Tag Archives: Medications

Provigil….. And Stuff

Standard

I’ve been waiting for a prior authorization from my psychiatrist to go through with my insurance company for a couple of weeks now, on a medicine called Provigil. It’s a drug that is used to promote wakefulness in adults who have certain sleep disorders, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and things of that nature. It is also been used to help treat depression and several other things as well, I believe. Though it has traits of an amphetamine, it is not one. It’s an expensive drug and I did not expect the prior authorization to go through, I figured they’d deny it and we’d have to appeal it and go through all that nonsense.

The reason I thought that, was because I had already been through that battle once, a few years back with my old primary care physician. She tried like hell to get me on this medication and that damn insurance turned her down every effin time. I mean she jumped through hoops trying to get me on this medication and getting the proof or enough proof that I needed it and would benefit from it. In the end, I never did end up getting approved.

So anyway, I was standing in the kitchen yesterday and my husband walked up and tossed me a piece of mail. It was from my insurance company, I get stuff from them all the time, and I won’t lie, I don’t open most of my mail, it sits, unopened, indefinitely for the most part, unless it’s a bill or something else “important”. I’m sure I probably miss some stuff that I should be reading, but nevertheless, my unopened mail piles grow and then turn into boxes of unopened and opened mail along with receipts, and we start over again. Whew!!! LOL I went a little off the trail there for a second, but as I was saying, I was holding this piece of mail from the insurance company, and I went to throw it up on the counter and something caught my eye, I can’t remember what it said, ‘approval’ maybe, but it was enough to make me think of my prior authorization and open it. Sure enough, it was a letter stating that they had approved my prior authorization for Provigil and that it was now covered for me to take for a year, before I’m up for revaluation!!! Woo hoo!! Truly, thank you God!!!!<3

So I finally got approved for it, so I can try it and see if it makes a difference and helps me so that I’m not so tired and sleeping all the time; and also I can see if it helps with the depression at all. It’d be so nice if it helped with both. My only fear is that my body will become tolerant to it too quickly and it will no longer work like it did in the beginning, or like it should. My body does that with medications, all kinds of medications, even things like antibiotics and crap, it’s nuts. I did it to myself though, ruined my body by being an addict, this is just one of the results of being a recovering addict. I pretty much rewired everything in my brain, it’s hard to get that back, if you even can, and I don’t think you’ll ever get all of it. There I go being Negative Nancy again though, God, it’s terrible, like I just set myself up for failure and disappointment with my thoughts and words!! I don’t wanna be that person.

What I’m really hoping, is that this Provigil, in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on, the mood stabilizer, and the anti anxiety medication, will finally make a difference I can actually feel. I wanted to write, ‘lol’ back there just now, after I said, “What I’m really hoping is that this Provigil in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on…..” and so on, because I realized how funny and crazy that really sounds…. maybe not to you or anyone else, but to me it does, if only because it’s my life and I’m thinking to myself, “Look at you, do you hear all those medications you’re on? What in the hell happened here? You’re a headcase. It always comes back to this, it seems like no matter what it always comes back to the “mental illnesses” that I deal with and it’s like it’s a never ending battle, I just thought, how funny the predictability of all this is and what a nut I felt like after listing off all those different types of meds I’m on. I’m giving it a shot though, because why the hell shouldn’t I really, I mean, anything within reason is worth a shot if it might make you feel better.

I’ll give all these medications a chance to work together in my system to see if together they make a difference that not only I can feel, but that can be seen by those close to me hopefully too. I know it takes time for everything to get into your system, everything has a different saturation point, so I think it’s probably best that I give it at least two months, if not three, before deciding whether or not it’s all making any difference or not. I’d like to try to keep a med journal, lol, but for me that’s like, I don’t even know, lol. Let’s just say I don’t do well on commitment to those sorts of things. Hell, one of my biggest problems with all this depression and medication crap is, I have a really hard time remembering to take my morning doses of my medications!!!! I am almost thirty years old, and I still cannot take my medications like an adult.

