Just Lamotrigine

… yeah. I didn’t take the trazodone Wednesday night, nor Thursday, nor last night. And I’m doing better. I feel like I’ve woken up from a bad dream. And speaking of dreams, I’m back to my usual anxiety dreams – which I KNOW are dreams once I wake up. So much better.

My anxiety is kinda overwhelming tho. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel like this. I have a thing I need to be not only present at but act in a professional capacity. I think I can deal with it, but I’d wanted to go to a cultural event at my local library – no pressure there, just show up have fun and leave. But I was kinda freaking out about it – especially the leaving and getting to my later commitment on time part – so I guess I’m not gonna go. It’s just easier that way. There will be other opportunities … right?

*sigh*

I’m kinda doubting whether I’ll ever be able to find and maintain gainful employment.

I don’t want to stay on just lamotrigine, and either way I’ve been thinking for a while that it would be good to increase my dose slightly. I’m debating whether I should ask to go back on fluvoxamine or clonazepam. The former was a rocky start, but I got used to it and I think staying on it might’ve been good for me. The latter … I don’t think I ever had any problems with it – I don’t remember any. It helped with my anxiety. It’s not the safest med in the world but you know what, fuck it. I’d rather be functional while I’m alive than live longer.

Something tells me getting my prescriber to agree to this won’t be easy. I’m writing her a letter in hopes that will prevent me from ‘acting irrationally’ at our next appointment.

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Quit Playing Games with My Brain

Disclaimer: Anytime I write about medications, I’m sharing my own thoughts and experiences. This is NOT medical advice.

I had a rough time on the fluvoxamine maleate, at least initially. September was a stressful month anyway, though. So, it’s kinda hard to determine whether the problems I faced were a response to stress, a reaction to my meds, or some combination. All I know is I started occasionally mispronouncing words that normally I’d have no problem pronouncing correctly. I had to stop most of my Green Party activity because I was getting too overwhelmed. And I was suicidal.

I visited with Banji the first weekend in October and felt much, much better by the end of it. But I’d already told my prescriber about being unhappy with the fluvoxamine, and she’d already switched me to a new medication. Almost reluctantly, I weaned myself off fluvoxamine this past weekend and started taking trazodone.

The only things I’m happy about on trazodone are that 1) I’ve stopped mispronouncing words, and more importantly 2) I had the good sense to make sure I wouldn’t be driving for 5 hours on a new med!

Since I started taking trazodone Sunday night, I’ve had weird, vivid, disturbing dreams that it’s taken me a while to realize (once awake) were dreams. I’m having a harder time falling asleep, in part because the occasional involuntary muscle movements are becoming more frequent. I feel like I’m having trouble staying asleep, but that could be because my sleep cycle is shifted later than it should be. I feel groggy and tired. I’m anxious and having trouble concentrating and following conversations. On Monday while driving I couldn’t see the sign for the place we were going until we were practically there. When people gave me directions I heard “right” and thought “left” until the last moment. When I speak I’m too aware of my mouth movements and I feel like I’m listening to someone else.

When I told Ron about this stuff, ze said, “If you feel like your brain is broken, the trazodone is doing its job. It’s a hospital med used to shut down the brain of a patient who is psychotic and make them sleep. As an outpatient, if you are not psychotic, you have no business taking those meds.”

Ze urged me to find a new prescriber. I … I can’t. Not like this. And even if I were 100% on top of everything, I’d probably have to make my first appointment at least a couple months in advance. And that’s assuming the places I called even had mental health prescribers available – most are already overwhelmed with too many clients.

IF I remember our conversation correctly, my prescriber said I could try this med for a few days and stop taking it if I didn’t like it. I’m sure I remember her telling me I don’t have to wait a whole month, and I don’t think she said I should call before stopping. But I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d rather take just the lamotrigine if that’s what it takes. Maybe all I need is another slight increase, I’m on a pretty low dose.

