Borderline Personality Disorder Blog. Bipolar Disorder Blog. BPD. DBT. Cleveland. A Fragment in Orange.


Emsam patch

I should have done some research.  I was so excited by the possiblity of trying something new, hopefully The Fix, that I didn't do a price check on the Emsam patch.  $500/3 months supply.  What do I do now?  That's big money for me. 

Is it really possible -- the solution to my psychiatric predicament in a medication I've never tried before?  I remember eighteen years ago.  Right before bed.  About to take my very first anti-depressant.  Prozac.  I just sat there looking at the little green capsule in the palm of my hand, thinking "This is it.  This will fix everything."  I'll never forget that moment.  And here I sit eighteen years later, a day or two maybe before starting the Emsam patch thinking Wow, maybe this is it.  Dumb dumb dumb.  Medications just don't work that way.  At least, they haven't for me.  The best result I've had from a psych med is that things become a little less horrible.  Big freaking deal.   

I'm angry and I feel let down.  I'm tired.  Tired of being tired.  I just don't know what the point of anything is anymore.  Not in a woe-is-me I'm about to jump off a cliff kind of a way.  But really -- what's the point?  Tired.  I just said that.  Really really tired.  I wish I could . . . something.  Sometimes it's just too much, you know?  I just wish that I wasn't.  Or weren't.  I wish that I was nothing at all.  A lifetime is just so very long.


On Vacation -- Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

I'm on vacation in Arizona.  Big whoopdeedoo.  I'm supposed to be having a good time.  Supposed to be enjoying the weather.  Enjoying my parents' company.  I am doing none of these things.  I miss my bed at home -- pulling the covers up over my head and crying myself to sleep.  Here I have to get dressed.  Sit upright (sometimes stand!  and walk! egads!).  Stay awake for hours and somehow occupy that time.  Pretend that I'm somewhat normal.  I am counting the days and the hours and the minutes until I get back on a plane, back to my normal life of unconsciousness.  I miss that dark place. 

Suicidal.  And pissed the fuck off that something as simple as not taking a medication for ONLY SEVEN DAYS can take me to this place.  Two more weeks and I start a new antidepressant.  Yippee.  I am SO sure that it's going to cure me.  That I'll miraculously bid farewell to the mental hell I've been in for the past twenty years.  Yeah, I'm holding my breath on that one. 

I don't know how I'm going to manage the next four days of vacation.  Vacation -- what a joke.  But hey, it's Arizona -- I could always impale myself on a cactus.  Good times.