Despite the title these two topics: Lamictal and sleeplessness, are not remotely related, correlation does not equal causation, and these two aren’t even correlated in my train of thought. So there.
Today I had the ever-thrilling task of going to the psychiatrist. Don’t get me wrong, my psychiatrist is great, his nurse is fantastic and sweet, and he has a dog in the office (what more could you want from a psychiatrist), it’s just that actually facing the fact that your brain is messed up is never a real exciting venture. Anyways, after taking my sister to get an EEG, I set off to my psychiatrist’s office, approximately 30 minutes for those of you that don’t care. There is “good” news and “ehh” news. There is no “bad” news because life has too many problems already and when you are going to a doctor to treat your Bipolar Disorder “bad” is a bit more relative. The good news is I have gained weight and almost weigh the minimum healthy weight for my height! This may seem like a lackluster feat, but I assure you, these extra pounds have come after years of being underweight without resolve. The ehh news is that my symptom severity score was not good and my Seroquel has been upped, and Lamictal has been added to my lovely concoction of medicines-that-make-me-slightly-less-insane. You win some you lose some.
Now, for a completely different thing, lets discuss my inability to sleep. It’s not entirely a discussion, as I am the only one offering anything to the conversation currently, but I shall carry on regardless. Last night I posted about my “disillusionment with life”. Last night was really rough. For the first time in my life I was afraid of myself, I had a sudden onset of some particularly bad anxiety, and began to roam the house in search of comfort. At this point I had already spent the grand majority of the night trying to sleep. Don’t get me wrong, my sleep isn’t horrible, I’ve been getting around six hours. However, for those that know me, I need at least eight to function. Otherwise I stumble around somewhat like I’d imagine Frankenstein’s monster did, that is until he went on a murdering spree because of his inner turmoil due to being detested by his creator, but really that’s a different topic altogether. Sleep. My sleep has certainly been subpar and my mood and body have suffered because of it. I was awake for hours last night, and the night before, and the night before, etcetera.
At least I use the time to be somewhat productive: I write on here and hope a few someones are laughing, or agreeing, or, or, or. I hope my writing, my shout into the void, produces feelings within at least a few. I hope to bring humor and hope to those without, not to mention, me.