Lamictal: Lemon Flavoured Hell

Girl hates Lamictal

Two posts ago I shared about my slowly increasing Lamictal dose. I reached 200mg and started to feel a little better emotionally but dreading taking it every morning as the tablets are dissolvable and the second they touch your tongue you’re attacked by what I can best describe as out-of-date lemon sherbet (I don’t think sherbet goes off though). Two weeks ago the jump was made from 200-300mg and the same day I started feeling very nauseous, the next day I spent six hours in Emergency due to a Stephens Johnson scare. I had a few symptoms which I wasn’t worried by but because I was very uncomfortable I called Nurse on Call and she called a paramedic who called Poisons Hotline who then called back the paramedic and insisted I go into Emergency. It resulted in nothing but some painkillers and one tablet which had a very long name I can’t recall.

So that was last Sunday. I continued taking the 300mg dose and being able to eat next to nothing until last Wednesday when the taste got the better of me and I threw it up the moment I swallowed it. I had an appointment with my psychiatrist that day, he encouraged me to keep going with it and see if the nausea went away. Next day I threw up the tablet again and decided to give up on it. Even if my mood was better I couldn’t continue feeling constantly sick and I could no longer swallow the bloody things anyway. It took until this Monday for the nausea to go away and now I can eat a full meal. Dropped a bit of weight though.

I’m still off Seroquel and I can feel feelings, I think I like it but it’s scary. At the moment I’m not on an antidepressant and I feel okay, it’s the anxiety causing most of the problems. I am however on an antipsychotic and a mood stabiliser. I’m interested to see the direction things take in coming months. An interesting start point is that if a gun was immediately placed on the table I’m sitting at I don’t think I’d shoot myself, but only six to eight weeks ago I wouldn’t have hesitated. Progress my friends.

No Deadly Lamictal Rash Yet

This is what it is currently taking to keep me alive and kicking – well forget the kicking, it’s more of a dawdle between necessary places.

Morning:

5mg Neulactil

250mg Nuvigil

Currently 50mg Lamictal – dose is being raised a bit every 10 days

2000IU Vitamin D
2 puffs Seretide 500/50

5PM:

10mg Neulactil

8PM:

900mg Lithium

200mg Seroquel

10mg Neulactil

15mg Imovane
2 puffs Seretide 500/50

PRN (when needed):

2mg Xanax

200mg Seroquel

2mg Lorazepam

I’m in hospital at the moment, it’s been 12 days. I’m planning to discharge on Tuesday as I’m getting nowhere and I don’t see how my current state of mind will be any different depending on my location. I can sedate myself more at home, so that’s a bonus. I came in because my anxiety was crippling, it’s still bad but I think I can cope. My mood is low as always, the Lamictal is supposed to help that once I’m up to treatment dose. If the Lamictal fails I’ll be put on an antidepressant I haven’t previously been on – the list is growing short.

I can’t explain in words how over all this I am.

One of Two

I have expressed fervently my desire not to go down the deep brain stimulation route but the spectre is looming. I met with my psychiatrist today and again he subtly hinted at it, acknowledging my disgust at the idea but at the same time nudging towards it.

On Wednesday I returned home from a week in hospital during which time I had 10 sessions of TMS, with no obvious result. My anxiety is sky high and mood at about a 3/10. I took my discharge medications to my pharmacy this afternoon, the 89 pills of 10mg Neulactil being a strong pull. I think now I don’t have enough of anything to make for a decent overdose, I’d probably get a few hours sleep out of it but I’d rather have several days unconscious. As I try new and old medications to no avail, 100+ sessions of ECT, and TMS and their effect ceases to mend me I’m travelling closer and closer to the final options of deep brain stimulation or suicide. I’d much rather be dead than have my head opened up and meddled with. Please God, send a gunman into the house as I sleep tonight with a mission to kill me and only me, may he be given a medal for extreme kindness to the mentally ill.

My anxiety wasn’t helped by arriving home to completely different dynamics. I knew our new housemate, A, was moving in but I forgot that with every change in housemates there are changes about the house, however minor. I guess it was just unsettling to come home to the lounge re-arranged, a pot plant in a new spot and new stuff in the bathroom. I like A but it would have been a better transition for me if I was here during the move and her first few days in the house. A good thing is that she’s a student, which means sometimes I’ll have company during the day instead of the complete isolation I usually contend with.

