Hitting a nerve. (Re: bipolar and related misc.)

[queenofthebean]

Hey folks.

I'm new here and will do my best not to behave like a total ass. 

I'm looking for some feedback on Rx and mental health diagnoses that I'm just not able to successfully categorize one way or another.  (Among the various diagnoses for which I may be eligible, one of those actually attributed to my person by Real Live Medical People -- that of Adult ADHD -- actually seems pretty credible to me.  Like, you want me to categorize one of my thoughts?  Are you fucking serious?)  So - sorry about that.

Here's the deal.

When I'm not vacillating between deconstructing 'madness' as a social construct (ala Michel Foucault) and Politely Accepting Everything that Health Professionals Say, I'm dealing with the real, concrete effects of some mental functioning issues which aren't much helped by either approach.

So, when I read something that The Grand Dude of this site (an excellent writer, I must note) said something about bipolar people being particularly prone to believing they don't need meds, well, it hit a nerve.  (To quote: " With bipolar it's the opposite, we often have this Nietzschean arrogance that we're better than the meds at dealing with our issues, with occasional paranoid delusions or ecstasies of miracle healing.") 

Naturally, my first reaction to this bit of text was something like, "Oh, well, that's all very well and nice, but unlike these poor bastards, I actually am better than any possible meds."

It might be important to mention here that I haven't actually been diagnosed as bipolar.  It would be more accurate to say that I have actively avoided the diagnoses (while also alluding to bipolarity in literary work, treating it as a motif rather than an actual mental health condition which has occasionally endangered my life).  "Mental illness as metaphor" - that schtick.

I have, however, as referenced above, earned that lovely (insert dripping sarcasm as cheap cover for personal embarrassment) moniker of "ADHD," with additional diagnoses of "Generalized Anxiety Disorder" and PTSD. (I have no interest in a public, self-inflicted bloodletting to authenticate the multiple bases of my post-traumatic stress; let's just leave it at "someday, I really need to finish writing that story of how there was a missing persons report filed on me in the State of Washington, and how all those events came to an especially ugly head in the Minneapolis/ St. Paul International Airport.")

Okay, so those are the attributable labels.  Now to bellow a thing or two concerning the human beneath them:

I am a total fucking nutcase most of the time.  Suffer severe depression.  Intermittent manias.  (But not the kind where I think I'm Superman and can leap tall buildings in a single bound.  Which is not to diss anybody here who may have struggled with such self-perceptions.  This is just to clarify that to the extent that I will acknowledge having had 'mania,' it has been, at least most of the time, muted by some explicit rationality; would that be 'hypomania' then?)  And then there are the bouts of self-consumption, panic attacks with dizziness, disorientation, rapid, uncontrolled breathing, screaming (though only if I'm alone in a vehicle with windows up) -- the works. 

Now, meds.

I had a trial of Paxil.  All it did was impede my ability to have an orgasm.  Considering that my sex life is one of the few things that goes consistently well in my life, AND considering that it had no identifiably therapeutic effect made the decision to quit that shit pretty easy. 

Then, the Wellbutrin.  It didn't mess up my sex life (or particularly add to it), but it also didn't do anything else, either (except cause me to part with co-payment money that, for my depression's sake, would have been better spent on, say, some CDs by the Pixies). 

(Insert moment of self-consciousness as I realize that, again, despite my intentions of saying something -- ANYTHING, for fuck's sake -- in a succinct fashion, I have instead barged into this forum with a post that is excessive both in length and in its histrionic tone.  But then, if you're reading this, then you might be a tad crazy too, so I'll be hopeful in advance that there may be some forgiveness.)

That Paxil-followed-by-Wellbutrin experiment ended four years ago; things got bad enough for me over this last year that I've forced myself to talk to my regular doctor and finally an Actual Shrink.  (Note: If you want to give the gatekeeper person for your Employee Assistance Program a good laugh, respond to the question of preference for seeing either a male or a female therapist with, "Oh, that's okay. I'm equally afraid of them both.")

