Daily Archives: June 10, 2014

Breakthrough psychosis blows

Ugh. I take 40mg of Ritalin a day (10 4 times, or 20 in the morning, 20 later in the day, sometimes more, sometimes less) and I get kinda delusional when it wears off.

The bottle says “Take 20-40mg daily as needed.”

I’m going to have to bite the bullet, get over drowsiness and taper myself down to 20mg. I can’t stand the delusions. I have PRN Haldol (5-10mg) and I’ve been taking it a LOT lately. Even with the Piportil injections.

I got freaked when they said Piportil was back ordered. I thought I’d have to switch injections, from something that works well, to something else, that I’d never tried before. It scared the shit out of me. Fortunately, my pharmacy contacted the manufacturer and they have a steady supply for me. The legal drug trade. The manufacturer gives my pharmacy the meds, then I give ‘em to my doctor, he loads it into a syringe, gives me a “quick shot in the bum”, and I’m good for 2 weeks.

I barely feel the shots anymore.. I’ve been having to ask “Uh, is it done?” or wait to see my doc throw the syringe into sharps before I pull my pants up.. It’s kinda funny. It’s not a painful injection, nothing like dropping trou and bending over for your GP. I had a different doc administer it on Friday (my GP was gone) and he kinda called out “DONE!” when he finished. It was like he was racing, so it was funny.. I need my GP to call out “DONE!” so I know when it is done.

That’s how non-painful it is. I’ll feel the needle go in, but there is no pain. Just a tiny prick and some pressure, then nothing. I don’t get redness, I don’t bleed, I don’t get sore after. I have no, or just mild (drier mouth) side effects from it. Life saver.

I do have Haldol for breakthrough psychosis though. I find if I nap during the day I get some, especially if I’ve taken Ritalin earlier in the day.

So, in conclusion, psychostimulants, even milder ones like Ritalin, can cause breakthrough psychosis. I see my pdoc on the 18th, in Toronto, so I’ll bring it up then. I take Wellbutrin for quitting smoking (aka, Zyban, and it’s going decently, have hit a few bumps and smoked a pack or two, but I usually throw the pack out after a couple smokes. The Welly makes them taste TERRIBLE.

I saw my new ob/gyn. Half the practice was in the room for the pelvic exam. I know some people feel more comfortable if a female nurse is present (my ob/gyn is male, and I like male docs over female. I have NEVER had a female doc or therapist I’ve got along with or even liked) and there was a med student too. That was fun, let’s have a pelvic party!

Long story short, I haven’t had a period since Feb because I weigh 98lbs from weight loss. I had a manic episode and the topamax is at 400mg now, I barely eat, but all my blood tests are normal. I had a battery of tests at the obgyn’s. He was very respectful, and fortunately, the only one staring at my ladybit’s. He’d just ask his med student questions. The med student and female nurse saw nothing.

I have endometriosis. We’re deciding what to do in September. Since I’ve had a tubal ligation, it doesn’t matter if I’m infertile. Apparently I’ve always had the endometriosis, and the tubal helped a bit because I’m not in the hell I used to be in during my period.. my obgyn kinda chuckled and said, “Good thing you aren’t having periods.. I mean,its not healthy, but you aren’t going through the pain. You do need to get them back, though”.

I still break out in acne around period time and my moods swing. Prolactin from my meds was ruled out.

I had a funny lab tech. While he drew blood, he read my tattoo: “The Devil and God are raging inside of me.” I said I got it because I’m bipolar (easier to say than “schizoaffective”) and he asked if there were 2 of me. I would have facepalmed but there was a needle in my arm.

Better than the lab tech that chatted so much with me, she stuck me, drew a while, pulled the needle out, bandaged it, then realized she had 3 more vials to fill, grabbed another needle, stuck me again and remembered to do ALL OF THEM that time. She’s lucky I’m not scared of needles and don’t bruise. She was also gentle, so it was pressure, not pain, and she hit the veins on the first try. It would been nice if she switched arms though. Enough bitching. She felt terrible and kept apologizing. I just said it was fine, she didn’t hurt me, needles don’t bug me. I felt bad for her!

So, at 98lbs with a BMI of 17.4, all my blood work (the damn sheets have been completely filled out, practically, many times, all tests done, extra tests added, I am in great health. Nothing has come back off, at all. That is a GREAT thing.

I see my pdoc on the 18th. I doubt I’ll be on Topamax (dope-a-max, I keep losing words at 400mg) anymore. I look like a stick. Yes, I’m bitching about losing weight. But when you drop 50lbs in 7 months, there’s a problem.

And I want to eat more. I pick at food a lot. I crave things and then can’t eat them.

So, goals.

  • Get the Ritalin down to 10-20mg a day.
  • Eat more.

The Bipolar Coaster is My LEAST favorite ride

Today was better mood wise. Until around 4pm, when I got back from several hours at the shop helping R while he banged his head against the wall trying to fix my desktop. (Never did.)