I haven’t done any work on my novel since last year. There are two very different directions I can choose to take it in. I’ve written a prelude and a chapter down one path but I think it’s the other I want to take. Decide K!

That’s all for today, my anxiety is causing dizziness and my brain is struggling to think of anything to interest you.

Good Evening.

2/10

Squish!

I’m currently eating my second Oreo McFlurry with extra Oreo in two days. Can I suggest to any visitors to bring me one as a sacrifice when you come over in order to have the best chance at meeting a not insanely depressed K. This is the second thing I’ve eaten today, the first was my breakfast, one piece of toast and one egg.

Today my mood has been a 2 out of 10 and anxiety 8 out of 10 (for mood low is bad and for anxiety high is bad) I’m definitely ready for the TMS top up I’m getting next week. I feel like crying all my moisture out and then freezing it in a cocoon and sleeping in it until I go back into the clinic on Wednesday.

Over the last 10 days I’ve been experiencing psychotic symptoms, but despite being clearly psychotic in nature, my psychiatrist, whom I saw only this afternoon, says they are not actually psychosis. I don’t know what else to call hearing things, feeling my body floating and seeing something clearly but it being wrong. Whatever! At least I don’t have another diagnosis to add to the bag.

I wish I wasn’t such a fucking coward and I could just take our biggest knife and stab right through my throat and enjoy the pain as a last salute to the world.

On an entirely different topic, let me know if you would like an extra body at your Christmas this year. After ours going all wrong Mum said she’s not doing it again and to find a friend to spend the day with.

Mourning?

Today is a hard day, it's my Dad's 62nd birthday - well at least it would be if he was still alive. I thought I'd be fine, but I cried over my breakfast and then managed to bite my lip for a few hours to stop a repeat. I allowed myself to shed a few more tears when I got home from my psychology session. He was briefly mentioned, but I felt like there were more pressing issues to discuss. It's hard knowing what to feel right now. I guess the answer is whatever you are feeling is right. It's just so confusing. My psychologist and I were talking about emotions taking on a whole new life when they are attached to trauma, they're stronger and harder to dismiss or even accept.

I've been in therapy for nine years now and we've all agreed that I have depression, which is biological and even if I was brought up in the ideal family it would have reared its ugly head. It is worse due to what I've been through though. On top of the depression, I also have anxiety and Borderline Personality Disorder. I can't be bothered searching this blog to find out what I've already told you, so I'm sorry if you've heard it a hundred times. The trauma in my life is from growing up with the emotional abuse from my Dad's alcoholism. I'll make it clear, he didn't hit us, but I was still terrified nearly every night of what was going to (eventually) walk through the door. Often it was late and he'd wake me up with his shouting and very loud music, one time he threw a heap of crockery across the kitchen, smashing plates and bowls on the floor and walls. I hid from him pretty well when I knew he'd be yelling at me. I'm not going to type every incident from the 21 years I lived with him in here, but let's just settle on the fact that I was scared of him.

Mum was and still remains a stone. If that woman has an emotion it's hidden underneath a mountain. I couldn't share my fears and shame with her. I attended a Christian school where everyone came from a perfect church- attending family, of course not true, but it felt like I was the only one with this dirty secret that my family wasn't perfect. It was made worse by the church when I started attending of my own accord when I was in year 9. There the families were on a higher level of perfection and I just felt that I was somehow tainting the place. I told no one except the one girl who invited me to the church. (she probably told her dad, who was/is the pastor, so I'm sure more people than I thought knew). Not having anyone to talk to has made the emotional abuse so much worse, I didn't have extended family as we moved to Australia from England when I was 3. My Grandma was a great support on our most recent trip. I think about how much better things would have been had I been able to talk to her whilst growing up, and for Mum to have some support if she wanted to get a divorce.

Mum says I blame Dad too much for where I'm at now, but my doctor puts a lot of blame on him, and her for failing to be emotionally available and for tearing me away from my extended family. (If you're reading this Mum, I know you thought you were doing the best thing). You can't raise a healthy child in an environment where it doesn't know what to expect each night, where it has to keep secrets and has no support.

