Day 16: Lamictal 50mg

Second day down with 50mg…..and now I have the uncontrollable urge to choke little pink bunnies.

Naw, I’m just playing.  I’m doing great, actually…..even better than yesterday.  Only one brain zap so far today!  When Cali saw me take the pic of this bunny…she demanded that I take Flossie’s picture; however, I was instructed that no choking would be permitted.  If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, you’ll remember that I made “Flossie” for Cali about a year ago.  She snagged it before I was able to put hair on her….so she looks a smidge ridiculous.  And I’m not sure what’s going on with her arms…they won’t stay down.  It’s like she’s in permanent “Put your hands up, it’s the law!” mode.  But Cali seems to dig her that way.  Flossie’s new duds are compliments of Nonnie.  It’s about time Flossie had some clothes on. 

LOVE it.

I love, love, LOVE my Paula Deen Menu Calendar…autographed, mind you.  My Ma sent it to me….and it’s been great with my menu planning.  Yes…I menu plan.  I’m one of “THOSE” people.   I also make lists listing things that I need to list when I find my list.  (My ADD is going to be addressed at my next pdoc appointment in a week or so….thank GAWD.)

Anyway…I love this thing.  Thanks, Ma!

Oh Yes I Did!

At the risk of getting sued for copyright infringment and slander…I’m posting this pic.  This is not a Hallmark photo or one I found floating around the ‘net.  This dog who is OBVIOUSLY humiliated belongs to my best friend, Rachel…..who has issues with dogs going way back to the days when the chickens tore her pantyhose right off her two legs.  (I still haven’t stopped laughing from that.)

But this…THIS.  This needs to be addressed.  This dog-shearing business.  It appears she was taken to one of those back-alley doggie doo places that have a password just to get past the monkey guarding the door.  That’s fine, Rachel…everyone needs to save a penny here and there.  But when your dog turns up with rickets and scabies in about a week or so……well….you’re gonna have one big mess on your hands.

Bunny needs a stylist!  Send all donations to Rachel.  She lives in the house with the pathetic looking dog sitting in the front yard just waiting for someone to put her outta her misery.  You can’t miss it.

Whew…that kinda hurt.

incubus-dig

(Click on the link by the above pic….the soundtrack for the past few months of my life..and a tribute to my Husband and Harold for being my safety net.)

 

Approximately 24 hours ago I came out on the other side of what has been sheer hell…..and I can’t stop grinning from ear to ear.  This morning I woke up and was actually able to walk.  I haven’t puked.  Last night I was able to perform my wifely duties and cook dinner…which made Husband pretty darn happy considering he was having to spoon feed me for the past couple of weeks:

I even maintained my cool when the battery on our car died, leaving us stranded at Husband’s office.  If that would’ve happened 48 hours earlier, I woulda been out in the middle of Slappey Boulevard beating cars with a tire iron.  (The battery has since been replaced). 

I started the 50mg of Lamictal today….and it feels like warm jello is pulsing through my veins.  I’m aware that theoretically it’s impossible for Jello to be warm and remain Jello.  But that’s what it feels like.  Gelatinous warmth.  I’ve been racking my brain to come up with a way to explain in words the extraordinary amount of physical pain I’ve been in up to this point.  I was just before having to be hospitalized…when it all cleared.  Just like that.  Like someone flipped a switch…the fog lifted….I felt…dare I say, happy?  Happy?  HAPPY?!  Pardon my excitement…but it’s been awhile since I’ve felt anything other than pain and uglies.  As soon as I felt the “snap”…the one that indicated I’d made it through the hard part….I grabbed my sketch book and tried to capture what I felt.  This is what came out:

I don’t feel like THIS anymore:

But through this entire ordeal….my daughter.  My daughter.  How can a 2 year old child be so strong, supportive and KNOWING.  Last night when I was cooking supper, she fished out a colander, stuck it on her head and said this:

“I’m a Rocket Man, Mommy…..let’s go back to earth.”

I’m there, baby…..I’m there.  I’m HERE.  Finally.  And it feels good to cry happy tears.

