Home Again. Home Again.

I was in the hospital for a week.  The voices.  The depression.  The anxiety.  The flashbacks.  They all just got to be way too much for me.

I don’t feel 100%.  In fact, I feel far from it.  I slept a lot while hospitalized.  I didn’t realize how exhausted I actually was.  Which, is kind of strange since I remember saying over and over to Dr. D that I was so tired.  However, since coming home, I’ve barely slept.  Hopefully, I can get some okay sleep tonight.

Not a whole lot was adjusted on the med front.  I’m going to wait until I see Dr. W to do that.  The doctor at the hospital upped my dosage of Haldol, which, in retrospect, was the most important thing.  He also started me on something called Minipress which is an old blood pressure drug that’s now being used to treat PTSD.  I’m surprised my insurance company filled it without a hassle since I’m already taking Inderal for anxiety.

I’m going to sign off for the day.  I’m starting to write in an offline journal about shit that goes on during therapy (definitely upping that to twice a week for a while and possibly doing an IOP).

Really Scared

As I wrote previously, my pdoc is worried about psychotic symptoms.  I saw her on Friday was was finally honest with her on how bad my mom’s voice had gotten.  I understand better what’s she concerned about (MDD with psychotic features versus Schizoaffective disorder).  It scares me how intense and persistent her voice has become.  I’m finding it harder to push it back.  In fact, I’m starting to randomly hear my dad’s voice (though I think those are more flashback-y).

I’m finding ti difficult to admit how bad things have gotten in the past two weeks or so.  The panic is almost constant.  The flashbacks are vivid and intense.  I’m unable to shower after dark and am trying to avoid sleep at night.  I’m having suicidal and self injury impulses regularly.  Mentally, I’m falling apart.  I wonder how much is related to starting back in therapy.  Even though I wanted to take it slow, it seems like the shit just tumbles out of my mouth.

So.  Back to pdoc.  She insisted this time on doing something about the voices.  I was too scared and tired to fight her.  I simply told her I didn’t want to take current generation atypical antipsychotics.  Thankfully she respected that.  She decided to start me on Haldol, which, honestly, scares the shit out of me.  But maybe that’s just my slightly over informed brain.  I think it would be easier not having taken psychopathology and psychopharmacology.  I was supposed to start on 1 mg Friday night.  However, the pharmacy didn’t even have Haldol in stock.  Plus they need to contact the doc because of a potential interaction with Celexa.  So instead of just being able to start it I’ve been battling anxiety over it the last two days.

Despite the intensity of the voices, I’m now having second thoughts about the Haldol.  I know it isn’t rational.  But having multiple days to stew about this (and there’s no guarantee I’ll get the prescription tomorrow, depends on if the pharmacy talks to the doc) hasn’t been good.

I’m scared and overwhelmed.  I’m worried that if things don’t improve I’m going to end up in the hospital.  But I am tired of putting on a brave face and pretending that I’m okay.  Nobody in my life except the psychiatrist and psychologist know how bad things have gotten.  It’s exhausting to have to put up a front all the time.  I wonder what’s going to happen to me in the near future.

Horrible Dream

I had a horrible dream this morning.  I was dreaming that I had had a baby.  It was the most independent and easy going baby.  She basically came out of the womb self sufficient.  I was a horrible mother.  I neglected the baby.  I didn’t want anything to do with her.

Not too hard to see where this comes from.

No Rest For the Weary

Sleep is not coming tonight.  I slept for about 45 minutes and woke up out of a nightmare.  I have extra Trazodone I could use.  But honestly, I don’t really want to sleep.  It brings nothing but pain lately.

Add muscle spasms from hell into the mix.  Can we say fun?

I’m sitting here in the living room and the tears just keep rolling down my face.  This is the first time in a long time that I’ve cried.  Really cried.

I’ve been up for a good two hours.  I think I’ll go downstairs and try to sleep on the couch.  Beds are triggering me like they used to.  I’ll probably bring it up with my psychiatrist when I see her in a week and a half.  I’m sure she’ll basically say therapy (which I’m working on).

I’m half tempted to call mobile crisis because I’m having serious SI urges.  I don’t know if talking to someone will make any difference though.

Okay.  Signing off for the night morning.

Itty Bitty Baby Steps

After working on it for like a month, I’ve finally called a psychologist.  I tried doing the Psychology Today route.  Too confusing since my insurance is administered by X company, but because it’s Medicaid, people who take X don’t necessarily take my form of X.  Today I worked up the courage to call X company directly and get some names.  I took those names and Googled.  Luckily one of the people specializes in trauma.  I left a message on voice mail.  Thankfully, she’s out of the office until Monday and I can quit stressing over it until then.