An aside. In year 10 my Dad was getting home late most nights and playing music very loudly whilst shouting at Mum. I think it's understandable that most mornings were slow. I got to school late most mornings and my bastard of a homeroom teacher, instead of taking me aside and asking how things were at home just kept giving me demerits and detentions.

So today on his birthday, I'm lost. He was a drinker right to the end. I remember one apology, he was trashed on my birthday and the next day went and bought me a beautiful pearl necklace, which I still wear on occasions. I am similar to him in that way, I show my love through gifts. He loved me and showed it in his own way, but that doesn't wipe out the damage he caused.

If my Mum reads this I'll be in so much trouble for telling all of you this. I don't let Mum see the links but I think she snoops around sometimes.

I'd like to add that since leaving the church of my youth I've been open about Dad and I'm not a dirty stain on the church, I'm part of a body of believers who love and help each other.

I have nothing else to say.

Happy Birthday Dad

Another One

My last overdose was September last year; I couldn't go a whole calendar year without one; that would just be irresponsible! Wednesday night saw my belly greeting a rather small overdose. I took my self to hospital just to avoid scaring my housemates and to stop myself wetting the bed if I ended up unconscious for longer than expected. I think I was out for 17 hours, then they just kept me until I could walk and had a psych assessment. I saw my psychiatrist today, we chatted about it briefly but there were other things I wanted to discuss, like my hopeful misinterpretation from my Mum saying that my illnesses are all my own fault and that Dad wasn't perfect but much better than I remember. My Dr is very good at putting things into perspective and validating my feelings.

I've got two and a half hours to fill in until I see a friend for the night. I'm feeling rotten right now, but at least I have seeing her to look forward to.

Three Weeks out Two Weeks in

I'm at home now, discharge was on Saturday. I'm a bit miserable, to tell the truth. I've hit a hurdle in my story, so I've only written a tiny bit. I'm close to 9000 words now, but I'm not writing the story as it will be read, rather just how the plot emerges. When I've worked out everything that's happening I'll re-write probably in a different order to slowly reveal things about my main character and her task. I've decided that she will have a very long life and will have a very important job to do and will live until she finds someone worthy to pass that on to.

I'm probably not moving to Edinburgh, the NHS is very bad for mental health and private insurance excludes pre-existing conditions, so I'm stuffed. Also, the disability support payment is a fraction of what I'm on here. My ongoing fear of becoming homeless would exhibit its self within a week of my arrival and all my money being spent. Speaking of homelessness, I'm terrified that our lease won't be renewed in March and the boys want to live closer to the city and I won't be able to find anyone around here to live with because who wants to live with an unemployed nut case! So back to Mum's an hour away from all my friends, my GP, my psychologist and I'd lose my support worker, whom I really rely on. March, please don't come! We might get notice either way before the end of the year so we won't be so surprised either way, I'm just the eternal pessimist.

I don't have enough to fill in my days at the moment. I have a medical appointment of some kind 4 days of the week, but they only take up an hour. I went to the gym yesterday, but I'm not fit enough to work out for ages without drowning in a pool of my own sweat. Tomorrow's going to be a hard one, only one appointment at 2pm, so I'll feel awful in the morning and then again in the late afternoon. If I have the money I might go to the gym, but I'm seriously broke until Saturday.

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The TMS doctor has decided I'm going to have three weeks at home, then two weeks in for 10 sessions of TMS, and if it works that'll be my life. I hate life.


By the way, you can leave comments on this blog. I moderate them before they get published, so if anything is accidentally said which would reveal my identity to any random person I can choose not publish it. You all know who I am, but Google wouldn't lead you here if you typed in my name, and I want to keep it that way.

Only Five Stitches

I don't know the train timetable for my local station, and I haven't scouted out the best way to get to a train without actually jumping off the station platform and traumatising everyone on it. I feel like making the trip down there once darkness has EVENTUALLY fallen tonight - fuck you daylight savings!