So in the recent months, I've been on Concerta (which seemed to help at first, but either isn't now or, when I don't take it, I'm doing even worse than I had been before, which is saying a lot).  When my anxiety started to spiral out of control a few months after that, my regular doc put me on Wellbutrin.  And this time around, I really can't say if it was doing anything or not, but I was, a few weeks ago, convinced enough of the whole "I'm better than the meds" thing that I went off it, and still felt pretty good (eerily and unusually good) for two weeks afterward.

Since which time everything has gone to spectacular shit, and I'm thinking things like "DAMN, those razor blades in the media lab look so inviting," and the even more fucked up thing is that I've truly never thought that way before.  (Never attempted suicide, have pretty strong belief in the whole afterlife thing, have a core sense that if I run away from this body, I'll just have to deal with the same bullshit, or worse bullshit, in some future body, so why bother?)

The other thing: I feel just... dead.  More tired than ever, apathetic.  E.g., knowing that if I don't do some particular things at work, some serious shit will hit certain fans and it could get me fired (which, in turn, might be the one thing that would put me over the basically-reluctant suicidal edge, since this is the best job I've ever had, and both I and my family would be totally fucked if I lost it) -- and still being unable to move. 

And chocolate.  Holy Mother of God, I'm consuming some insane quantities of chocolate. 

So, WTF? 

Am I on the wrong meds? Have the wrong diagnoses?  Have some correct diagnoses but others may be equally applicable?  Should I have never gone on any meds?  Was I a total ninny to take a medical approach whatsoever?  ("Capitulating to the pharmaceutical construction of emotional distress as medical illness," blah blah blah.)

This sucks some serious donkey dong. 

I welcome any ideas which my fellow nutjobs (who bravely read this far) may be able to offer. 

Again, sorry for the extreme verbosity, but I really am wired like that.

[Squirlygrl]

Hey there,

Well, you have to consider the source; we who are drugged to the gills are not likely to advise you to go it alone with B vitamins, at least not without medical supervision.

Your story sounds familiar to me; mood swings in the past, periods of remission, started to interfere with work in a big way, decided I was ADD, went to therapist who thought I was GAD, went to pdoc to insist on my version of diagnosis, ended up happily BP "not 1" (can't get fully psychotic without concomitant med problems).

[queenofthebean]

Hey there,

Well, you have to consider the source; we who are drugged to the gills are not likely to advise you to go it alone with B vitamins, at least not without medical supervision.

Your story sounds familiar to me; mood swings in the past, periods of remission, started to interfere with work in a big way, decided I was ADD, went to therapist who thought I was GAD, went to pdoc to insist on my version of diagnosis, ended up happily BP "not 1" (can't get fully psychotic without concomitant med problems).

[JBella]

Hey Queenie,

You will have to forgive me, I'm in the "I don't have to take my meds.  I feel fine!  Sleeping is for losers!"  swing right now, but am rational enough to be endeared my your post.

Wellbutrin makes me loony too.  Especially discontinuing it.  Welcome to the wonderous and fascinating world of bipolar!  If that is something that you suspect you are, which, no offense, your story sounds familiar.

1.  Go on antidepressant.  With no mood stabilizer.

2.  Say you don't feel anything out loud, but somehow feel better and cured.

3.  "I don't need THOSE meds anymore!"  Stop taking them.

4.  Go manic or hypomanic, depending on you.

5.  Crash into depression.  Life sucks.  I have to scream because I'm so frustrated at something I can't put my finger on.

Sound familiar?  Sounds like bipolar.  Not to say you don't have comorbidity, because most people do, rarely does it stand alone.

And I also consume mass quantities of chocolate.  Last week, all I ate was chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Oreos, cake, cookies, candy, ice cream.  I just stuffed five oreos in my mouth two minutes ago.  Chocolate cravings are considered warning signs for me.  So, you're not crazy about that.  Well, you are. Of course, I'm not a doctor and can't claim much of anything except personal experience, but I say you seem a likely candidate and should at least go to a pdoc and say what you said here.

I think your writing is witty and fabulous.  I'm so glad you're here!

JBella