Medication Update III

Seems like all I do these days is let you all know what's going on with my meds.

Thursday night I was still sleepless. I think this has something to do with the Cymbalta. I've been taking it at night which I think keeps me up. Still no Xanax so I'm sure that's another reason why I couldn't sleep.

I came into work on Friday with a plan. I was going to eat and I was going to sleep Friday night, regardless if I have to pop a pill or two (or ten). Fortunately it didn't come to that. I came home, got right in bed, and stayed there until Sunday morning. I managed to get down some soup and passed out around 10p, only to wake up, bright eyed and bushy tailed at 3a, with no hope of going back to sleep. I decided to take my meds (I 'forgot' the night before). Again, unable to sleep Saturday night, I was up at 3a. I was fortunate to get a few hours of sleep. I tossed and turned in bed until 8a Sunday morning.

I got up Sunday morning, manic, and started to clean. I nearly cried as I fumbled to get water in my Shark Steam Mop - I was shaking too bad. As I was cleaning my office I found a 4 page, handwritten letter addressed to Robert Blake. I have very little to no recollection of writing this letter. I immediately text Robert Blake trying to find out if he saw this letter. He did. Apparently SCANNED and EMAILED him. Mortified. Humiliated. Horrified. (Pick a negative feeling adjective and insert here.) My heart fell.

Alone, I sat in my home yesterday thinking about how much easier it would be if I popped a few Xanax and went to sleep. I didn't want to feel the emptiness inside. Wrestling (more like fighting) my emotions, I opted against it. As I sit here and type this, I wish I would have.

Today, Monday, I got up and took my meds - I'm trying to move to a morning schedule with this stuff in hopes of sleeping at night. So I'm at work - manic AND depressed (must be why it's called manic depression). Every nerve ending in my body is tingling. The sun is shining brightly. I have a ton of energy. There's so much out there to see, to do, and yet, I hurt inside. I have this sadness that basically incapacitates me.

Last week, I looked fucked up due to lack of sleep and lack of eating. This week, I look FUCKED UP as this medication has got me all jacked up. I've been grinding my teeth like a mutha'. My jaw hurts. My pupils are huge. I look like a crack head.

I feel like a fucking invalid as people are happy I'm sleeping (more); I'm eating (trying); I was able to bathe; I still can't really shave my legs due to the shakes. I feel degraded.

My therapist appointment is on Thursday at noon. I joked with Mary that I should have made it at 5p just in case she had to cart me away. I don't know what good this therapist shit is going to do. When it's all said and done, I'll still be alone and empty.