I had a bad day. Woke around 6 am and just stayed in bed because it is warm there until 8 am when I could stay there no longer. Breakfast, French lesson and then carved up my arm. Appointment with my support worker followed by a lucky to get appointment with a GP at my clinic, but not my GP as she's away. Five stitches, lots of steri-strips and some antibiotic cream on a wound from Saturday and off I went. Lunch. Appointment with my psychologist - that went well - and she's seeing me again on Friday because I need some extra support to make it to Sunday when I go back into the clinic.

I've been exhausted since about 1 pm, and I couldn't sleep when I tried to nap. I'm going to follow hospital timetable and take my meds at 8 pm, which will have me asleep for 9 (hopefully).

I went to church last night and had a lot of trouble with the crowds and having to sit still for so long. I went out to make myself a cup of tea and got roped into serving on supper as there was only one person doing it. I planned on going to the train station afterwards but had a good conversation with one of the ladies in the church. It should have made me feel worse given the content, but it was nice just to have a long conversation with someone. I need that tonight, but absolutely everyone is busy. (sorry if I didn't call or text you and you're a friend, my brain is foggy right now. You can call/text me though)

My eyes hurt, I need to close them.

The End.

Ten

Tonight is my last night in the hospital. I wasn't given much notice; my doctor decided only last night. It might have been a compassionate move to save me from a shared room. When you misbehave in here they can move you for your own safety. I think it's just to be dicks. I told the NUM that if he moved me I'd discharge myself. And if I weren't able to discharge I'd just camp in the hall refusing to go into my new room until they either gave my single room back or let me go home. So the naughty thing. I absconded a little bit. By stealth I got out the door, but then came back after about 30 seconds because the reality of the situation hit me - the police would be at the train station before me, and then I'd be taken to the psych ward I most dread. Not long after my return I needed to calm down, and the best way to do that is by cutting myself, so I smashed a mug in my bathroom and planned to cut my leg with the shards. I've got two pairs of black pants and two pairs of black leggings here, so I'd be able just to let it bleed without needing to patch it up and no one would notice. A nurse came in before I was able to do anything, and very shortly after, my doctor. I probably would have got caught anyway, as what I really want is a long gash from elbow to wrist, sometimes I can just feel what it is I need, and that's it at the moment.

TMS is finished, I was supposed to have 30, but the Dr running the show stopped it at 28 because it was obviously not working. I have been told it could still work, as it can be delayed. I think I'll just see how I feel while I'm at home and if I want to end it I've got a good method now. I'm only home for ten days anyway, Dr wants to do more TMS on the other side of my head - I had it on the left this time, now for the right. Also, he wants to take me off my antidepressant as we both believe it's doing nothing at all. Still leaves me on seven medications though! Ketamine is still a possibility, Dr has sent multiple emails and was going to call someone today. Dr is going away for ten days - one of the reasons for my discharge, and there have to be seven days at home before a new round of TMS - an insurance thing.

So K, how do you feel about returning to the big wide world?
Thanks for asking. I'm looking forward to catching up with certain friends for whom it is nearly impossible to visit me in hospital. I'm looking forward to getting back into the gym and getting my fitness up to a more respectable level; if that brings about some weight loss too, then great, but I think the weight is going to stay put until I'm off Seroquel. I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. The hospital has upgraded to King singles, and I think my mattress is memory foam, so it's been super comfortable, but there's nothing like your own bed - especially when it's nice and big. I should probably use these 10 days of freedom to go to the dentist, there's nothing wrong but I haven't been this year.

Final thoughts: Don't be surprised to see me with tubi grip on my arm/s. Don't be surprised if I kill myself. Ask me if I want to catch up and I'll probably say yes, the busier I am the better; I've only got 10 days to get through, but that can feel like an eternity.

Choo Choo

Today was my 20th TMS, it was supposed to be the last for this round, but since not a drop of improvement has been found, we're persisting to 25. I think it will stop at 25 and my doctor will have to hound the Ketamine trial people, he's also mentioned deep brain stimulation, which I think sounds worse than it is, I've read a little about it, but I'm not going to do thorough research until the idea is officially on the table.