For years now I’ve struggled with taking my medications in the morning. Night meds have never been a problem, I always take my night meds and there’s nothing “good” in my night meds either, lol, just to be clear. I’ve tried all kinds of different things to get myself to take my meds in the morning. I have a sign that hangs from the cupboard right in front of my face that says, ” Take Your A.M. Meds!!”….. I don’t even notice it most days. My meds sit on “my” counter, the one I go to to roll my cigarettes, use my computer, everything, it’s like my central location. They’re right there next to me basically, and yet for a long time, morning after morning I did not take them, or only took them one day here, miss a day, then take them again the next day, miss two days, take them two days, like that. In the last year and a half I have been more conscious about taking my morning meds and somehow making sure I do it. While I haven’t been great at it, I’m still better than I was, and in the last I’d say month, since I got out of the psychiatric ward, I’ve been taking them way more consistently, because instead of not taking them because it’s “too late” in the day now, I’ve been taking them no matter what time I remember, as long as it’s not past like 2 p.m., because I don’t want them too close to my night meds. I figure even if I’m not taking them at the same time everyday, at least I’m taking them and they’re getting into my system so they can start to work hopefully. 

I’ll continue to work on taking my medications every morning like I’m supposed to. I don’t think it’s about finding a way to remind myself, because I’ve set alarms on my phone, taped up the sign, set them right next to me, and I still don’t take them like I’m supposed to. I feel like I’m a fucking idiot, like I’m defective, like what the fuck is wrong with me. Why don’t I just take my meds in the morning, like any other “normal” person would do? Whatever the reason is, I know I can get this right and start taking them every single day until it becomes so familiar that I could do it in your sleep, until it becomes as familiar as breathing each day. The damnedest thing is, if someone reminds me or tells me basically, to go take my meds, I take them right away, without hesitation. My husband sometimes tries to help me by reminding me, but he forgets too. A few friends have said they’d call me every morning, and they did, for a little while, but eventually it ended. And that’s okay, for all of them, because really it’s not their responsibility. It was nice of all of them to try and help me. I do appreciate it, but it’s not someone else’s job to see to it that I take my meds each morning, although I must admit, it sure makes it a lot easier. I’m going to have to do this on my own somehow though, I have to. 

I saw my therapist today and one of the things we talked about was ECT (electroconvulsive) therapy, to help alleviate and possibly eliminate this depression. It’s actually something I’ve thought about a lot over the last few years, and looked into online some too, I’m the one who brought it up to my therapist. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to think it sounded like a totally crazy idea at all, in fact he talked very positively about it and even gave me a brief account of a patient of his who underwent treatment not too long ago and seems to be doing great now, much better. He did talk about the possibility of some short term memory loss, and I brought up my concern with him about long term memory loss. I told him about a friend I have who underwent ECT treatment sometime in the last ten years, and he seems to have lost a lot of his long term memory, like his memories of certain things. My therapist didn’t really have much to say on that, like he wasn’t really sure, but I’ll look into it more closely. Anyway, we talked about it and decided that since I’ve been on what seems like almost every psych med there is out there, all to little or no avail for one reason or the other, it’s not a bad idea to talk to my psychiatrist about it when I see him at the beginning of May. So that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to talk to him about ECT and see what his perspective on it is, and whether or not he thinks it would benefit me in particular. We shall see what he has to say! 

For me, everyday the struggle is real, just as I know it is for a whole lot of people out there, so many people that have it WAY worse than what I could ever dream of having it, and so I try to be thankful that I don’t have it like that and I’ve got it the way it is, even if that’s less than ideal to me. I do a lot of things to myself I think, or I make them worse at least, blow them out of proportion, or think things that aren’t true or real – just paranoid thoughts in my head because of the way my life has been. It’s like I sabotage everything good in my life eventually, including relatioships, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it or by the time I do, it’s too late. I am living in this misery, depression, sadness, and anger, along with a list of other emotions, and I’m trying to figure out how to fix it, how to get out of it, knowing that I put myself in it, so it starts with me. I’m the one who had to change all this, no one else can do it for me, I’ve always know that, The problem is that it is so damn hard. Getting out of this pit I’m in, it feels impossible to climb out of most days. It’s like I’m barely dragging on. But I don’t want to be this way, so I must do something to change it, and this is where the battle starts, conflicting thoughts. I want life to be one way, but I don’t want to do the work to change it. I’m still going at it though, I haven’t given up so far. 

I think that’s enough rambling for me for one night, lol. I’m never sure if I actually have a point when I’m writing, I just kind of get that blank screen in front of me and it’s like my mind says, “AndGo!!” really fast, lol, and I’m off and writing. Thoughts spilling out on top of one another, my mind going ninety miles an hour. I’m sure some of you can probably see my “free” form writing style in my posts, lol. Thanks for baring with me folks!! 🙂 

Advertisements

How I Ended Up In The Psychiatric Unit and More

Standard

I will start by saying that I have had a deep underlying depression for a long time now, I have been battling it for quite some time.

