Willfulness in the Face of Necessary Medication

Anxiety and frequent panic attacks have been the menu du jour for weeks, now.  I have had my Klonopin prescribed as a scheduled medication, have had the med treater add Xanax as a PRN, and have been trying various and different DBT skills.  Very little works.  It probably works a lot less, because I am not very compliant with taking three to four Klonopin per day at scheduled times, nor allowing myself to take any of the Xanax that have been prescribed.  I have tried explaining it to my therapist, the not wanting to take more and more medication, the not wanting to become a “Klonopin whore,” the not wanting to start an addiction (because life is rough enough with *just* your regular, garden-variety mental illnesses to combat every day).

This has been a “problem” for me over the years — my distaste for (what I see as) excessive use of addictive pharmaceuticals, and, in general, not wanting to let myself just be numbed out day after day.  Is it better to suffer the multiple-times-daily breakdowns, than it is to just take a wee bit of Klonopin here and there?  My brain and heart are in a battle over it.  Those who know me best, who see me on a regular basis, they plead with me just to take a Klonopin.  Why am I being so willful, over some damn Klonopin?  Just take one!  It won’t hurt!

I have had years worth of numbing myself out with various psychiatric medications, a very brief (very, very brief) relationship with marijuana in college, and a couple very short-lived love affairs with alcohol over my 35 years.  I say “No, thank you,” to all of it.  It may seem strange, like, “what Rosa, you don’t want to get some peace?  Even your med provider thinks it is a good idea!” but it is a different scenario in my mind.  I will never go back to alcohol, to marijuana, to popping this pill and that in the hopes that I will get a bit of relief.  I never let it get to a point where it destroys my life, but I have seen so many other lives destroyed by chemical dependency, and so it is very easy for me to say, “no, not for me.”

Could I just take a little bit of Klonopin here, a tiny nibble of Xanax there, and be just fine?  Yes, probably so.  I have a hard time justifying my refusal to take medications that are prescribed to me, and I revealed to my therapist this week that, really, what is behind this refusal to take medications is the thought, the feeling, that maybe I don’t feel I should be taking ANY medications.  Maybe I don’t really have bipolar disorder, maybe I can be one of those people with bipolar disorder that does not NEED medication, but can manage things with a strict schedule and diet and exercise and meditation.  Maybe I am meant to be medication-free.

At the exact moment these words come to my mouth, I know they are untrue.  I quickly scan through the years that I tried just that, to treat my bipolar disorder without medication, and just how very dangerous it was for me.  How many terrible situations I landed myself in, how I barely made it through living in the big city alive, how I hardly escaped not one but multiple abusive relationships, how the thoughts of wanting to die and dancing on the edge of the Earth with death and Satan, himself, were a daily occurrence.

So, yes, I am prescribed quite the boatload of psychotropic medication.  I don’t want to take it, but I will keep doing so because I know in the wisest part of wise mind, that it is that medication that is making me “stable enough” to exist as I am.  I will think some more about the Klonopin and the Xanax, and eventually the daily breakdowns will become too exhausting to continue, and I might try taking some.  I won’t like it, and I will worry that I am doping myself into a corner, about becoming a Klonopin-whore  but it is quite possible that a little bit of Klonopin and Xanax thrown down my gullet on a semi-regular basis will decrease the multiple daily breakdowns, and that is something that needs to happen.

mistake

 

 

The Slip into Depression, Stagnating Uprise

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From  Ms. Greene

 

It’s the turn of the seasons, and like clockwork, my mood shifted too.  Already going through a stressful time, the little neurochemicals in my brain started going extra haywire around the time change (which coincided with crap weather for my area) and I forgot and lost a grip on all I at one time treasured.  And maybe that’s really too charitable.

I had been losing a grip on the things I cared about for a long time.  Staying in more, doing less, hibernating, not talking to friends online or otherwise, not blogging, not keeping with other blogs, not reading, not watching TV, playing with the pups.  Literally, just doing nothing.  And not really caring.

Now, today, I can say I care a little bit, but it comes and it comes and it goes and for the last long while I have cared very little about much of anything, particularly not my own well-being.  Those feelings will come back, I know, maybe when I am done writing this post, or the hours where the sun sets, or tomorrow sometime.

For the meantime, I can pretend that I care about my life, my well-being, myself in general.  It will get me just so far.  I can go through the motions of things people say are supposed to make me feel better.  Maybe that will eventually get me stronger, get me more ready to take on the world everyday, so I  can not cry anytime someone other than a customer at work asks me how I am doing.

So I will try, in my head and my feet, my heart and spirit aren’t there yet.  Maybe a day soon upcoming.  I always come out of a depression slowly.  This one has been dragging on for a while and I know it will end at some point in time (deep in my head I know that, but my heart forgets) and I will plead to the Gods Of Bipolarity to not send me a mixed or manic episode, but to humor me with something close to stability.