It’s a southern thang

Down here in the south we have a little something we like to call Buttermilk Pie.  Now..I’m a transplanted Yankee….but you’d never know it based on my cooking.  However, when I first heard of a buttermilk pie, I was like, “How you gonna make a pie outta milk, ya’ll?”

And then I ate one.  Not a piece.  Not a bite.  I ate ONE.  WHOLE.  PIE.  Yeah.  That’s how good they are.  After sifting through several recommended recipes, I finally happened across this one in an old church cookbook put together by a bunch of well-bred southern hens.  So…here’s the recipe.  It makes two pies…because you can’t just eat one.  Happy Fatty!

Buttermilk Pie

* Two pie shells, unbaked

* 2 2/3 cup sugar

* 1/3 cup all-purpose flour

* 4 eggs, well beaten

* 10.5 tbsp. butter, melted

* 1 1/3 cup Buttermilk

* 1/4 tsp. vanilla

* 1/2 tsp. lemon extract or lemon juice

~Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  In large bowl, mix sugar and flour.  Add well beaten eggs; stir to combine.  Add melted butter, buttermilk, vanilla and lemon extract.  Mix well with electric mixer.  Divide into the two pie shells.  Bake about 45 minutes.  Allow to bake until they don’t shake in the middle.

Then stick your face in the pie and inhale.

Warning: May be unsuitable for some viewers.

So my kid has been walking around for the past couple of days making a weird snorting sound….like she was trying to farmer-blow her nose all over my floor.  I kept asking her if she needed a tissue…she kept telling me, “Not yet, Mommy.”

So yesterday she comes sidling up to me and says, “Whew…I got it.”  Then she handed me something….pink…and snotty…and unrecognizable.  “What is this???!!!  How long has it been shoved up your nose????”  She shrugged and walked away.

I finally deduced it was an eraser off one of my pencils….none of my pencils have erasers, thanks to her.  I’m not sure where the rest of this one is.  No doubt lodged in the brain of an overly-curious bandicoot we call Weird Harold.

Do I look as crazy as I feel?!

Yeah…it’s a wee bit of a grin there.  But look at my eyes…..I feel like I’ve been LITERALLY fighting a fire breathing dragon for the past week and I’m just about ready to fall on my sword.  NO!  I’m not suicidal.  Stop jumping to conclusions.  I’m just saying this whole SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome is exhausting.  I’ve read several articles stating that SSRI withdrawal is almost identical to heroine withdrawal.  Ya don’t say!  Here’s a list of the common side effects from SSRI withdrawal.  I am having every single one of them with severity.  Today is actually the first day that I haven’t felt the brain shocks every five minutes….only like every 20 or so:

Table 1. Symptoms associated with SSRI withdrawal

Somatic Symptoms

Psychological Symptoms

Disequilibrium:   dizziness, light-headness   vertigo, ataxiaGastrointestinal:   anorexia, nausea, vomiting,   abdominal crampsInfluenza-like:   fatigue, lethargy, myalgia   chills, sweating, comma, headache,   malaise, weakness, palpitations Sensory disturbances:   paraesthesiae, tremor, sensations of   electric shock (often associated with   movement) Sleep disturbance:   insomnia, vivid dreams, nightmares Extrapyramidal symptoms:   parkinsonism, akathisia

anxiety, agitation crying spells irritability overactivity aggression depersonalisation decreased concentration confusion memory problems lowered mood

Now…imagine feeling like this and trying to function “normally”.  See why I’m exhausted?  When Husband got home from work yesterday, I was on the verge of flipping the stink right on out.  I sketched this in my Journal…..don’t really remember even doing it.

 

Apparently it made me feel a little bit better…because a couple of hours later, THIS was what I was doing….far brighter:

Tomorrow I titrate up from 25mg to 50mg of the Lamictal. 