Being on clonazepam wasn’t perfect, and I know there can be risks – particularly addiction. I feel like my sleep was more satisfying on the fluvoxamine. But I miss the way my brain worked on clonazepam. I rarely felt anxious – that’s probably the most important thing. I might’ve felt depressed, but I was functional. I knew I could do what I needed or wanted, and when I tried I would usually succeed. Now …

Good Bye Clonazepam

I took my last dose of Clonazepam today. I’d been thinking for a while that it might make more sense to stop taking it than to fill the new prescription and drag out another month of taking these half-doses, which don’t do the job but still run the risk of interactions and side effects. I called my prescriber to make sure that would be okay, and she gave the go-ahead. So starting tomorrow I’ll just be taking Lamotrigine, Fluvoxamine Maleate, and the supplements I’ve found helpful: omega 3, vitamin D, and a vitamin B complex.

So far I haven’t noticed any ill effects from the Fluvaxamine, so I guess that’s a good sign. I don’t really feel like it’s kicked in yet; I hope it does soon because I’ve been … well … I’ve spent the last 3 days inside playing Skyrim all day. Today I kept getting interrupted and feeling too overwhelmed to do anything useful, so more Skyrim. Mostly because of politics, drama, and financial issues that I don’t really feel like getting into right now … though … I dunno, other folks are venting to me, and I don’t know who I can talk to about it so … whatever.

New Prescriber, New Meds

I had my second appointment with my new prescriber last week. At our first appointment, she told me she’s not a fan of one of my medications, Clonazepam, and said she wants to start weaning me off it so I can start taking something else. She wanted to put me on a SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) “to help with both depression and anxiety.” I resisted because I’ve had bad experiences with two different ones. There were no changes to my meds last month.

But this month she reiterated the need to get me off Clonazepam and told me to start cutting the pills in half. She also said there are medications that help with hording and prescribed me one, Fluvoxamine Maleate. It’s a SSRI. I’m torn between not wanting to take it because I’m scared of how it might affect my brain and the rest of my body – and wanting to take it because I can use all the help I can get to deal with this hording.

I talked to Wakana about it and she seemed very concerned about the change in meds, especially since I only just started seeing this prescriber. I’ve been taking half doses of Clonazepam since September 1st; so far I’ve already had two days (Monday and today) when I felt ill enough that it affected my functioning, and almost kept me from following through on important plans. I’ve been feeling down, slightly queasy, less sure of myself, tired, anxious, freezing (as in fight, flight, or freeze), and sometimes twitching – in other words, like crap. I suspected on Monday that I was having withdrawal symptoms; Wakana confirmed it today. I have an important meeting tomorrow at noon, and another Friday evening; I don’t have time to malfunction because of changes to my meds.

I’d say “especially changes that are based on the prescriber’s philosophy rather than the medication’s effects on me,” but it’s a little more complicated than that. Clonazepam can be addictive, it has interactions with a lot of things, and I was questioning how much it’s been helping me. I feel like I need more support vs the depressive symptoms than I’ve been getting from Lamotrigine. (There’s no way I’m going off that, though. It keeps my brain from trying to kill me.) To this prescriber, at least, all signs seem to point to SSRIs. I don’t quite get why she’s so obsessed with them.

I’m starting a new bottle of Lamotrigine tomorrow, so I figure it’s a good time to start taking the Fluvoxamine. But I’m really not sure whether it’s the right choice – especially since Wakana pointed out that I’m already addressing the hording without this med, and we agreed that many of the problems I’m facing can only be addressed by getting Fox to take responsibility as well. What will this stuff do to me?

I don’t know, but Wakana suggested tracking my mood and I think it’s a good idea. I’m not sure exactly how I want to do it though – I’ll probably find an app – and I’m annoyed that I don’t have a way to get a baseline. I’d rather not do one retroactively, I’m already having issues because of one change in meds, and I was having issues before that due to interpersonal drama – in short, there are too many variables to determine whether whatever I’m experiencing has anything to do with a particular medication.

I’m just feeling more and more like I want to be done with everything. That’s not a good sign…

Can I please be a shapeshifter now?

Fuck. I was supposed to do things today, I like don’t even remember what they were – except that one was to get a short ‘androgynous’ haircut. I did other stuff, which I guess is good. But not the things that would’ve made packing for a 3-day family thing tonight much much easier. Or, you know, having it done already.

