HALP
Okay, problem solved. I got a choice. We'll see how it goes.
But, all my mother's dire warnings about them making you crazy? Seeming true. Disturbed.
GUYS, GUYS, MY PDOC WANTS TO PUT ME ON A MOOD STABILIZER AND MY CELL PHONE IS OUT OF COMMISSION, SO I AM FLIPPING OUT AND WHEN I'M LATE AND ON MORE DRUGS MY PARENTS ARE GOING TO FLIP OUT, AND, AND ---
So, long story short, I asked to speak to Pdoc to do something to my antidepressant because it really, really is not enough. Since I've been on just about every SSRI and flouxetine may have caused my insomnia, she and I agreed that if that is the case I would switch to an SNRI. Say, Wellbutrin, only something not panic-attack-giving. A nurse asks to speak to me, does a questionnaire on mood, asks what I'm reading. We have a cracking good conversation about A Song of Ice and Fire, and she forbids me to read Richard Preston. (OH WELL, GUESS I'LL HAVE TO SWITCH BACK TO FARMER). Then she asks about The Poetics of Military Occupation, and my anthropology ears prick up and I start talking a mile a minute about alegories of identity and Smadar Lavie. Because she wants to know what this is about.
Now, I tend to get excited about things I'm, well, excited about. Writing. Anthropology. Politics. I'm sure all of you (IRL folk) have had a conversation with me covering one of those things. It's an amazing feeling, and I love talking about things I'm passionate about.
But she gets edgy. Have I ever been manic? Have I been on Depakote, lithium, Seroquel (oh god)? She wavers between giving me more fluoxetine and sticking me on Limictal. Says I'll have to wait around after for a decision.
And in short, I'm freaking out and have no cell phone, and would really appreciate some mental tech support via Internet.
But, all my mother's dire warnings about them making you crazy? Seeming true. Disturbed.
GUYS, GUYS, MY PDOC WANTS TO PUT ME ON A MOOD STABILIZER AND MY CELL PHONE IS OUT OF COMMISSION, SO I AM FLIPPING OUT AND WHEN I'M LATE AND ON MORE DRUGS MY PARENTS ARE GOING TO FLIP OUT, AND, AND ---
So, long story short, I asked to speak to Pdoc to do something to my antidepressant because it really, really is not enough. Since I've been on just about every SSRI and flouxetine may have caused my insomnia, she and I agreed that if that is the case I would switch to an SNRI. Say, Wellbutrin, only something not panic-attack-giving. A nurse asks to speak to me, does a questionnaire on mood, asks what I'm reading. We have a cracking good conversation about A Song of Ice and Fire, and she forbids me to read Richard Preston. (OH WELL, GUESS I'LL HAVE TO SWITCH BACK TO FARMER). Then she asks about The Poetics of Military Occupation, and my anthropology ears prick up and I start talking a mile a minute about alegories of identity and Smadar Lavie. Because she wants to know what this is about.
Now, I tend to get excited about things I'm, well, excited about. Writing. Anthropology. Politics. I'm sure all of you (IRL folk) have had a conversation with me covering one of those things. It's an amazing feeling, and I love talking about things I'm passionate about.
But she gets edgy. Have I ever been manic? Have I been on Depakote, lithium, Seroquel (oh god)? She wavers between giving me more fluoxetine and sticking me on Limictal. Says I'll have to wait around after for a decision.
And in short, I'm freaking out and have no cell phone, and would really appreciate some mental tech support via Internet.