Oops, Wrong Medication Dosage


Fun fact: The mood stabilizer I’ve been taking for the past 7 years, which I started after my last suicide attempt, has been at the wrong dose for almost a year. I’m supposed to take 200 mg; I’ve had 100 mg since April 2013.      loki_facepalm_by_foxedpeople-d56xo5a

 

Theoretically, mood stabilizers decrease the number of depressive or manic episodes and make the lows less low and the highs less high. The psych ward doctor put me on it after diagnosing me with bipolar type 2. No one else has ever agreed with the diagnosis, but no one changed the medication either. I have no idea how this happened. I didn’t notice the change because I think I figured it was the generic version of the medication. I didn’t even think to make sure it was the same dose! My doctor only figured it out because the pharmacy called him to authorize a refill and he said he was refilling 200 mg of the  medication. The pharmacist said, “She isn’t taking 200 mg. She has been on 100 mg since April.” My doctor thinks this is a contributing factor to my state in the past few months. Unfortunately it takes 5 months to reach its full effectiveness. Nonetheless, the 24 hour window of 70% tuition refund has passed. I decided to fight and stay in school.

 

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Seven Year Anniversary


My most recent suicide attempt was seven years ago today. I was 16 years old. My first suicide attempt was an overdose 4 years earlier. Since then, my parents kept all medication locked in a closet. However, a few months prior to my 2006 attempt, I started stockpiling my medication. It was the day before Christmas Eve, but the date never entered my mind. All I thought about was the unbearableness of the unending, painful, and exhausting rollercoaster ride of my emotions.

I don’t remember much after taking the first few pills, until waking up in a hospital 45 minutes away from home two days later. I vaguely recall a woman holding me down, saying, “You can’t fight it, sweetie.” The next thing I know, I’m in a hospital bed, with an IV, catheter, baby-sitter, and a very sore throat. It took more than a week for my throat to stop hurting from the “Garden Hose” the hospital used to pump my stomach. By far the worst thing about my attempt was seeing my parents for the first time. Seeing their tear-stained faces and finally realizing the depth of anguish my suicide would cause, is one of 2 things that stopped future suicide attempts.

Depression lied to me. I did not think my actions were selfish. I truly believed my family and friends, in fact, the entire world, would be better off without me. I thought I was doing them a favor. I thought all I did was cause stress and heartache; if I was dead, everyone else would be happier. Plus, I believed living would always be as painful as it seemed in that moment.

Seeing my parents in the hospital helped bring me back to reality. No matter how bad, evil, awful, horrible, mean, pathetic, or weak I thought I was, I hurt them the most by killing myself and that was the opposite of my intention.

Yet, even at this point I was not sorry. I wanted to die. People say once a person jumps, kicks over the chair, or swallows the pills, they regret their actions and realize all their problems are solvable. I was not that person. When I woke up, I was angry they stopped me. I was angry I was still alive. In fact, I disconnected my IV, hoping I was not too late.

It took a few weeks for the depression to clear, but while in the hospital, despite guilt, I still wanted to die. Over the years, the image of my parents crying at my bedside stopped me when I felt suicidal again.

…………

And then I took a shower and realized, this post is morbid. I learned some important life lessons as a result of that attempt and I still have a long way to go, but focusing on the present is more important. For example, the loving, accepting family surrounding me! I don’t know why they put up with me; I wouldn’t.

Mea Culpa


Oops, stayed in bed all day again. …After just telling the Dean I was getting better. Grr.

I’m currently skipping therapy. I skipped class. I’m afraid I may have met my get kicked-out limit by skipping today!

I know hypersomnia is part of depression, but sometimes I stay up extremely late doing random things online or reading for fun, knowing I will have trouble getting up in the morning with less than 8 hours of sleep. I’m beginning to think it is a form of self-injury or at least, self-sabotage. I’ve also started driving without heat in 30 degree weather. I’m suspicious of that behavior as well.

I really should shower and get dressed before my mom gets home. On Friday she threatened to commit me. On one hand, I feel like I’m not a danger to myself at the moment. On the other hand, in the very recent past, I was, I’m also not showing up were I’m supposed to (school, therapy), not going to treatment (I skipped Friday to), not doing my Activities of Daily Living, and she  used to work for the Courts to commit people. Therefore, she knows what to say. If she counted my meds, she would realize I’m not taking Lamictel. I stopped when my psychiatrist worried I was swinging toward mania. I would rather be manic than depressed. So far, no dice.