I spent time in therapy. I needed it after such a devastating stay of four days in the mental ward with a bunch of crazy people!
Well, that’s what I thought.
I was compliant with my meds and was rapidly improving. I was sleeping again, the visual and auditory hallucinations were gone. The paranoia was getting better, and I was happier. I was not back to normal, not by a long shot, but I was better.
As my doctor was increasing my effexor I reached my therapeutic dose of 225 mg. Suddenly, 2 days after my final increase, I began running like a rat on crack. I was cleaning, re-cleaning, and then cleaning again. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t sleep again, only this time I wasn’t tired. I was running around everywhere, spending money again, doing stupid things. I was going out of my mind just trying to keep up with my mind!
It was crazy! My husband loved it, my friends and family laughed. They enjoyed seeing me so full of energy and love, after such a devastating crash into the world of insanity.
I was so happy to be so happy and I was extremely complaint with my medicine. I was not due to see my doctor for a month since I was finally stable, but eventually all this craziness and energy began to wear me down. I felt like I had drank 10 energy drinks on 2 hours of sleep every waking moment of every day. It began to take it’s toll on me.
While my house was so clean you would think no one lived there (we are talking 3500 sq ft of house too!) and dinners were fabulous, kids were well taken care of, and the sex was incredible, I was unraveling yet again. Did I mention the sex? I’d never in my life loved it so much. It was every day, 2 – 3 times a day, all the time. I couldn’t get enough.
Scared something was seriously wrong with me I called my doctor. After 2 1/2 weeks of this madness I was not doing well. She had to fix me, she had to do something to help me. I couldn’t live like that any longer.
I sat down with my doctor and began going over the details of the previous weeks. I remember sitting on the edge of her couch wringing my hands and being unable to sit still. I was nearly bouncing on her couch as we spoke. She sets her pen down on her notepad and says “I believe you are in a hypo-manic episode.”
My jaw dropped, I was again in shock. What in the world is a hypo-manic episode?
She said “You are not depressed, you are bipolar.”
I nearly fell off the couch in horror. Then, it made sense. Suddenly, I was relieved. I smiled and said “so I’m crazy!”
She looked at me and said “not crazy, you just need different medicine. You will be fine.”
Photo by Photocapy, available under a Creative Commons attribution license.
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From Psych Central's website:
PsychCentral (May 27, 2011)
Last reviewed: 27 May 2011