Then I will jump into a separate story, but one that goes along with everything that happened in a way. See, my husband and I have had two flea market booths for three years now. Our kids have always been a part of it, and they have been coming most every weekend this whole time now. They are both under ten. About a month ago my husband took our boys, plus his twenty one year old nephew and his one and a half year old son, to the flea market with him one day. The owner of the flea market has a bad temper and can be very moody and temperamental. Well, our nephew’s little guy fell and hit his head on the concrete floor about ten minutes before opening time. The owner of the flea market came flying over to our nephew and began yelling at him, demanding to know “what the fuck was going on over here, what’s all this noise”, and proceeded to tell our nephew that “he and his little asshole needed to get out of his building”, my husband was standing there the whole time in disbelief. A little later that day, the owner came to my husband and told him that from now vendors cannot have children under that age of ten with them. He told my husband that it’s always been in the “bylaws” and handed him a print out of those supposed rules. So when they came home and told me, you may guess that I was highly annoyed, as that’s not just my husband’s booths, they’re mine as well. I chose to vent a little on my personal facebook page, giving an account of what happened and stating how wrong I thought the owner was and that he apparently needs some anger management. Well, the owner was given a copy of my post on fb, and he was ready to kick my husband out that day. My husband managed to talk him into letting him stay, but neither myself nor my kids or anyone in my husbands family is allowed in there anymore. Which means that I now will be taking care of both my boys all weekend long, by myself. 

Now some may be thinking to themselves, “why is it an issue that she has to take care of her kids by herself?” The honest answer is, they do not listen to me because I never enforced punishments with them, instead I’ve always yelled and made idle threats. So now at five and seven, when I DO punish them, or try to, it’s like a joke to them, and because I don’t stay consistent, it doesn’t stick. I don’t stay consistent because truthfully, it’s a lot of frickin work, hard work, and I often just don’t have the motivation to do so. So a day of taking care of them alone for eight hours, is like a day of torture for me, and that’s sad. It should not be that way, because I do love my sons with all my heart, they’re the reason I’m still here, but man…. They sure can make it easy for me to allow them to drive me crazy. I often beat myself up about this, and I feel like a poor excuse for a mother because I can’t even control my own children, but it’s all truth. I WANT to be a better mom, I WANT to be able to get my kids to listen, and so on. With that said, ever since this no kids at the flea market thing has caused weekends to be miserable, I fight with my husband every Saturday and Sunday morning, having an extremely child like fit over the fact that he’s continuing to stay at the flea market instead of staying home with me and helping, because he knows. 

The morning of Sunday March 8th, I lost it. I woke up completely pissed off because I just did not feel like taking care of both the boys by myself that day, but yet I wouldn’t allow him to take them to his sister’s house because it’s disgusting and just isn’t a good place for them. Plus I was so angry at myself for not being able to care for my kids like a normal mom, and that was just making me angrier, and though no one knew, it wasn’t at them, it was at myself that I was getting angrier at, because I could feel myself losing it over this, this stupid thing. I yelled at my husband, called him all kinds of names, said I wasn’t watching the kids, that I would go back to the bedroom, all kinds of stupid, ignorant things. I was SO angry, not just at this whole situation, but at everything it seemed. I had cut myself the day before, not in front of my children or anything, it was later in the evening when my husband was home. Cutting is something I haven’t done since I was a teenager, but I took a utility knife/box cutter, and I locked myself in the bathroom and made several cuts. My husband found out because he somehow managed to see them. So during this fight on Sunday, he eventually tells me he’s calling the police to come get me, he picks up the phone and starts to call…. and I go ballistic, totally nuts, I blacked out….. I reached over the hallway banister and pulled his hair so hard that I picked him up off his seat, my husband is not a small man. I continued on into the dining room where I was told that I picked up the microwave and threw it across the room, and also destroyed the stand it was on, and managed to crack the antique French provincial desk that my husband bought me for Christmas, I cracked it all the way around. I seriously and honestly do not remember this, because I would’ve stopped because of my kids had I known what I was doing. My husband said they were yelling “mommy just stop, please stop and it won’t be so bad” pleading with me to stop the madness I was in. It brings me to tears and tears my heart apart that they had to see that. How can they trust a mother like that? I can’t imagine what their little heads were thinking, are still thinking. God how I have really fucked up with this one…. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to them…. that memory of me will always be there in their minds and I hate that, but my stupid, selfish ass did that.  