Earlier, I saw useless GP.  Remarkably, he wasn’t all that useless today.  I guess it helps if you go in focused and only asking for one med change.  A few weeks ago, I started Couch to 5K.  I messed up my previously messed up ankle.  So after resting for almost a week didn’t do anything I made the appointment.  Now, all of this could have been taken care of last week, but drunk family member fell down in her driveway and I had to take her to the ER and wait around while they scanned her head.  I barely know this person, but nobody else who could do it was around.  I swear, I think I’m going to start using the phrase “Not my monkey.  Not my circus.” around my family.

So I see GP.  He orders an x-ray basically to cover his butt should the 6 weeks of PT he prescribed not work and he wants an MRI.  I guess having a GP who also does sports medicine is handy.  He says I can continue walking, but no more than a half mile or so and no C25K period.

He also gave me a referral to a different rheumatologist to evaluate for seronegative arthritis.  Despite lab results and symptoms and joint pain responding to steroids, current rheumatologist doesn’t think there’s anything else going on aside from fibromyalgia.

Oh, and I get to increase the Vitamin D I’ve been taking because I’m still deficient despite taking a standard 2000 IU a day.

Only other thing is I had a sleep study done.  I wish they’d hurry up and send the results.  I had a split study, where they monitored the first part and then put me on a CPAP machine the second part.  I’m guessing the fact they did the CPAP means I had a significant number of apnea events.

Psychiatrist is being a bit pushy, but I don’t expect less.  She’s ready to call up Company X and go off on them because they want to do her job.  She’s the one pushing therapy.  I think things have lifted a bit because as I said above, I’ve been able to deal with looking into it.  She also wants me to go back to the NAMI group I used to attend.  But I haven’t been there for like 10 years.  There’s a meeting tomorrow night.  But I don’t know.  I guess I’m minimizing things again.  I get all “But it isn’t that bad” all the time, despite evidence to the contrary.

And no, dear psychiatrist, my mother’s voice isn’t going away.  It’s been in my head my entire life.  And no, I’m not psychotic.  I think we’ll have to agree to disagree.

Coping Skills

I’m learning to live with the side effects of the Cymbalta.  Yogurt is my new best friend.  It’s easy on my tummy and I found a flavor I like (Yoplait’s Whips in Chocolate).  They’re 100 calories a pop and I can usually get two down.  I’ve been eating those for breakfast and lunch and trying to choke down whatever we’re having for dinner.

I actually started adding Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner in my to-do app.  It’s definitely got a game type vibe to it, and that helps motivate me to actually open it up.

I’ve given myself permission to take a Klonopin during the day if things get really rough.  Yes, I get the doctor’s point that she doesn’t want to change too many variables at once.  But there’s no use in torturing myself.  All that accomplishes is making me want to eat even less, which feeds back into the anxiety.

Thankfully, I seem to be sleeping better.  The increase in the Trazodone has helped on that front.  I was hoping the sleep would help with my pain, but alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case.  In fact, it seems to be worse than before, with a lot more muscle tension and spasms.  I’m going to start back up on the magnesium supplement I was taking since the Cymbalta (or lack of food) is screwing with my lower GI tract.

Finally, I’m taking it one day at a time.  That’s the only way I’m going to get through my life.  I’ve quit looking toward the future because I don’t see it dramatically changing any time soon.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

I swear I can’t win.  I started on the Cymbalta almost a week ago.  The good news, it is starting to help with the pain.  The bad news, it killed my appetite.  I’m lucky if I get 1000 calories a day.  I’ve lost 5 pounds since I started.  While that’s a welcome loss, it isn’t healthy nor sustainable.  My anxiety has also gone into overdrive.  My blood sugar is running low because of the not eating thing and that tends to trigger anxiety.  Despite telling the doctor this, she doesn’t want me to go down on the dosage (I told her 30 mg had worked fine for me in the past but she insisted on putting me on 60 mg even though I’m incredibly sensitive to medication).  She also doesn’t want me to take a daytime dosage of Klonopin.  She essentially wants me to ride it out.  I’ve got enough Klonopin to take it twice a day before I see her again, so I might use it as a crisis kind of thing.  Oh and she isn’t worried about the not eating thing either.

I’m debating whether to try a different psychiatrist (see previous entry about the psychosis thing) or see if she works out.  I don’t like doctor hopping and it’s my general rule not to do it unless the person is truly an ass or incompetent.  But she doesn’t seem to really give a damn.

