Ah, med changes. Recently I had four med changes in two weeks. The problem was too many cooks in the kitchen. Too many medicines swirling around my head. It is just a bad way to do things. I do not blame my psychiatrist. I was starting to go down the rabbit hole of depression and thought maybe it had to do with a recent change. When I called the practice the only person I could see quickly was the new P.A. I saw her and she increased a med. The next week she added a med. Sigh.
The past week and a half have been awful. Once again, I was really confused. I had no idea where I was living when I woke up. I did know what my house looked like beyond the bedroom door. I thought I would see a circular driveway from the house we lived in twenty years ago, but instead the big pine in front of my own house
I called my mom and explained the confusion. We decided the best thing to do was for me to come to their home for a few days. Well, those “few days” have turned into quite a bit longer. I feel like I am a baby who has to be watched over. But honestly, I need their help.
At dinner I found that it was tough to eat. Trying to use utensils was profoundly difficult and one night I broke down crying because it was just too hard. My parents encouraged me telling me I would be okay, it was just the meds and not my fault. It was not just at dinner, it was my fine motor skills in general. I just literally could not do things like putting a key in a keyhole. All those little things I take for granted, were, at once difficult.
I also lost my balance a lot. That day my mom came, I nearly fell in the shower multiple times. When I got out I did fall. Still naked, I was wedged between the toilet and the tub and started crying. I knew why everything was so hard, but why did everything have to be so hard, I wondered. Even walking around was a joke. I went to the store twice and both time had to hang onto the side of the cart as one of my parents pushed. I bumped into things at my parents’ house and I was always in danger of falling. Needless to say, I can’t drive right now. My parents’ are not only generous with their home and food, but they also drive me to my appointments.
After I came to my parents’ house I asked my mom to come into my next psychiatric appointment so that she could tell the doctor everything she witnessed that was going on. She described my behavior as “very, very drunk.” Even my doctor said I looked like a zombie. These are descriptions I have long sought out. (sarcasm) I am coming out of the depression I still have drunk girl/zombie features.
Sometimes you have to swallow your pride and just ask for help. It can be with a professional doctor or P.A. Maybe it is a friend or significant other who will listen to you and hear, I mean really hear, what is going on with you and that you need his or her help. It is tough to be sick on top of your illness. Med changes are, to me, one of the hardest parts of living with bipolar disorder. But rest easy, dear reader, one day you will find the right meds and it will only be a time to time tweek you need, no nasty side effects.