Anthony over at The Liberty Sphere linked to my previous post, and I was like, “ACK! Why’d he link to THAT!?” Then I thought about it, and hell…that’s ME. That’s my life. So why not?
However, things have changed just a teensy bit since that post, so I figure I should make some sort of update.
From Monday afternoon through Wednesday morning, I was awake, for a total of 37 hours. I had, at that point, been taking ONLY my prescribed medication in its prescribed doses, so having some sort of rebound insomnia was not unexpected, but it sucked quite a bit.
After finishing out this week, going to the doctor today to discuss all of the goings-on as of late, and having both a pretty horrible day (Tuesday) and a pretty damned awesome day (yesterday), some important things came to light, one of which was that my insomnia was no longer merely a factor of not being able to sleep. As of the past few weeks, it’s been almost as if my body has been actively fighting sleep.
Let me give you an example:
Ambien is a sedative-hypnotic. Taking it makes a normal person loopy, makes them hallucinate a bit, then they become dead to the world. Taking it apparently makes me just wander around and do stupid things that I don’t remember the next day, up to and including taking more Ambien.
You might think, “So? Ambien doesn’t work for you. You’re just one of those people. Get over it.”
Long story short, Ambien’s not the only thing that doesn’t work for me, and getting over it would probably involve taking a long walk off of a short pier. I’ve mentioned before that while I may be depressed, I am not suicidal, so I refuse to get over it. It’s impossible. It needs to be addressed.
What’s been happening, therefore, is more closely related to mania than insomnia.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been treated for bipolar in the past. Due to various issues (up to and including incompetent doctors, bitchy doctors, and me being immature), I railed against the diagnosis and stuck my middle finger up at treatment, figuratively. (I told the doctor who wanted to put me on Cymbalta merely to try to push me into a manic state to “prove her right” to fuck off, but that’s a story for another time.)
Clearly, the thought of having a second diagnosis filled with such stigma (fibro being the first) doesn’t exactly make me jump for joy, but honestly? I would rather sleep than argue about details that really don’t matter right now. And, well…I don’t really have anything to argue. I’m not sleeping, and my body’s acting like it’s on extended vacation from sleep without any of the usual “signs” of being tired. I don’t yawn that much at all right now (just did, though…haha), I have heart palpitations at night, and my habits at night have been described as, basically, “OCD Zombie” by my husband. I’d be stupid to not see the signs of mania in my own actions, especially given the stress I’ve been under this past year, and the rather abrupt change in medication I’ve made this month.
So I’m accepting what’s been said to me, and begin taking Seroquel tonight for the treatment of hypomania.
I’m hoping that, for no other reason, this works so that my body will stop acting like it’s in starvation mode. I eat too damned much right now, and am not burning as many base calories because my hormones are all messed up from the lack of sleep. I bought some jeans today, because NONE of my pants fit, and I’m up to a size 18, and weighed 213.6 pounds at the doctor today. I am officially both the heaviest AND fattest I’ve ever been in my life. However, I know that until I get back on a healthy sleep/wake schedule, it’s not going to do me any good to worry about my size or weight. Hence the new jeans; it’s depressing to not have any pants that fit, even more so than it sucks to have to peruse the racks for a full two sizes larger than the previous largest size I’ve ever worn. I’m more likely to get dressed in something other than pajamas to go somewhere if I know I have clothes that I can change into.
Obviously, getting on a good sleep schedule will benefit me in other ways, and I’d be stupid to only focus on my weight. When you find a new stretch mark every week, however, it’s difficult to NOT focus on weight and size. It’s not very easy on my joints, either, which is a concern.
However, I will focus on getting my schedule worked out before I worry about trying to salvage my pride and my pant size. My doctor even said that he doesn’t care that I’ve gained 30 pounds since October, because it’s not nearly as big a threat to my health as my lack of sleep. And JB could care less how much I weigh. Right now, I totally love that.
On an almost-unrelated note, the semester has been salvaged, thanks to a meeting with my adviser yesterday. I just have to visit the registrar’s office on Tuesday to try to fix a couple of things on my schedule so that I don’t get penalized for taking 19 hours…because, well, I’m not taking that many hours. I just had to withdraw from two courses and sign up for two more, and because it’s after the drop/add period, they’re staying on my schedule, so I have to get approved to take “additional” hours. Even though I’m only taking 14. It makes no sense to me, either, but whatever. As long as it’s fixed, I don’t care.
You might think I’m nuts, but I’m applying for the MAT program at my university. The head of the program is tickled to death, and half of the program is online now, so it’s not going to be as ridiculously stressful as it might have been, otherwise. I also don’t have to take the entrance exams because of my ACT score (I can’t believe that still counts for something, 8 years later), and because of my English score, in particular, I’ve been told that I can teach secondary English (i.e. high school), which is what I want.
I just realized that it’s late enough for me to be able to justify going to bed, even though it’s not even 7. I’m exhausted, and keeping my fingers crossed that the Seroquel works – this headache I’ve had all day is not funny.