It's 11am now, and I'm going to write this as a draft and come back to it later.
My current anti-psychotic and I have a very complicated relationship. Sometimes, we're best friends. It gives me a decent nights sleep usually, and a hell of a lot more stability than I have when I decide we need a break. I resent being so reliant on it, though, and over the years I've had some batshit crazy times when I've come off it, or when I've ran out for any reason. Once, not long after I'd started uni, my GP decided I'd been stockpiling meds to overdose on (which, to be fair, I have a long history of doing, and even was doing then, just sadly not the anti-psycho), and refused to give me any more of anything until I handed him everything I had. I don't know, maybe he just fancied some pills. Anyway, long story short(er), I missed two doses and ended up trying to carve my thumb because I thought it was a chicken leg. Over three years down the line, I still have really limited movement in that thumb.
I've been on the same anti-psychotic for more or less exactly 5 years now, and despite me recently having been taking over the daily limit of it, it's not been doing its job so much, so they're changing it. Changing is problematic, though. That's actually very diplomatically put, because actually it's a bloody bitch. They're weaning me off it over a week or two, then will start me on the next one. I'm already struggling to keep a firm grasp on reality and I'm not even on a particularly low dose of it, and it's just going to continue to be decreased. I'm going to have a really, really difficult few weeks now, whilst they get it sorted.
In other news, I've a bitch of a chest infection. I spent a few days completely out of it in bed, but I can just about function now. I'm so tired (probably as much down to the meds situation) now though, that I can barely see straight.
It's 4pm now and although I'm not quite a daisy, I am much more fresh.
I'm going to try and catch the doctor now and just beg for something, anything. I'm really regretting agreeing to this change of meds. The alternative is to try and force myself to disassociate to a point and just go with what seems like an inevitable week or two of madness. I don't even know if the medication I'm being changed to will be effective. I don't know anything right now, just that things are going to get even more difficult.
It's just gone half 4.
I spoke to the doctor and somehow we got onto a conversation where I refused to tell her my current coping strategies in case saying them would make me gain weight. There's absolutely no connection between how I'm getting by and my weight, but therein lies the crazy. She gave me some meds now to try and sedate me a bit, and wrote me up for extra to be taken through the next few days. I've got to learn to trust, but when all you can trust in is the necessity of losing weight, it's difficult to let people in. I feel really guilty that I'm not, I don't know, winning at recovery.
Oh, and now it's twenty past 5.
The meds have taken affect, and I'm calmer. I just had a nice chat with one of my favourite nursing assistants- we have them whenever she's on and we basically just solve every political and social problem EVER, all from a mental hospital. I think they should reclassify Parliament as an asylum.