Now…I’ve been debating whether or not to say what I’m about to say.  But I’m gonna go ahead and say it.  I happen to know…for a FACT…that there are several “April-Haters” that read my Blog on a daily basis.  April-Haters being ex-spouses along with THEIR spouses and their family members, maybe their dog, probably their pastor, maybe even the mayor…who knows.  You get the point.  I know all of this because I can track every single IP address that hits this Blog along with an arial photo of the exact location they’re at while snooping.  Houses, offices, the Pentagon, State of Ohio (shouldn’t ya’ll be working?).  Quite frankly, I’m down-right confused by their obvious and intent interest in my goings-on.  Then it finally hit me.  WHO THE FLIP CARES?! 

People are going to judge and berate the “mentally ill” until the end of time.  It’s a given.  Granted most of the people doing the berating are straight ignorant….and by “ignorant”, I mean uneducated about Mental Health in general.  These people are everywhere.  But you can’t hate them.  You can’t judge them.  If you do, then you’re no better than them.  So if you want to retaliate against these folks….educate them.  Maybe that’s what I’m subconsciously doing here with this blog……educating people  by exposing my very personal battle with my own mental illness.  Kudos, Chips and Whistles to those of you who “don’t have to take pills to be happy.”  God love ya.  But even more Kudos, Chips and Whistles to those of us who are brave enough to face our imperfections head on and do whatever possible to ensure that we are living up to our highest potential. 

So today I tip my hat to my fellow Bipolar Med-Heads…..Danielle, Chica, Ben Stiller, Virginia Woolf, Buzz Aldrin, Tim Burton, Zelda Zonk, Patty Duke, Carrie Fisher, Robin Williams, Rosemary Clooney, Vincent Van Gogh, Francis Ford Coppola, Ludwig Von Beethoven, Ted Turner, Jimi Hendrix, Oscar Levant, Charlie Pride, Theodore Roosevelt, Jane Pauley, Patricia Cornwell, Kay Redfield Jamison, Mark Twain…..

Not a bad group of people to share a mind with. 

Mojo Jo Jo

My “Best Thought” for today was:

Ahh….my Mojo.  It does, in fact, feel like it’s starting to take form…only different this time.  More seasoned.  And funnier.  I should do a sketch of what I think my Mojo looks like.  I think I’ll do that tonight. 

When someone says “Studio”, what’s the image that pops into your mind?  Easels?  Fancy furnishings?  Completed Masterpieces?  According the good ole Webster, a studio is: “The working place of an artist.”  So if an artist was out in a field…that field would indeed be his studio.  Having said that….I have my own studio.  It’s off the side of my home….and noone….NOONE is allowed in there.  Noone.  Sometimes I don’t feel “worthy” to call it an actual studio.  Mostly because I doubt myself so much as an Artist.  I have an artist friend here in town who allowed me to enter into his inner sanctum.  His own personal space where he creates phenomenal works of art.  I breathed an audible sigh of relief to see that his work space was nothing more than a closet.  All of his paints and brushes were strewn all over the floor, canvases hung from every corner, half finished works stacked haphazardly….and in the middle of the chaos…was one stool.  HIS stool.  That’s all he needed.  That’s where he let everything out in art form.  His wife let us know that we should feel privileged to have been allowed to see his studio.  I can relate.  When I was working on my art piece for the “Faces” Art Exhibit up in Chicago, this is how I worked.  And I made it clear as crystal that noone was to touch, look at or be anywhere in the general vicinity of where I was working:

I like to work on the floor and put all my stuff around me when I work.  What evolved out of this “mess” was one of the most freeing and therapeutic experiences of my life.

Over the weekend I began putting my studio back in order.  I feel that undercurrent of creative energy…letting me know that it’s time to start working again. 

I’m getting there….slowly but surely. 

My Lil Tomboy

Here are some pics of my daughter in a tutu eating pine straw. 

DISCLAIMER:  No animals were harmed during filming.

Around the House

Around this house there are alot of flowers…some fresh-cut from our yard…some on trees….some are squash blossoms.  Our Crepe Myrtle tree even busted out some freak blooms a couple of days ago.  We’re not quite sure why it’s blooming again, but we’ll take it!