Dr. Saint scaled back my wellbutrin and put me on a low dosage of cymbalta, or as I like to call it: werewolfitol. It is some pretty amazing stuff I must say and unlike other meds it doesn’t take days and weeks to build up in your system before you see a difference. This stuff had me humming on day one. There are some light side effects that I expect will go away with some time, such as I feel slightly disoriented from time to time and a tad dizzy. My jaw and forehead muscles feel tense at times and I need to make a concentrated effort to relax them which is actually more distressing to me, it gets very uncomfortable and I have no clue what this looks like to the observer. I have only been on it for a few days so I have nothing much else to report on it.
I no longer have much of a social existence. This is hazardous for bipolar types. You need a support network. Whether your friends know about your ins and outs or not is irrelevant, you need to be around people from time to time and have them interested enough to check on you. I have rarely if ever had people in my life who ever gave much of a fuck about me. This is not a self pity party. It is a mere statement of fact, I am a very self aware person. Unless I had something to offer people directly by way of services or access to services or goods my value to people and relevance drops to nothing. Those people eventually drift out of my life. You will doubtlessly say something to the effect of: “Well then they weren’t really your friends!” Clearly. The issue here being that this is just about all of the people I have ever met. I have let relationships that seemed genuine slide to the horizon and kept them in view with the odd phone call only to meet the standard: “Yeah, sure! Soon, man, really soon.” Which is friendship for: “I never want to see you again but I am too much of a coward to just outright say it.”
This isn’t intended to be a long post. I wanted to update my last post with regards to mixing wellbutrin or bupropion (generic) and alcohol. First I should note that I accept full responsibility for my actions. I was not trying to place blame on others. I was only expressing dismay that people who should have had concern for my my well being showed absolutely none. That said, I have been known to act at least part way foolish when drunk in the past. Okay, fine, there have been some fairly reckless episodes. This however was a completely different experience and I have spent the last few days really miserable, as though the medication is having no effect.
So I dug around a little. Turns out you aren’t intended to mix alcohol and bupropion. This was news to me. Dr. Saint and I had not discussed it as it had not come up, I do not drink much more than once every two months, maybe every month and a half. I have slowed down with age. When I do however, like a junkie in relapse I revert to drinking the very same volume as I was used to. I found that mixing bupropion and alcohol can cause any of these: “hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, mood and behavioral changes, depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, and panic attacks.”
Specifically delusions, mood and behavioural changes can explain much of what little I remember from the events that took place on Friday. Eventually depression and suicidal thoughts which lasted throughout the weekend. I love how that sounds like a weather forecast. Also I went digging through some forums and it is a mixed bag but I am finding reports from all over claiming that what I am experiencing isn’t uncommon. Apparently it can negate the typical effects of the medication for a few days. This I found most distressing, I had been having some really miserable thoughts over the last two days, especially given the events of Friday night. I honestly have not felt this alone in forever and was frankly feeling really suicidal. I decided to lay low and keep my mind off of it as much as possible. I chose to watch “House” on DVD. I have smoked a grand total of about seven cigarettes all weekend. Which is dramatically low for me. I am becoming a different person. There will be more on this later perhaps when I am in better spirits.
I was curious about whether my total lack of competitive nature was all inherent or medication. Last night I found myself in a physical altercation due to excessive libations and the presence of women. I had no interest in these women, I was obnoxiously wasted and I assumed that I was amongst friends. Or at least acquaintances, colleagues, people who knew me and didn’t wish me immediate harm. This was not true for several reasons. First, these individuals allowed me to get wasted. Yeah, I know it was on me not to get drunk, especially with the medication but at a certain point it gets tough to see where to draw the line. I bounced over that line, mostly because I felt I was in good company and it wouldn’t be an issue, I was no more than quarter mile from my home. So even totally wasted I could crawl to my door without an issue. I cut loose a little bit. As I said I was obnoxious, it happens. Jack isn’t really here anymore, I don’t have protection. I don’t have many of the qualities that I require to recover from boneheaded decisions and drunken reactions. I do dumb shit and I don’t have a filter, translator or bodyguard.
Everyone has played at least one game of cards so it makes a fine analogy. Immediately after taking the cards from the box you skim through the deck for the manufacturers/rule cards and jokers, you pluck those and shuffle. Well, what about the times where you leave the jokers in? Have those not been some of the most entertaining games that you have ever played? Sure, some people get a little snippy because the “wildcard” dynamic skews the game too dramatically for them to have fun. I’m going to step outside of the metaphor here for one second to point out that these are the people who don’t like that the shifted dynamic has drawn attention away from them, or made them feel less in control. Which is the point of the wildcard to begin with. You aren’t playing house rules, gritty, stand-off style poker where the goal is to walk away with everyones money, this is supposed to be fun. Right? That’s what the wildcard means to me anyway, by joining a game where the joker is left in you tacitly agree to enjoy yourself and not be a fusspot when things don’t go your way.