Third week on Lamictal. I’ve taken 50mg per day for the past 3 days. The most noticeable change is that I’m back to sleeping like the dead, again. David says he walked in to the bedroom morning before last to find me sleeping soundly right next to my alarm clock, which was going off full blast. I have no recollection of this, of course. You might think this disturbs me, but it doesn’t. This combination – 100mg of Seroquel, 50mg of Lamictal, and 600mg of Neurontin – seems to be the equivalent of surgical sedation. No more taking my meds at 10pm and not getting sleepy until 2am, which means I should be getting back on a more normal schedule over the next several days.
I’m not all better, yet. I have songs stuck in my head most days from just before I wake up until I go to bed at night. I’m grinding my teeth a lot. I toss and turn a bit before I do fall asleep. I still find myself saying inappropriate things at times.
But the waves of creative confusion are levelling out. Two weeks ago I had (once again) so many ideas surging across my mind that I sometimes felt I was drowning in them. It isn’t that I don’t have any creative ideas at all, but the brightness from the ones I have left is much less, and I’m having to search them out (they aren’t simply coming to me). This has left room for more practical thoughts, and this week I finally managed to (nearly) finish entering the actual data behind my resume website. The flip side (and there’s always a flip side) to this is that I don’t expect to wake up one morning simply devoid of any inspiration or motivation. I expect that I’ll continue to level out until things that currently throw me for a loop just ease right in to my life without leaving much more than a ripple in their wake.
I had quite a dream this morning. David and I had moved in to an old bungalow that needed a lot of work. We put out an add for a handy man but the person who showed up was crazy. We sent him away but he started showing up in the middle of the night, pounding on our door, demanding to be let him. I knew he was dangerous but David just kept opening the door and talking to him. The guy would go away and then show back up again a little while later. The fear eventually drove me away and I went back home to my parent’s house — except that it wasn’t their house, it was my house, and it was a wreck. Mom hired someone to come out and talk to her about remodeling the bathroom, and when they showed up I walked in on them and took over the situation. The guy was showing me how a toilet was installed improperly and in the process he basically dismantaled it. I told him we couldn’t afford any kind of remodel and he left, leaving our bathroom a shambles behind him. This made me feel so hopeless that I went to the den and sobbed. When I came back, Mom had remodeled the bathroom herself, to suit herself. I became enraged and screamed at her to clean it all up. I left and came back to the home I shared with David. He seemed very happy, and didn’t seem to notice that I’d even left, really. He took me to a mall and started shopping, and I kept thinking that this was crazy – that he hadn’t noticed that I was so ill I could barely even walk – and that I was going to have to spell it out for him. Which I tried to do… but he ignored me. What do I have to do? I wondered. I assumed I was going to have to just leave him, or maybe I’d already done that I just couldn’t figure out why he didn’t realize that. Along the way he applied for credit cards and we got fantastic service. “See, ” he told me, “this can all be so much easier.” But I told him we didn’t have any business buying anything – that we were broke, and going to lose everything, and the last thing we needed was debt. And then I woke up.
Popularity: unranked