AP if the new one wasn't helping. Which I have and my old faithful helped me sleep soundly the first night I was back on it. I'm thankful.

I have since deleted the dating app. A part of me was curious about how such apps work. It wasn't Tinder that I downloaded, yet the stereotypical men holding fish photos on dating apps, appears to actually be quite true. There were quite a lot of middle age fuck boys on the app too. That was a red flag for me. So, dating is not for me right now. I’m still grieving my relationship. Yet I know that we can't go back. I still love my ex, I'm just not in love with him anymore. For many years we have been each other's best friend. But so much has changed. After two years of utter despair, grief, confusion, hurt and pain, I feel like I’m finally standing at the threshold of something new. A chapter closed. The end. Time for the new story.