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as the tablets are dissolvable and the second they touch your tongue you’re attacked by what I can best describe as out-of-date lemon sherbet (I don’t think sherbet goes off though).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

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.

To Grandma, I'm Not Going to Run Down The Street Naked

I took these photos for my Grandma, who I think is under the belief I'm in a 1950s style nut house. I wasn't aware of this, but my Mother and Grandma are both concerned about a few days I'll have without Mum's presence in Edinburgh and a week in Manchester when Mum will be traversing Italy. Mum brought it up in a meeting the two of us had with my doctor on Wednesday night; thankfully he was on my side and said that I'm an adult quite capable of roaming around Edinburgh as I desire, he just encouraged me to answer people's text messages to assure them all's well - that I'll do so long as they're not every 20 minutes!

                                                A bed, not a trolley with straps to tie me down!

                                          Shelves, bench and desk - plus a hoard of towles

                                   Exit into the main hospital and my ensuite door on the right.

Some things I've made whilst here. I know the koala is very Australiana, but it's for my (other) Grandma and she'll love it. 

Ensuite, you may notice the lack of shower curtain; some people don't like that, but I always leave them open, so I'm quite happy to go without.

                                                             The rest of the bathroom.

I was unable to take photos of the dining room or the two tea/coffee spaces due to not really being allowed to take photos in here and there's the possibility of capturing other patients.

So as you may guess from the photos, I'm still in hospital and undergoing TMS, it has definitely worked a lot on my mood, but my anxiety is troubling me every afternoon and evening as my meds are wearing off. I take the next batch at 8pm. I don't know how often people come in for maintenance and for how long. I think it's monthly and for a few days, but it differs according to peoples' needs. I hope when I get back from the trip I can relax for a week or so at home before having to come in here for a top up, it may even be a full session since I will have gone eight weeks without any. I'm going home on Thursday, bringing my days at home for the year up to 21, it'll reach 33 if I make it to the trip without needing to come back. Then 6 weeks away!

K