*sigh*

One step forward, two steps back.  That’s the story of my life, or so it seems.

A Very Long Day

I’m so mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.  I started the day with the psychiatrist.  Initial sessions are always long.  Having to go through my history is beyond demanding.  Fighting back tears (and failing miserably) left me drained after the first 30 minutes.  Then she drops the little bomb shell that she thinks I’m psychotics.  I basically told her I respectfully disagree.  Hearing the voice of one of my abusers is more likely a PTSD symptom (PDF) rather than a psychosis symptom.  She wanted to put me on one of the newer antipsychotics.  I told her no.  I absolutely and positively wouldn’t go down that route again.  I gained so much weight on them and they sent my cholesterol sky high.  I don’t need that crap again.  She didn’t seem pleased with my refusal, but it’s my body.  Honestly, it’s not causing me that much distress that I think it needs to be medicated.  I’m quite aware the voice isn’t real and what the origin of it is.  I’m not putting those drugs in my body unless I’m going crazy.  I think they’re overused for things like bipolar, PTSD, ADHD (!) and Autism (!!!).  So, in the end, she upped one of my meds and put me back on Cymbalta for the depression and chronic pain.  Once I’m doing somewhat better, she wants me to get back into therapy.  I’m not against that.  I just need to find someone the energy to find someone.

Then it was to the hospital side to register for blood work and an EKG.  I’m still not 100% certain why she feels she needs the EKG, but whatever.  The nice man filling in from another department was trying to register me into the ER, which is why he couldn’t find the doctors name.  Once that was fixed, I got to the lab where the paperwork was screwed up because my age ended up getting entered as 103.  I don’t even know how that happened.  I got stabbed in the hand, leaving me with a nice little lump and a big old bruise.

Then the fun really began.  Gynecologist time.  I kid you not…  when the nurse took my BP, I almost had a stroke right there given how high it was (190/130) after it being normal (120/80) earlier in the day.  She was pretty alarmed until I told her I was basically sitting there having a panic attack.  The doctor was really nice.  She tried to be as gentle as she could.  It isn’t that easy since my body is a bit weird and I was, well, freaking out.  At least I don’t have to go back for a year, and then only for a quick check, not the full thing.

I’m about to take my meds and go to bed.  I’ve finally gotten myself mostly calmed down.  But I’m exhausted.

So Much For That Idea

I don’t know what to do anymore.  I tried to get into the agency that I saw before.  They take Medicaid.  Just not my version of Medicaid.  Then don ‘t advertise that you take Medicaid.  That pisses me off more than anything.  If I had known that I could have put the energy into finding someone who does.

It seriously took all my mental energy to call this place.  I’m sitting here shaking like a leaf, about ready to throw up.  I want to cry, but I’m determined not to.

Maybe I’m taking this all too seriously and personally.  But I can’t help it.  I know I need this.  It’s just disheartening.

I should just go jump off a bridge.

I’m a Coward

I have a appointment with a GYN on Friday because my shitty ass PCP won’t prescribe birth control.  Really?  Why the hell did you go into primary care.  Prescribing BC sort of falls into primary care these days since you don’t need to see a GYN if you’re not sexually active (or at least not more than once every three years).  I tried to explain my history to him, but he didn’t give a rats ass.  He doesn’t do birth control.  He conveniently doesn’t do psych meds or pain meds either, though these are a bit more understandable.  I have a psychiatrist appointment for Friday and I hate those.  I hate going into my past.  But that’ll be a walk in the park compared to seeing the GYN.  Luckily this person came highly recommended by the referral line.

I also know I need to get back into therapy.  But I’m too scared to even call and make an appointment.  There’s a place in town that used to serve abuse survivors.  It’s been folded into another agency but from their website it seems like maybe they still specialize in survivors.  Nothings going to change, but I’m such a chicken that even thinking about calling them is freaking me out.  I had a good experience with them before.  I don’t know what’s up with me.

Right now, I’m so anxious, I’m nauseated.  I don’t want to eat.  I haven’t eaten all day, which is probably why my stomach is hating me.  I tend to get really nauseous when my blood sugar falls.  I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on now.  It’s a crappy spiral.  My stomach isn’t happy so I don’t eat which screws with my blood sugar which makes me more nauseous.   We’ve got some nice French bread, maybe I’ll try to eat a piece of that and see if it doesn’t settle my stomach.

Long story short, I’m a coward.