Well hello there, dear reader(s), I report I am feeling so much better today after a wonderful dinner with Jules last night and a very restful night’s sleep. No bad dreams that I recall, rather I got a good 9 hours straight, which I love. It’s a gray, rainy morning here in central Ohio but I don’t mind at all. It’s Friday, the weekend is coming, time for relaxation and all that. I have a tea date today with elderly British friend Carol from the Y swim group—she picked some daffodils for me, which will look lovely in my red kitchen. I’m looking forward to the afternoon visit, even though there might be rain.
I was sharing with Jules last night some of the great difficulties I had when I was first diagnosed years ago with bipolar disorder and suddenly just told to take all these meds without any real instructions about how to time them, and how to get a pill container to organize them for daily consumption. What ended up happening is I just had a drawer full of pill bottles, and I would try to count on my memory to guide me on when to take them. I dosed them all wrong, taking the strong, sedating Depakote in the morning, as well as the antipsychotic, so I would be drugged out all day and have trouble sleeping at night. Then my memory would get impaired by the meds, and then even more if I relapsed on alcohol or weed, so it was just one big clusterfuck. Why didn’t someone instruct me, help me to take my medication correctly? I mean it takes a yeoman’s effort to even agree to take the meds in the first place, but there has got to be someone guiding you early on about the importance of pill containers and what to take when. These key instructions I did not have. Hence all the manic episodes, hence all the nut huts. Oh well.
I would not get everything sorted out until I was 50. Age 50! That’s 15 years of my life spent in chaos because no one guided me on what to do. Let’s let out a big grrrrrrrrr for me (and the many others) who were left fumbling around trying to figure out “better living through modern pharmaceuticals” as prescribed by a psychiatrist. But oh Melissa, let’s not stray into self-pity, don’t forget AA’s We Shall Not Regret The Past, and all that. Yet that’s hard not to do, when I think about all the pain and confusion I went through, figuring everything out. Sigh. Well, hopefully my foibles might somehow help another avoid what I went through. Everyone, get a pill container. Ask your doctor exactly what time each medication should be taken. Follow the same daily regimen. I cannot stress this enough.
Now readers, I’ve been toying with the idea of dieting lately, and I know I’ve got to be careful as far as this is concerned. The temptation is great to start restricting carbs heavily, even though I learned from last Fall that rapid weight loss most likely contributed to the “confusion” that led to the horrible hospitalization I went through. So I guess I’m kinda stuck, I want to lose weight, I don’t want to exercise, what’s left but to diet. Oh sigh and sigh some more. I know I must be cautious, my weight is tied to my stability, tied to the meds in my system. Dr. Schumacher said focus on losing 2 lbs. a month, not 2 lbs. a week like I did before. This is all going to come down to patience, not my strong suit at all. Slow down Melissa, the turtle wins the race.
I’ll share more lessons as I think of them. I am still in my recovery mode, so I’m not as sharp and cohesive as I would like to be. Which is fine. I’m right where I was meant to be. OK, time to call mom. Maybe she’s up for some deep thoughts with a little laughter thrown in. I hope so. Enjoy your day. Rain and all.
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