I just got off the phone with my psych meds doctor. I was asking him about a recent conversation where I shared previous erratic behavior regarding my prescribed medications. It was during this conversation that an epiphany took place. I felt the urge to share it here.
Every unexpected problem in my life has been managed like a roadside flat tire – Just slap some fix-a-flat in it so I could get back to doing whatever I was doing. When it inevitably flattened again? More fix-a-flat. Rather than invest in a new tire, I continued patching it.
The most recent flat tire went down earlier this year and now represents a substantial mountain for me to summit… But it also opened my eyes to a self destructive behavior I’ve repeated my entire life -and I believe countless others have as well.
A few months ago another round of depression engulfed me. I saw no triggering event so my frustration and anger was multiplied due to the fact that I had been enjoying a couple weeks of positive mental health.
Out of desperation, I altered my medication. I did so without telling anyone. If I shared the choice with my s/o, I knew I’d get an ear full of parental-level scolding. If I told my doctor or therapist, the info would be added to my medical history and be part of my permanent records.
In my mind, if doubling my meds decreased my life expectancy it was worth the trade. I’d rather have 5 years of happiness and a sense of purpose than 20 years of merely suffering in existence… And it wasn’t up for debate with anyone. My life. My choice.
However, if I was going to make that kind of choice, I needed proof that my actions were warranted and produced positive results -that way I had a defense mounted for when the assault from my s/o, therapist, and doctor began. If my experiment failed, it would never go beyond my knowledge.
I began taking almost twice the maximum recommended dosage of my stimulant medication. I’d take one in the morning, then another around lunch. Again, in my mind, my depression had to be linked to the meds somehow. Maybe they just weren’t working like they used to. How could I randomly fall into such a dark place if they were performing their job?
My answer was provided the first day I took the second dose. I literally “popped” out of the abyss. I was happy, motivated, attentive to my s/o, more thoughtful, etc, etc… a night and day response. I was overjoyed, but also concerned. The meds I take are only given 30 days at a time due to being a controlled substance. I had decisions to make… But first, I basked in happiness for several days. It was an emotional breakthrough.
Several days later I sat down and thought through my options. Sacrifices would be necessary. My new routine cut my window of med coverage in half. Did I take 2 every other day? Did I only take a second dose when I needed that extra boost in the evenings? Did I skip weekends completely in order to compensate?
I did none of the above. I took 2 a day until they ran out – suffered withdrawal for a week, then recovered in time for the new script to arrive and start the process over. I couldn’t stop myself. The thought of losing that level of happiness again instilled an almost debilitating level of anxiety.
After two months of the rollercoaster, I realized my choices were not a viable solution… So I doubled down. Once I ran out of meds, I reintroduced caffeine into my daily routine – copious amounts in order to offset the malaise. My efforts paid off somewhat, but then I had caffeine in my system when the new meds arrived -which was way too much for my body to deal with. The side effects began to mount. My sleep schedule was irregular. My heart fluttered from time to time. I began to have random involuntary body tremors when lying down to sleep. My physical health was deteriorating. Choices needed to be made -quickly, before all that I had sacrificed disintegrated once again.
I came clean to my s/o and asked her for help in managing my meds -restricting me to one a day. That only lasted a few days. I did something that, in our entire relationship, had never done before. I went into her purse while she was in the shower and retrieved the bottle without telling her. Eventually she found out and it hurt my heart to hear the disappointment in her voice. I asked her to help then betrayed her trust.
I had become addicted to the meds I had never previously misused – not since being diagnosed more than two decades prior. Shame. Guilt. Hopelessness. I believed I finally had a new tire, but once again, it was only fix-a-flat. Not only had I failed, but I had given myself a new demon to manage. Another addiction to add to the growing stack.
I made an appointment with my doctor. I divulged everything. Naturally, he was beside himself when I told him how much I had been ingesting daily. It was in his explanation that I learned how my experiment had me on the road to “stimulant induced psychosis”. In all the years I’ve been on my meds, I had never heard of this condition -because I had never misused them in order to place myself at an increased risk.
Desperation allowed me to justify making terrible decisions for a short term benefit with potential negative long term consequences. I had performed research on the meds, but only enough to justify taking more.
We made changes to my primary meds and added an afternoon dose of a secondary, short-acting stim. Over the next two weeks, I went from wondering if the secondary was too much to questioning if it was really doing anything – For the first time since I began taking stims, I was actually falling asleep while they were active. That had never happened -ever.
The little addict I had created in the back of my mind began to tap on my eardrums, “Maybe you just need to increase your afternoon dose?”
The struggle began yet again. Do I up my afternoon dose? Do I stagger a third? The one thing that kept me from even more self harm was my word to my doctor that I would not continue to change my meds without talking to him first. I don’t have much of anything left, but I do have my word.
I called my doctor today to ask if he could remind me about what I was at risk for with my previous choices. I knew it was some sort of psychosis, but not the entire name. After he reminded me, I felt the urge to share my current situation. Upon listening to my dilemma, he asked, “Do you have a CPAP machine?”
<Internal monologue> Fuck…
<Verbal response> “Yeah, but I haven’t used it in probably a year. I hate that thing.”
He then reminded me of all the problems, to include death, that sleep apnea can generate if not managed properly… depression, poor decision making, lack of energy -literally everything I had been experiencing.
My resistance to use the machine must end. I hate that thing more than the greasy sweat I now get between my legs because I’m overweight… But I have to suck it up or life isn’t going to improve. It just is what it is.
I shared this lengthy post for multiple reasons.
- Unless you’re a doctor, don’t make decisions on prescribed meds without talking to your meds manager first. If you don’t feel you can trust them or they don’t care, then find a new doctor.
- Don’t assume the answer is to add more medications. The solution could be much easier than you realize and not necessitate adding new chemicals into your body. It’s convenient to look for the easy way out by popping another pill, but everything we ingest will have consequences one way or another. A new pill could manage an old problem while presenting a new one.
- Don’t assume heavier doses of your current medications will help. While your previous dose may be stable in your body, adding more may present side effects where none existed before. Then the cycle begins all over again.
Remember, our mind is rarely our friend when it involves trauma of any sort. It is the enemy that knows all your secrets and knows how to get you to manipulate yourself. It’s trying to protect you, most of the time in all the wrong ways. Lasting solutions never come quick. They take time. Shortcuts are nothing more than filling your head with fix-a-flat.
Off The Rails 