I cut an overdue phone conversation with Banji short to go pick Fox up. When we got home Mom was waiting for us. We had some good conversation; she’s helpful. But I was thirsty and starting to freak out that our fancy clothes were wrinkling in the wash. So I excused myself (not an easy task with Mom) and took care of it. I could tell I was on the edge, needed space from her.

I come out of the laundry room to Mom holding a blouse. It’s a thing with her. She has her ideas of what I should wear and tries to be helpful and I feel like she’s forcing her own style onto me. It’s worse now being openly genderfluid because feminine clothing tends to trigger my dysphoria.

90% of the time I go ‘gender neutral’: jeans cut for a person with big hips and thighs, a ‘unisex’ t-shirt or hoodie (or tank top), walking shoes that are marketed to men. Harder to do that with formal wear. So I’ve got my general “what to wear” anxiety on top of “fuck people are going to misgender me” anxiety on top of “I don’t even know if I’m going to feel more masculine or feminine” anxiety on top of “what will Fox’s family think if I go masculine?” anxiety. (I have a binder and a men’s dress shirt and I want to say I’m not afraid to wear them but honestly I kinda am.)

And apparently we’re sharing a room with his sister now, I thought it was gonna be just us (his parents are paying for it). So my hope that this would be a sort of extended ‘date night’ enjoying ‘us time’ away from our normal routine is … well, maybe not shattered, but more complicated. We can’t necessarily just retreat to our room if we need space (or want to do stuff that requires privacy) we have to coordinate with his sister. Who … how do I put this diplomatically? … well, she’s my husband’s sister.

My brain broke and it’s taking all my effort not to be an asshole.

I forgot to refill my prescriptions until I ran out – of course on the day I was running late and had to rush out the door. I tried to put in the refill request for the clonazepam first, but was unsuccessful; somehow my prescriptions got de-synchronized so I was out of refills with that Rx number and I didn’t have the new one to put in. I was in crazy anxiety rush mode, so I didn’t try refilling the lamotrigine – even though it had 2 more refills with that Rx number.

I asked Fox to go to the pharmacy for me and he did, because he’s wonderful. He said (they said) they didn’t have anything in the system for me. I was tabling at a pride event and he had to leave for work and it was Sunday, so there wasn’t really any opportunity to follow through on anything.

On Monday I realized I should’ve tried to refill the lamotrigine, better to have one of my meds than neither, right? That was no problem, but I had to speak to a pharmacy representative to deal with the clonazepam. The person I talked to at the pharmacy had an irritating tone to her voice and was too nonchalant, like there was no problem with them not having the information necessary to make sure I have access to a medication that keeps me alive. She didn’t even try to be polite like saying ‘sorry’ – but she did offer to fax my prescriber. And she explained that the clonazepam prescription had expired because it’s a controlled substance, so it has to be filled within 30 days.

I walked to the pharmacy with my inner voices screaming, an irritable mess, barely holding myself together. By the time I got the lamotrigine my ears were ringing and my eyes were so full of static everything was in a darkened haze and I couldn’t think straight and everything felt completely WRONG. That was after missing one dose – and it’s not even that high a dose. I took the dose – better to at least take one of my meds, right? and everything cleared within minutes. The difference was noticeable to Ron over the phone.

I had to play phone tag with my prescriber for a couple days, but I was able to refill the clonazepam today. I didn’t notice as much as an effect when I took it, except that maybe I’m a bit calmer? And I was rather sleepy, I attributed it to waking early from a bad dream, but the medication is known to make people drowsy. Ron seemed surprised I’m able to function at all taking [my dose] of it every day.

To be honest, between what ze’s been telling me about it and what I’ve read online, I’m a bit wary about staying on the clonazepam. Apparently it’s habit forming and it’s better not to take it for extended periods of time. But my prescriber added it for a reason – I think because even with my mood stabilized I was still struggling with anxiety. And I don’t know if I wrote about this yet, but my prescriber is retiring, so I need to find a new one within the next month or two. I’d rather not change my meds until I’ve developed a good rapport with the new prescriber.