I got home, my head ached, my kid was in Uzi to the brain mode, and my mood just dropped. Abruptly. No trigger. No bad news. No kids due my kid being grounded for a tantrum or ten yesterday. Nothing. If anything I was free of my petri dish bondage, I should have bee relieved and ecstatic.

Odd how “should be” doesn’t apply in Crazyland. Nothing is ever consistent, everything is fluid and ever changing. It’s a lot like being in one of those glass booths filled with money and you think, oh, i will rock, this is easy money, just snatch up fistfulls and hold on for dear life. The reality is, it’s not nearly that easy to go against a force designed to create the path of most resistance. Much like grabbing at bills of money, trying to grab onto a mood and stay in it is a pipe dream. I get so mad when people act like it’s some choice or just a trigger. The whole term “disorder” should be concise enough to spell it out to even the most intellectually challenged emotionally stunted ass trasher simpleton. Alas, it is not.

I am due at the shop again tomorrow. I want my computer fixed or help replacing it, so I’m not really in the position to say no. And even though I can come in and leave (the-roy-retically) (like what I did there, Bex?) whenever I want…I still feel like I am in bondage, the tick of the clock deafeningly loud. I hate the dish. Hate it. I go stir crazy with nothing to do but put too much on my plate, like dealing with people, traffic, heat, my kid, broken stuff…GRRRR. Crazyland’s second least popular ride is the Stressed Out Go Round.

On a better note, my mood did lift upward and even out once I got my 4pm Paxil. On a not so good note, my mind is slipping even more, my brain swiss cheese retaining no memory and containing less than zero focus. The more I try to focus, the more scatterbrained I get and the flakier people perceive me to be. I am not flaky. My brain is defective. And the med I need to make it work properly isn’t covered by insurance and my broke ass can’t afford to pay cash.  So I am on another unpopular Crazyland attraction, Catch 22 Go Round.

Still, I keep trying. Gotta be some magic bullet somewhere. I’m only 41, I have time to find it…Shit, I really don’t. Because at this rate, the genetic propensity for Alzheimer’s is gonna kick in before that happens. Then I can ride the “who the hell am I” rollercoaster.

But hey…Maybe I will forget I am nutsy kookoo.

I should be so lucky.


Those Who Were Seen Dancing

As someone who’s been accused more than once of marching to a different drummer, I’ve learned to appreciate the fact that I see and feel things others never notice. I know it’s a bipolar trait, but it’s a good part of having the disorder and I cannot imagine being any other way.

I love it that I can sit on my front porch steps and be fascinated by the cobwebs stretched across one of the flowerpots, the hairlike strands blazing in the sun like miniature streaks of light. I enjoy smelling the commingled aromas of newly mown grass and lighter fluid which literally call summer to mind. And I think it’s cool that I’m a walking encyclopedia of thousands of songs, almost all of which are associated with a particular time in my life, and not only can I name the song but also the artist and the year it came out. 

I love it that I’m sensitive to textures. Sometimes it’s not very convenient, like when I bite into a lump in my mashed potatoes and almost gag, but for the most part it’s wonderful. Silky satin sheets, warm fleece blankets, and a memory-foam mattress all make my mandatory bedtime much more pleasurable than it would be otherwise. My ears pick out the subtler nuances of instrumental music that no one else hears (and that’s not just when I’m having auditory hallucinations). Simple foods delight my palate and satisfy my soul. And though my vision is poor, I enjoy the profusion of color everywhere, from the red and white and pink flowers in my garden to the bright turquoise of a swimming pool to the multicolored fireworks in the sky on the Fourth of July.

I love it that I love the seasons. There is literally “something bright in all”, even though I loathe mid-winter with every fiber of my being. There’s nothing like standing at the front door on a frigid morning, drinking a cup of hot coffee and breathing in the crisp bite of snow-covered pines. Unless it’s the satisfying crunch of fallen leaves underfoot and the aroma of burning wood from the fireplace. Or the intoxicating salt air of the seaside. Or the sight of my Hot Chocolate tree roses in full bloom.

I also love it that I’m a synesthete. This is a phenomenon in which the wires governing the senses somehow get crossed, and I “see” numbers and words in colors, and “smell” or “taste” colors and letters. For example, the number 7 is bright pink and tastes like soda pop, and the letter A is red and smells like crayons. Other people with synesthesia experience these things somewhat differently. I didn’t know until I was 45 years old that there was even a word for it, let alone that I wasn’t the only one who had the condition. For some reason, it’s technically considered a mental illness, but I don’t concern myself with that too much because I’ve got a more serious one to deal with. (Funnily enough, it’s not an unusual condition in bipolars.)

I know most people probably won’t understand much of this, and that I’ll probably be thought even weirder than I was in junior high school when I tried explaining to my classmates what it was like to taste butter whenever I thought of the number 2. (Which is yellow, by the way.) But then, as someone wiser than I already said, those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. :-)