I came out of another 24-hour sleep coma this early morning. I took my missed pills, refreshed my cats’ water, and poured food into their empty bowls.
I bid good riddance to Tegretol and started Lamictal the other night. I know I have to titrate the dosage up slowly but I do wish I could fast-forward a month to where I could feel some relief again.
Based on what I’ve observed from other sufferers online, Lamictal has apparently given them their lives back. How can I not hold out hope, then? That’s a pretty glowing review. My psychiatrist first suggested Rexulti but, since I had already done my research, I knew I wanted to try Lamictal instead.
In this depression, I have been dealing with frequent morbid thoughts. I don’t remember any dreams, if I’ve even been having any. I fantasize about going out (though not any time soon) Anne Sexton style, in my car with the engine on by carbon monoxide. I even consider having my cats inside with me.
Then I consider Anne was 46, and I consider she waited 16 more years after 30, and if she could do it, maybe so could I. These thoughts may seem alarming to someone without a mental illness, but believe, they’re all too common for those who do.
In a sense, allowing myself to fantasize about my suicide gives me comfort because it’s one of the only ways I still feel in control where this illness robs me of it everywhere else. Western society has a very poor relationship with their own mortality.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t feel useless. I don’t feel like I don’t matter or that I have nothing to offer. I am aware of my intelligence, of my insights, of how good of a friend and a partner I can be. I don’t think I ever lost sight of that. It’s the illness that keeps you in chains and wants to prevent you from being able to do or be any of that.
My last therapist wasn’t even afraid of my suicidal fantasizing. Plenty of people fantasize about threesomes; that doesn’t mean they necessarily go through with it. They understand the consequences.
As long as I stay compliant with my treatment, take my meds and go back to therapy, I shouldn’t be a real threat to myself. Most people go through with attempts in an untreated, mixed state, where they’re so despondent yet have the manic energy. I just keep going to sleep on it. I keep pressing snooze on dying.