So, yay, I’m back on my meds! I anticipate that going a day without lamotrigine and two days without clonazepam will have thrown my levels off; it might take a while for them to get back to normal. And I’m a bit shaken by how profound my (withdrawal?) symptoms were before I took the lamotrigine. I’d come to accept that I’ll probably be taking these medications for the rest of my life, and I’d rather do so consistently than risk going back to how things were before I started taking them. Still, this was a rough reminder of how dependent I am.

Still Abusive

TW: full text of a conversation with my mother, in which her responses are abusive (gaslighting)

It started with an online swimsuit sale. I’m not sure why my mother decided I need a new swimsuit – I think the ones I have are fine – but she “strongly encouraged” me to take advantage of the sale… and have her buy the items for me so she can get “points” (credit card reward program?). I haven’t completely overwritten my programming, so I agreed to do the online shopping in her apartment, even though I knew I should have known better.

Clothes shopping has always been triggering for me, and swimsuit shopping is the worst. I’ve been working hard to love my body the way it is, but the internalized fatphobia and body size-related insecurity that tortured me my whole life springs up anew when I simply cannot find clothing in my size.

And then there’s the whole being non-binary thing. At least with everyday clothes it’s possible to do some gender-bending: no one needs to know I wear “men’s” boxer-briefs and an undershirt instead of a bra. T-shirts are considered unisex. Socks and shoes – who cares?! So far I haven’t ventured into trying to find “men’s” pants that might fit me, mostly because they’re simply not designed for hips that are considerably larger than the attached waist. But finding a pair of jeans shaped to my body feels so good, I can keep wearing “women’s” pants without too much dysphoria. For now.

Swimsuits are very gendered. Just the fact that men are expected to run around bare-chested and women have to cover up sends my brain into a dysphoric frenzy. Ideally I would love to just swim naked – I had the opportunity to do that once and it was glorious! No gender performance, just diverse bodies. Everything floats when it’s not tied down by a swimsuit. I loved the sensation. I felt so free!

So I’m swimsuit shopping online with my mother. She’s sitting at the computer with me mostly behind her, looking at what she thinks I’ll like. Fortunately, we agreed that the “women’s” swim shorts this company offers are far superior to typical “women’s” swimsuit bottoms… but she was going to get a shorter length than I wanted (so I had to argue with her about that) and the ones I wanted were out of stock in my size (of course). I convinced her to add the swim leggings (way more coverage than I’d like, but still better than the alternatives). And I don’t remember if we added a couple pairs of “men’s” swim trunks together or I added them myself later, but either way they’ve been ordered. Maybe they’ll even fit! (A bit of a long shot, since the measurements are smaller than my hips.)

Then we started looking at tops. I would have been happy with a simple “shelf bra” tankini thing. They all have underwire or soft cups. Ugh. We get in an argument about it. I’m concerned because with a tankini one has to consider both chest (“bust”) and hip measurements, and mine are too different to have one size fit both properly. I think everything I own is too big on the bust and too small on the hips – I just try not to worry about it. We have another fight, I get her to let me sit at the computer and look at stuff myself, without having to try and convince her to click on each item for me. Nada.

I decided to look at bikini tops, thinking it might solve the hip-bust ratio problem. Bad idea. They’re all basically bras. I don’t know what I was expecting – maybe something more like a sports bra at least? But no, my dysphoria went through the roof. I eventually found and selected a couple “men’s” rash guards, which as far as I can tell are essentially fitted t-shirts designed for swimming?

Again, way more coverage than I wanted, but probably a million times more comfortable than the weird boob-obsessed gendered performance nonsense Mom probably would have bought for me.

So, it was pretty cool that this company/site had these options. And Mom was pretty cool about “letting” – god, I’m an adult, who they hell is she to decide what I’m “allowed” to wear or buy? – me get mostly “men’s” swimwear.

But look at me, writing over 700 words about swimsuit shopping! Throughout our interaction she kept saying little things that were bothering me: “You really need to give yourself more time to get places.” “I went in your apartment and thought ‘I just have to help them out,’ so I did your dishes.” “I don’t know how you’ve been handling your finances.”

