Making Progress

I’m doing well, I think.

At least, I can hope so.  Dr. K seems to think so.  I feel… okay, most of the time.  I no longer find myself backtracking through stores putting things back on the shelf, and decisions over things like what variety of yogurt I’m going to buy or what cereal I should get… well, they’re still causing me problems.  And I find myself putting off the big things.  I’m still sitting on my college application form, debating classes.  But it’s not as bad.  It takes me ages to decide on cereal, perhaps, but I can decide without being in agony about it.

Hating my job lately, I’ve tried to find time to drop off a resume here and there.  This is something I used to find very difficult.  It’s still hard, and even if I came out of there without hearing anything terribly encouraging about the prospects, I still felt good.  I did not feel sick like I have after so many resumes in the past.  That’s huge, by itself.

There are bad days, where I feel tense and worried and a mess, but they’re less.  I can cope with them, sometimes with seroquel, sometimes not.

I have a truck, now, my father’s old truck.  Driving is a freedom.

This is a time of openings, new things, beginnings.

Should I be allowed to know this?

Yesterday, I ended up seeing the referral letter my general practitioner wrote for the psychiatrist.

I’m not sure why I got to see this, or whether I should be permitted to, but I did as part of a discussion of what/how much of various drugs I have been taking and some confusion over it, because while I did fill out paperwork permitting my psychiatrist’s office access to my prescription record, that paperwork hadn’t yet been filed.  New office, new practice.  I think they’re still having trouble with the computer system.  Dr. K himself expressed some frustration with having to learn how to fill out a prescription on the computer.

But I did see this, or part of it.  My GP’s suggestion is that, should the cipralex not work, I should be put on buspirone.  I spent some time reading that over.

This shit is scary.

Extreme levels of caffeine ingested while taking Buspirone may result in extreme nervous breakdowns, followed by amnesia of the event.

Define “extreme levels of caffeine.”  Define “extreme nervous breakdown.

Jesus christ, let the cipralex be working.

I’m not always very comfortable with taking psychiatric drugs.  They make me, as a rule, very nervous, far too nervous for someone who has so many bottles of them over her desk.  They do strange things to the chemicals in your brain, they are not always predictable in their effects, there are unfortunate side effects.  I am not entirely comfortable with the cipralax and the seroquel, but I take them because I’m hoping the former will work and I know the latter is working, even if it does still make me sort of sleepy.

But the potential for problems worries me, as does the idea of being on these things forever.

Then again, what doesn’t worry me?  Ba-dum ching.

Results

I saw the psychiatrist yesterday.  I think it went well.

He’s South African, which I did not expect.  His diplomas on the wall were from some university in Johannesburg, the name of which struck me as amusing at the time but I forget now.  He’s a big, black South African doctor with a moustache, and I like him.

And I told him everything.

Which was exhausting.

I told him how amazing I had felt on the clonazepam, but how it was losing effect as I was clearly building a tolerance to it, and that the last week had been hell.  I told him about how, during my bad panic attacks, I felt suicidal and inclined to self-harm, although I had never gone so far as to act on any of these thoughts, short of biting very hard on my hand.  During the entire appointment I was so nervous I couldn’t stop moving, restlessly shifting in my chair and wringing my hands and clenching my fists.  It felt like torture.  A few times, during lulls in the conversation, I looked out the window, couldn’t see much but the hospital and a parking lot, but it helped.

We ruled out diagnoses like bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or OCD.  Just… general anxiety, which surprises no one at this point.  I’m puzzled by the question, though, of if I’ve heard voices or experienced hallucinations.  I said no, but I said to my father last night, how would I know? What if I was unaware that they were hallucinations?  Dad thought that was pretty funny.

The doctor doesn’t like me being on clonazepam either, and since it’s unwise for me to go on a higher dose, and since the effectiveness of the Cipralax will be weeks away, he has given me something called co-quetiapine, or Seroquel.  It’s an anti-psychotic, which is weird to think of.  Also apparently if my parts of my life really are hallucinations, I’ll find out soon enough.  It definitely has a tranquillising effect, though.  Luckily I have a couple of days to get used to the loopiness before I go back to work.  Working on cutting down the clonazepam now, not that it’s doing me a lot of good right now anyway.

The Cipralax is probably a good fit for me, but he mentioned another drug we can try if it doesn’t help.  Again, it’s the sort of thing that takes weeks and weeks to work, so we should at least give the Cipralax a chance first.

Speaking of my father.  We got on the topic of self-medication last night, and he asked me why I thought I had never got into that alleyway.  I said I wasn’t sure, although perhaps if I was a chain-smoker I’d be more functional than I am.  With alcohol, the line between “buzzed enough to be unanxious and happy” (and I am the happiest drunk in the world, for good reason) and “uncomfortably intoxicated” is too fine to walk regularly, and I can’t drink every night, although there have certainly been periods of my life where I’ve had, say, a beer every night for a week or two.  And later in the evening, thinking more on it, it occurred to me that when I’m at the low point in this cycle that I’m beginning to recognise in myself, where I am anxious and depressed and more anxious and more depressed and doing everything in my power to force myself to go out to work and accomplish tasks, I do self-medicate that lack of energy.  The amount of coffee I’ve had in the last week is… astonishing.

And of course, caffeine makes anxiety worse.

How much simpler would my life have been if I’d started smoking in high school?