If I could bury my head in the sand, trust me, I would. I’m more amused than anything, even though I did something less than brilliant, I still can’t help myself but laugh (at the situation and my twit moment).
If you’ve read my post about my worry over becoming hypomanic then you will understand this update. Having an episode–either depressive or (hypo)manic is something I worry about constantly and I’m hypervigilant about symptoms.
Last week, I did notice certain traits I get when I’m about to be flung into the hypomanic air. Irritation, non-stop chattering, outlandish spending, fidgeting, having constant noise in the background etc, I could go on but those were the most noticeable.
Because of my disorder and not having been stable since I was diagnosed back in the winter of 2015, I have a medical team I see regularly. A GP, psychiatrist and therapist. (Since the group therapy program, I don’t see my therapist anymore because I don’t need to at the moment.)
So last week, I went to check-in with my GP. I brought my concerns and symptoms up to him, and he looked a little worried, telling me multiple times in our appointment to mention it to my psychiatrist when I see him next.
All last week, I felt like I was on the precipice of flying away, flying towards the sun and I did feel physically off as well. I had headaches and I was sweating a ton, despite it being chilly, and I had really bad insomnia (which I thought was a symptom of becoming hypomanic).
So yesterday, I saw my psychiatrist and towards the end of my appointment, I mentioned this all to him. He looked worried for a few minutes, contemplating what we should do next, what my new treatment plan would look like. He did mention, after a few medication tweaks, that I didn’t appear to look hypomanic nor did I appear to be heading towards the manic train.
I took great comfort in that. Maybe I wasn’t becoming hypomanic, after all! I know we know ourselves more than anyone else, only we know what we feel and how deeply we feel. And I know I shouldn’t take doctors advice and comments as 100% truth since I have been royally messed up from some doctors in the past, giving me medication that landed me in the hospital…twice.
But I must confess this, I do have ADD on top of bipolar disorder. Which means that I’m naturally always fidgeting and I need constant, multiple stimulations all at once. I also talk a lot, I’m a chatterbox and I do have sleeping issues because, at the moment, I’m inactive and quite bored with where I am right now (in my life).
I never know if it’s because of my personality and my ‘quirks’ (let’s call them quirks so I can feel better about myself) or if it’s symptomatic of an episode rearing its ugly monstrous head.
With the amount of medication and how finicky they all are, I have to use a pill organizer. On top of those reasons, I’m also a scatterbrain; I never fully know if I’ve already taken my meds, which ones I took, did I miss a day?
If all of that weren’t enough, with the nature and flavour of the bipolar disorder I have, there is a part of me, let’s say 4%, that always tries to convince myself that my medications are poison and because I’m seemingly stable and healthy, I don’t really need them. It’s not every day I have those thoughts, maybe once a week?
(Prepare to either laugh or be horrified.)
Last night, as I was organizing my updated medications and vitamins in my weekly pill organizer, I was recounting a few of the days I had leftover (that I’d placed in there last week). I’m supposed to take eight 25 mg of this one medication. There were only six (!!) for each day. Six. Which means I’ve been underdosing myself all last week (this medication helps prevent (hypo)manic episodes).
So I’ve basically been giving myself a lower dose and that almost triggered a hypomanic episode, which could’ve resulted in a full-blown manic state.
How terrible and idiotic is that?
I can’t count, it seems.
I’m sorry for laughing, this is serious and I really was feeling very off last week. Behind my own back, without even knowing it, I’ve been messing with the dosing and made myself ill.
Isn’t that terribly embarrassing? Me, a fully-grown adult, wrote a post about the possibility of becoming hypomanic, mentioning this to both my GP and psychiatrist…only to find out I was accidentally taking a lower dose of one of my very important medications.
I’m torn between laughing, and being so amused about my twit level mistake and being embarrassed over it. Let’s not mention this to my medical team, okay? I did mention it to my dad last night and oooohhhhhh, the lectures I received. There’s nothing like an Asian dad lecture. So scathing, so unrelenting but at the same time, coming from a place of great concern…and exasperation. Even my best friend, C., was exasperated. I was exasperated for a few minutes before I started laughing at myself
There we go. I wanted to post an update so I can look back at this moment and shake my head at myself. I don’t even know what to say now, or how to end this. How about more self-deprecation?
So cheers to me being a twit and apparently having issues in counting to eight and blowing all of this out of proportion. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am so dang over the top.
Thank you, as always, for reading!
Much love xoxo,
Annie The Twit
Honeysuckle Haiku 