My health has been bouncing around like a yoyo – but only I remain the same.

I am now convinced that my psychiatrist is not providing me adequate care. He prescribed me Epilim to help my hand tremors and not only failed to inform me what kind of drug it was (an anti-convulsant/epileptic) but he also gave me a couple of Zyprexa (an anti-psychotic) so I could take a quarter dose to sleep.  I only know this because wikipedia and the chemists I run into at work are my friends.

Since I have come home from America, every time that I cut back down on my SSRI, I end up being put back on it with yet more drugs with it. And then the doctor says see you in a month or two and every time I come back 2 or 3 weeks later with some more apparent side effect.

The latest one has been collapsing. I’ll just be doing my job and then all of a sudden I hit the ground. I’m completely conscious – as they say back in high school, I “p-k-ed” it. Everyone gets concerned and I feel a bit embarrassed about it. I dust myself off and do it again. The point I reach exhaustion is quite low. Even when I resolved my sleeping issues I did it on a full nights rest. So all I’m left with is a lot of questions of which there are no answers.

I’ve gained 8kg in the past 2 months which hasn’t helped my self-esteem. Oh wait, what self esteem? lol

I’ve lost all my creative energy. Zip. No desire to do sew, knit or even wander around Spotlight for inspiration. I dress up Blinky in various clothes from his wardrobe (he looks very natty with his tie on) but it hardly qualifies. But as Kath said, some things that you found really easy to do will be difficult and things that were difficult suddenly become easy. For the first time in years (including whilst I was studying it) I was tempted to pick up “Life Insurance Mathematics”.

I think what terrifies me the most is that I don’t really feel. Someone did something that I would usually be devasted and upset about. But right now I don’t care. Moderated pleasure, moderated pain. I have fun being with people but I don’t really like getting too close unless we were close before and I don’t actively socialise.

The one time I actually felt, I lost it completely. I lost my temper. I consequently got yelled at for it. But afterwards I didn’t care and I wasn’t sorry. It was one of the first real feelings I had, something that was completely mine. It was a lingering anger that had manifested in years before and I just let it unleash. And it felt GOOD.

Then I wonder if the drugs are worth it. Wouldn’t I give to be REAL again?

Nowadays I’m not so dramatically suicidal. I don’t just lie on a heap on my bed plotting ways to off myself and being too cowardly to do it. But life is this bland black and white vista with no colour. I have the stray thought that maybe I should stop watching. And it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

I can kind of understand why people become drug addicts and alcoholics. Anything to give that view a little colour if only a minute. It makes me tempted to drown my sorrows in alcohol (something that I hardly drank before). But the rational mind boots in. Don’t be so fucking stupid.

So I dust myself off and get back up again.