That last one was the last straw. I used to keep my checkbook perfectly balanced. I used to have my own income, so I could save money every month and otherwise be a financially-responsible adult. But I don’t have my own income, and I haven’t figured out how to consistently track finances for two people (especially since Fox is the one who makes all our money and spends most of it). I’ve been reduced to checking our bank account balance once a month, to make sure we have enough in there to pay our credit card bill. I’m not happy with the situation; it feels wrong; I’m embarrassed by it. But between my mental health issues, the work I’ve been doing in therapy, volunteering full-time for the Bernie Sanders campaign (which I love), and being primary caregiver to our pet rats, I consider it an accomplishment that I manage to pay the credit card bills on time. And eat, occasionally. That requires constant vigilance.

So I walked out. “Please don’t walk out on me.” I barely even looked at her. I’d fallen mute. I couldn’t say or do anything. My legs just carried me out the door and down the stairs and into my apartment.

A little while later she was leaving the house, so I hugged her and apologized and told her I love her. She told me that she wasn’t pushing the bra-like tankini innards on me because of gender, but because she likes to have support for her anatomy. “You want some support,” she said to me. “No, you want some support,” I told her. “That doesn’t mean it’s what I want.” I escape the conversation – mostly because she needs to leave. Everything seems peachy.

She even called on her way wherever she was going to say she’s proud of me for all the work I’m doing on the campaign.

Wednesday.

On Wednesday she posted one of those image-with-text meme-like things on my Facebook wall:

I am not your friend. I am your parent. I will stalk you, lecture you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare, & hunt you down when needed – because I love you.

I got very angry, hid it from my timeline, and proceeded to send her multiple text messages:

Posting threats on my Facebook wall is not going to improve our relationship – quite the opposite. You and dad and your in-laws and other family members already drove me insane; that’s why I’ve needed to work my ass off in therapy for the past 6 years.

You’re not my friend, you’re my parent – so ACT LIKE ONE. Get the therapy you need to be able to do it properly. Stop using me as your therapist. I’m not your friend or your therapist I’m your adult child. Respect that I’m an adult and respect my boundaries. Help me in the ways I ask you to; give me the advice I ask for; listen to me and support me! And think about how what you say might impact me before you say it.

I’m grateful for everything you do for me and I understand that it’s not easy. But enough is enough. If you think it’s okay to stalk me and knowingly do things to “drive me insane” then you need to make some effort to learn how to parent responsibly.

“I do these harmful things because I love you” is what abusers say.

The rest of the conversation proceeded in a rather alarming fashion (from my point of view) during which she did not apologize.

M: “I do not abuse you. You are taking things too seriously.”
Z:  “No, YOU are not taking me seriously enough. You never have.”
M: “Stalk you?”
Z:
M: “Not a threat. I thought it was cute. And told you that I love you. Something parents always say. We make many sacrifices for our children. We should talk later. Take things lighter. Love you.”

I freaked out and called Wakana. She got so upset with my mom, I had to ask her to stop yelling. She told me about a million times that I was not overreacting, I was having a healthy response, I need to separate emotionally from my mother, and I should unfriend my mother on Facebook. So that’s what I did, and that’s the text I sent Mom.

The next text I got from Mom was telling me I needed to move my car. We haven’t spoken since. No apology.

I’m not talking to her until she apologizes to me.

In the meantime, I got a nice short androgynous haircut that I love and everyone has complimented me on. I have a street to canvass and volunteers to call this afternoon. I’ll be working in the campaign office for a handful of hours this evening. And then we begin our GOTV (get out the vote) efforts in earnest. 9am-9pm Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. And, I imagine, the full time polls are open Tuesday. I signed up to be part of the voter protection team on Tuesday, so I will either be doing that or juggling it with work in the campaign office. It’s finals week on steroids. Crunch time.

If you can help us out go to map.berniesanders.com for local events and/or berniepb.com to phonebank. If your state’s primary is on Tuesday, visit canivote.org to look up your polling place and/or other useful information.

This is what’s been keeping me going. I need Bernie to win on Tuesday.