So the police came and they called the EMS and by that time I was calmed down considerably but still very upset. I had also went to the kitchen to start taking as many of Klonopin as I could while my husband was on the phone with 911. So I imagine that had some effect to me being calmer. He smacked the bottle out of my hand so I couldn’t continue taking them, so I hadn’t ingested enough to be concerned about. I went cooperatively with the EMS and the police to the emergency room at our local hospital. The let me put a bra on and grab a few things before they took me and they were very nice. I gave my boys big kisses and hugs before I left and told them how sorry mommy was and that I was going to go to the hospital to get better and how much I loved them, then I walked out the door and got in the ambulance and left for the hospital. I actually got down to the psych unit pretty quick. I thought I was prepared for this, that I was really going to try to get better. I had no intentions of messing up or doing anything crazy while in there. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way for me. 

That first evening/night that I was at the psychiatric unit, I went into one of the recreation rooms/areas to call my husband. I don’t know why I even called him in the first place because I should’ve known he wasn’t going to have anything positive to say, and probably nothing nice either, but I called anyway, hoping that this time it’d be different. The definition of insanity, right? Doing something over and over even expecting a different result. Anyway, I don’t even remember our conversation, all I remember is slamming the receiver down as hard as I could, (which apparently broke the entire phone), after that I remember bits and pieces, but for the most part I don’t remember much. I know what I was told by staff and patients the next day. I was screaming when I slammed the phone down, I left the rec room and tipped over the big potted tree they had in the hallway, then I went down to my room and continued screaming and hollering, staff gave me two shots of Ativan, and I still carried on, eventually tipping over my dresser. That’s when it got bad I guess, because like eight guys were outside my door, staff and security and they carried me out of my room kicking and screaming, trying to BITE and SPIT, down to the seclusion and restraints room, where they proceeded to strap me down and inject me with Geodon, and I eventually calmed down, but it was still all kind of hazy to me. Almost all the things I just said I did, is information I gathered from staff and patients. 

I have been hospitalized more times than I care to count since I was twelve years old, and NEVER, I mean NEVER, have I had to be put in restraints. Now here I am, almost thirty fucking years old and look at me! I acted like a complete and total lunatic, not once, but TWICE in one day!!! Who the fuck does that?! That day was apparently it for me, my breaking point, for whatever reason, it’s what made the damn burst and it all came flooding out. Even though I know people do these kinds of things, that shit happens, it still does not stop me from feeling like a complete and total asshole, ashamed, embarrassed, heart broken that my kids had to see part of that, like a failure as a mother/parent, or from feeling so damn stupid for behaving that way. You just don’t do that… but I did, and I have before, sometimes close to that degree of severity. I should have this right by now, I should be able to deal with bipolar and borderline personality disorder and anxiety, better than this. I should be able to remember my meds EVERY single morning, instead of one day I do and the next day I don’t, so they never get into my system right. I take my night meds every night, but there are certain meds that can’t be taken at night and I’m out of options as far as putting me on something different, I’ve been on literally almost everything. I feel like a freak, like a giant mess, a fuck up. I can’t seem to get life straight and it shouldn’t be that hard.

Some of you may read this and think wow she needs to get it together or what kind of parent does that, some may think I’m doing a woe is me type of thing, and some may think I’m being hard on myself, beating myself up, whatever the case, just as you’re entitled to think what you want about this, so am I. This isn’t a pity part woe is me post btw, I want to clear that up now. “In My Words” is supposed to be about my life, my world, my feelings, the way I see things. That’s the whole purpose of this, that and to help even one person in some way by just one of my posts even. That would make all this worth it, for just that one person I touched. 

I stayed in the psychiatric unit for eight days total. I didn’t sleep the whole stay this time like I have before in the past. I got up and went to all the groups, not just the rec group/arts & crafts group, I went to each one, and I stayed the whole time no matter how bored I got. I tried to get something out of each of the groups I attended. I journaled, I worked on my DBT Skills book, I read. The one thing I noticed I didn’t do enough of was pray… I need to work on that big time. I didn’t get along with the doctor, I’ve dealt with him two other times in a different psychiatric facility in a different area of the state, and we didn’t get along then. He’s callous, cold, uncaring, and he’s been doing this for too long. I didn’t feel like I got much use out of him. The only change he made for me was to add Paxil to my other two psch meds that I take. I’ve been on Paxil before, but it’s been so long I can’t remember if it worked or if I gave it enough time to work, etc. So I figure I’ll try it again for a few months, see what happens. All in all, I don’t really feel much better than I did when I went into the hospital. It would help if my husband and I could get along, if he would stop blaming me for literally ALL of our problems, stop screaming at me and calling me nasty names, that would all help things a lot, but I know I’m dreaming. I will never be good enough for him, because no matter how good I can be doing, he always finds something that I’m wrong about or doing wrong or are wrong for, whatever as long as I’m wrong. So it’s often like, why even try? But there’s a part of me that knows I need to build myself up, learn to not let his meanness and cruelness get to me or hurt me anymore, because I know that he too is sick mentally, but will not get help for it. He is truly right and living in his own world…. meaning no one can tell him anything, he simply doesn’t believe them, even if it’s one hundred people telling him, he’s right. Anyway, like I said, I don’t feel a lot different, but I think I have a little more motivation to get better than before. 

