Look mom, I don’t need my meds! It’s a noble idea that comes around every now and then for most people with a mental health condition. You’re feeling SO good that you must not need all of that medicine, right? I’m a very logical person, very self-aware, and very knowledgeable about the role medication plays in managing my condition, but last year was one of the most stable years I ever had so I was truly convinced that there is no way I needed all of the medication I was on. I mean It is really cool to have a pill case bigger than my grandma's, but I was excited to scale it back. I take three different medications to manage my mood and anxiety. It took years to find the magic combination that worked well, so why would I mess with it? At the end of the day, as much as I accept my condition and know it’s not a character flaw, there is still a small part of me that just wants to have full control of my mind without help. Who wouldn’t?
So after a long time thinking about it, I met with my psychiatrist in January and we decided we would try to reduce the mood stabilizer that I have been on since I was diagnosed in 2012. It has been key to my stability, but a few years ago we added a new medication when I was struggling and in theory, it should be enough on its own to control my symptoms. Since I was in a good place, it was logical to reduce it and see if the newer medication was the winner. Afterall, there is no way to tell how much one medication is actually doing until you stop.
Four weeks ago, I cut my nighttime dose in half, just 75 mg. I was expecting to feel absolutely nothing, but a couple days later, I was flying high! It was amazing – it always is in the beginning. I had so many ideas, got SO much done. I got a painting done in 2 ½ hours! I was on a role! As the weeks have passed, the good has faded away and has been replaced by anxiety and a slow slip into depression. I can’t fall asleep for what feels like forever, which results in me not being able to go to the gym because I’m too tired, which makes me more anxious because the exercise helps keep it at bay. Then the more anxious I get, the more junk food I crave. And before you know it, four weeks have passed and I find myself barely able to shower and eating nutella by the spoonful every night.
Being that self-aware person, I knew what I had to do. Today I gave in, I called the doctor, told him all of this and not surprisingly he said let’s go back to the normal dose. “I guess it was doing something,” he said. Yup, guess so. So, hopefully it levels me out just as quickly as it knocked me down. I can’t help but feel I didn’t try hard enough (rationally I know that’s not the case) and I wish it was different, but at the end of the day if it’s the damn medicine that helped me have the most stable year of adulthood, then I guess I just have to suck it up and swallow the pill no matter how bitter it tastes.
Just like I tell others, don't let an illness define you. I have to remind myself of that once in a while too.