I seriously thought about killing myself yesterday, (the idea comes up every day, but usually I can shoo it away) I went out on leave and ended up at a train station. I sat there for about 45 minutes just watching the trains go by or stop. There's a sharp corner the train has to come around about 100m from the station, if I lay on it, the driver wouldn't see me until he's on top of me, no time to stop. I say lay, not stand because my plan is to place my head on the track so it gets crushed and there is 0% chance of survival. I'm not looking for another cry-for-help attempt; I want to die! The reason I didn't do it yesterday is that I still had six more TMS treatments to go and I had a glimmer of hope that I may feel once again what I had for those few weeks after the last round. Of course with each day passing and no improvement seen that hope fades. I'm on escorted leave only now, so no train for me until I'm discharged.

Why do I want to end it? Why can't I trust that my doctor will do all he can to help me? Well, I'm just worn down. It's been ten years of depression, and the last seven have been brutal. Doing even little things takes it out of me, writing this is hard when I'm sitting on my hospital bed propped up against the pillows I just want to be hugging. It's a lonely situation to be in as this hospital is 40 minutes from all of my friends' houses and about the same for my Mum. I'm always glad to get a visitor, but I don't beg people to come because I know it takes so long. I used to make friends in here around the art table, but I stick to myself now, I've been burned by hospital friends too frequently. I have one left - that's you L. Today I can't really concentrate, I've tried watching something on Netflix and didn't get far. I'm a quarter of the way through a movie, so I'll have another shot at that once I've posted this. But really, all I feel fit for is curling up under the blankets with some music, or perhaps an audiobook on.

A World Away (from the TMS machine)

I fear my holiday may be over with 19 days to go before the flight home...

I arrived in London on 7/7/17, had a nice few days there before going to Edinburgh for little over a week, where I had a fabulous time. On arrival to Manchester I got to stay with my Aunt and Uncle in their 1640s farmhouse and play with their Great Dane, Bailey and French bulldog, Oliver. I was there for little over a week before coming to my Grandma's while Mum is alone in Italy. The public transport is more accessible from Grandma's than the farm and I don't have Mum to drive me around; I'll be back at the farm upon Mum's return.

I think I've succeeded in doing something every day. I went into the centre of Manchester yesterday alone, I only got a little bit lost. Today I had lunch with my Grandma, Aunt and cousin at a farm with a cafe and shop attached in Uppermill, it was very picturesque, but since there was a handrail in the way of any shots I would take and it was raining I refrained from photo taking. Tomorrow I'm going to my other Grandmother's, I think it'll take three buses. I'll hang out with her for a little while before my cousin and her daughters come to meet us there, we're then going to buy clothes for one of her daughters. Sadly my grandmother can't come as she is housebound. I wish she would consent to move into a home where she can get the care she so badly needs and some company, but her own room so she can also have privacy. I feel bad just flitting into her life for 5 minutes, seeing how happy the company makes her and then pissing off to the other side of the world.

While I was in Manchester yesterday I bought myself a new watch from Selfridges. I saw it last week with Mum, but she talked me out of buying it because it's Selfridges, therefore it's a humungous rip off; but in the meantime I've seen many similar, and frankly not as nice in other shops for a similar price, none lower, some quite a bit higher. So here it is.

I started this post saying my holiday is over, well, that's because I'm worn out; not from too much activity, from my mood and my need for a TMS boost. I finished TMS on 22/6/17, 36 days' ago. I should be in there now for maintenance. I'm so tired. I've had two naps today, one either side of the family lunch. I'm not at risk of doing this, but my mind keeps telling me to slit my throat and wrists, the throat for suicide, wrists just to see the blood. I'd never do it here, my family would have no idea what to do, if they found out, it may be summer but it's currently 14 degrees and raining so I'm wearing long sleeves. I'm wondering more and more about psychosis, I'm already on two anti psychotics, yet these urges to hurt myself are more like voices, I feel the physical pull but then there's an argument, it only contains my voice, but the other creature pulls me. I can't describe it so I'll stop there.

I've got three days coming up in the North of Wales with my Mum, Aunt and Grandfather. They're going to be pushing me to go on day trips and get angry if I waste the trip - and therefore Mum's money by staying in bed. I just don't know if I can do a whole day anymore.