Despite suffering from mental health ishoos for years, I was totally against being medicated up until spring this year. I'd had doctors trying to prescribe me various antidepressants, anti-psychotics and even the odd beta blocker over the years, but I either reacted badly to them, felt more depressed, or went manic when under their influence. The fact that no medical professionals felt these reactions deemed it important enough to reassess what exactly was going on with me only compounded my hatred for doping myself up.
When I compare this attitude with the one I hold now, its almost funny just how different they are. Its not that I've suddenly started pill hugging, but more that I'd reached the point early this year at which I was screaming internally at myself that enough was enough, I couldn't keep putting myself through the wringer like that, just passively accepting that oh, here's another "funny turn", time to baton down the hatches and watch my life fall apart for yet another six months. Instead I demanded to be referred a psychiatrist. I say demanded, in actual fact I had a pretty wonderful GP who was more than helpful in referring me on to the local mental health team for a proper assessment, the first I'd had when not under the influence of an overdose and thus wildly more based in facts, rather than assumptions about me.
This ultimately led me to a new diagnosis of mixed state bipolar affective disorder, or manic depression for the old skool amongst the void out there. Rightly, or more likely wrongly, bipolar isn't a condition that'll see you shuffled to the bottom of the pile like many other types of mental illness or disorder. No condition should see that happen to you, but thems the breaks, whether the mental health community like to admit it or not. Unlike when I was rubber stamped as having 'emotionally unstable personality disorder' and labelled a manipulative drunk by a fairly universally unpopular 1-to-1 therapist in the East London CMHT, this time round I've been provided with a community mental health social worker, regular meetings with a psychiatrist, and a speedy referral for focused psychotherapy.
Medication has had a bigger role to play this time round, too. I haven't just been put on antidepressants and left to my own devices. In fact, after being put on them and then a psychotropic medication designed to stabilise mood and work on both bipolar depression and hypo/mania, I was then taken off antidepressants in the hope a single lot of meds would do the trick in stabilising me. I'd love to say this had worked, but I've had to have my dose increased, be prescribed with benzodiazepine to help with a crushing bout of anxiety, and have the safety net of starting another type of antidepressant in a week if those measures fail. A year ago I would've been running for the hills at mere suggestion of the aforementioned regime, but when I think back to that 'me', I wonder at how I ever got through the day, let alone a week without any kind of meds.
As much as I'd like to say the drugs don't work, they just make it worse...I can't. Fact is, despite my recent tumble off the sanity wagon, I've felt better generally than I have in years.
When I compare this attitude with the one I hold now, its almost funny just how different they are. Its not that I've suddenly started pill hugging, but more that I'd reached the point early this year at which I was screaming internally at myself that enough was enough, I couldn't keep putting myself through the wringer like that, just passively accepting that oh, here's another "funny turn", time to baton down the hatches and watch my life fall apart for yet another six months. Instead I demanded to be referred a psychiatrist. I say demanded, in actual fact I had a pretty wonderful GP who was more than helpful in referring me on to the local mental health team for a proper assessment, the first I'd had when not under the influence of an overdose and thus wildly more based in facts, rather than assumptions about me.
This ultimately led me to a new diagnosis of mixed state bipolar affective disorder, or manic depression for the old skool amongst the void out there. Rightly, or more likely wrongly, bipolar isn't a condition that'll see you shuffled to the bottom of the pile like many other types of mental illness or disorder. No condition should see that happen to you, but thems the breaks, whether the mental health community like to admit it or not. Unlike when I was rubber stamped as having 'emotionally unstable personality disorder' and labelled a manipulative drunk by a fairly universally unpopular 1-to-1 therapist in the East London CMHT, this time round I've been provided with a community mental health social worker, regular meetings with a psychiatrist, and a speedy referral for focused psychotherapy.
Medication has had a bigger role to play this time round, too. I haven't just been put on antidepressants and left to my own devices. In fact, after being put on them and then a psychotropic medication designed to stabilise mood and work on both bipolar depression and hypo/mania, I was then taken off antidepressants in the hope a single lot of meds would do the trick in stabilising me. I'd love to say this had worked, but I've had to have my dose increased, be prescribed with benzodiazepine to help with a crushing bout of anxiety, and have the safety net of starting another type of antidepressant in a week if those measures fail. A year ago I would've been running for the hills at mere suggestion of the aforementioned regime, but when I think back to that 'me', I wonder at how I ever got through the day, let alone a week without any kind of meds.
As much as I'd like to say the drugs don't work, they just make it worse...I can't. Fact is, despite my recent tumble off the sanity wagon, I've felt better generally than I have in years.
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