I am not proud of what happened, about what I did, by any means. I’m actually very embarrassed and ashamed by my selfish and childish actions, but unfortunately they happened, and I can’t go back and change them no matter how hard I try. I normally do not freak out like this, I mean I have freaked out before, but this, this was different. I truly do think my mind had had enough and it just could not take anymore. I am so sorry to my boys, for putting them through that, and I hope one day I can help them understand why mommy has done some of the things she’s done. I’m a little sorry to my husband because I know each time I’ve been hospitalized or had a moment, he’s cared, even if he didn’t show it on the surface all the time. Although some of the times, if he hadn’t hurt me the way he did, emotionally that is, I most likely wouldn’t have freaked out. No matter what though, there are no excuses for my actions and behaviors, whether I black out or not, I should know enough to stop way before it gets to that point. I’m am almost thirty fuckin years old!! I need to get with the program or something. I feel like I’ve been trying forever to “get better” and I do good for a little while but then BLAM!, it’s back to the same old shit. Depression, anger, sometimes mania, anxiety, all of it, it starts rearing it’s ugly head again, and I lose myself with it. I have to conquer this once and for all. I need to work this every single day of my life, work to correct this, to find solutions and things that can work to finally squelch this crap. Nothing happens overnight I know, as much as I’d like it too, as we all would probably. This will take time, but I have to be sure and do it every day, try to live differently every day, because that is the only thing I can do, is try to make the next day more positive than the one I’m in. I know my strides will start out small, but I believe I can build them up, more and more until I’m taking large strides and I’ve finally achieved some things in life and living it. Bipolar, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, those things may always be there, but I don’t have to let them continue to take over me. Even though I may not feel motivated to do this, and I just want to sleep all the time, I know this is something I must force myself to do. I’m hoping that over time, there will be a detectable growth in different areas of my life, of my life in general. It’s time, time for me to be an adult, to do the things that I don’t want to do out of pure laziness and lack of motivation…. if my mom were still alive, she’d slap me stupid for living like this, oh my gosh would she be nuts with me, lol. She was an OCD clean person and she had a way or ritual for doing everything, and everything got done on time, she was always early for appointments, I’m always late, lol. Yeah, she’d be very upset with me. So I try to use that as motivation, that I’m doing it because I’d want to make my mom proud could she see me from Heaven. 

I don’t know, an eight day hospital stay just didn’t seem to work the way I was hoping it would, maybe I put too much into the whole thing, too much hope. I knew the depression wasn’t going to go away in the short time I was there, but I guess that crazy part of me hoped it would somehow. That I’d leave feeling happy and chipper. But meds take time to work, too long if you ask me, four to six weeks, sometimes longer, is a long time to wait for someone who’s feeling depressed or manic or anxious or suicidal, etx. I’m going to do whateverP I have to to make sure I take my meds not only at night but in the morning too!! I’ve got a sign taped up right where I can see it first thing, I’ve set an alarm before, but I’ll figure it out and I’ll get on the consistently. I was thinking of keeping a little med journal about how I’m feeling each day and see if the meds are actually helping, and recording when I actually took them, if I did. I have to start with baby steps, or I’m never going to start at all and I’ll be this way for the rest of my life and that is so not what I want. So here I go, on this journey to “feel better”, this journey to getting my mental health in check once and for all, here I go down this path to learning to deal with my emotions in better ways, here I go in my struggle to take my meds correctly, just here I go! It is time, twenty – nine almost thirty years old with two kids and a husband of eight years, it just way overdue, it’s way past time for me to be getting it together, so I guess it’s now or never. I’m attending therapy once a week, or once every two weeks, I’m working on DBT.  I’m going to start slow and go from there, one day at a time. 

P.S. I realize that there is absolutely NO excuses for the things I did. Mentally ill or not, nothing I did was okay. There aren’t excuses for any of it, and I’m not trying to give any. Thanks! 😉