I saw my psychiatrist a couple weeks ago, and he okayed stopping the Effexor. He said I seemed like a different person to him having gone off it, using the word "phlegmatic" five or six times to describe how I had been before. He said some people are sensitive to serotonin to the point of becoming "too neutral." Spot on, man! That's exactly how I felt. Beige.
So I stopped both the Effexor and the Trileptal (mood stabilizer) and now I'm on to Lamictal (another mood stabilizer). Except I think the Lamictal is making me twitch and burn in creepy ways all over my body.
If it's the Lamictal, that will suck. I think it's actually helping my brain, and there are only so many bipolar meds out there. But if it's not the Lamictal, that will suck too. That means it's another
I've been thinking about future diagnoses as my butt has become less tolerant of sitting and the vulvodynia has crept beyond its original horizon, and I realized that I'm in a different place with disease than I was before. I'm less anxious about it and more -- if it's even possible -- open. Disease feels like less of an offense, or maybe no offense at all. It's no longer something that has robbed me, taking away x, y, and z that I used to have or could've. It just is.
I think this is acceptance, and I think the underlying concession in my particular acceptance is that my body is not infallible. It's only as reliable as nature made it, and nature is successful, not perfect.
All bodies are only as reliable as nature makes them. Nature comes with no guarantees. It just tries over and over to succeed.
A body's infallibility is different from immortality. Infallibility implies guarantee. I have never thought I was immortal; I have thought that, given my age, my habits, my fitness, I was reasonably assured of what to expect from my body. But that just isn't the case.
That doesn't mean I don't get frustrated. I am feeling pretty heartbroken that the Lamictal might not work out. There are only so many mood stabilizers. Last fall's episode is still stalking me. It wasn't until then that bipolar disorder terrified me. Is it possible to get PTSD over one's own disorder?! Ah!!!!
And I'm frustrated with the creeping physical symptoms, the lack of answers, etc., etc. But I'm not panicked, exhausted, despairing, or even fearful or worried. I would hate for something huge to be wrong with me, but I'm not constantly dreading it. I'm just tired of the game in a way that's almost sinking into subconsciousness.
I still want answers. I need them -- because if I feel this crappy this young, where will I be in ten years? There is no way in the world vulvodynia is just some
Pain like this means something is WRONG. BIGGEST DUH IN THE WORLD.