Week three on Seroquel and I look like the michelin man!

It started with my hands, which look like they belong to someone twice my size. Now my upper arms are bloated, my ankles are massive and even my lips look like I’ve been to Lesley Ash’s plastic surgeon. I’ve had episodes where I can’t stop blinking. Awful indigestion, drowsiness, diarrhoea, and occasional twitches. Why on earth would anyone swallow a pill which does that to them?

Well on the upside I feel so much more relaxed. Ok, so sometimes my voice is slurred and I shuffle down the street like I’m drunk, but  so long as I get enough sleep, the rest of the time I feel great. Seroquel has shortened my day, and I really only have 4 or 5 hours of full consciousness. I’m hoping these side effects wear off in a few weeks. If not, then I guess I’ll have to re-evaluate the pros and cons of continuing to take it. I still have low moods but it’s kind of like they are behind a big plastic bubble. I’m not angry anymore (well not much).

I saw my gp today, just to pick up my script for venlafaxine. I’m aware that he asked me questions, but I couldn’t do much more than smile at him. My blood test results are back and my glucose level is borderline (like my brain lol) so I need to go back for a fasting test next week. I’ve made sure it’s an early appointment because I get very narky if I’m not fed regularly.  He was videoing the session for training purposes again, which usually makes me feel a little paranoid, but today I had to stop myself giggling into the camera.

The seroquel doesn’t take away all my bad moods though. Yesterday was a downer. Probably overtired after spending the previous day with my Dad. I won’t see him again now until he’s had his operation. He thinks there’s no point in me visiting til he’s out of the high dependancy ward, but I want to be there, even if he’s not aware that I am. His wife is a die hard catholic and is very positive and talking about prayer a lot. I don’t share her beliefs and am generally pessimistic. I keep imagining Dad dying on the operating table. Being with him all day and having to keep up this false positivity wore me out. He’s not letting on how he feels at all and I’m not going to push him to talk about it. But all this brings back so many memories of losing mum to cancer when I was 18. Half the time I feel wiped out by worry for him, and the rest of the time I despise myself for using his cancer to get sympathy. I can’t believe I’m actually jealous of him for having a bona fide physical illness. One that everyone feels sorry for him about. I’m struggling a lot even with the new meds. Torn between needing to do everything and anything, and being too tired and down to even get dressed. I feel like I’m leeching off my own father. I don’t know how to trust my own emotions. When I get upset, is it because I’m scared for him, or am I just acting? I really thought I’d got all this identity stuff sorted out but I feel like two people at the moment. Good and bad. Weak and strong. Cold and Warm. Black and White. Damn bpd.

From murderous bitch to fluffy bunny, i love these pills!

Today is my third full day on Seroquel. I’m too stoned to post very much so am just checking in. I love this drug. My anxiety has disappeared for the first time in years. My face wants to smile all the time, unlike most days when random strangers usually tell me to cheer up. Why do they do that? Fortunately, I no longer feel an urge to push them down a steep hill, and am more inclined to give them a big wet kiss. This is definately not me!

The downside to numbing myself with an anti psychotic is that I am generally away with the fairies. My fingertips don’t even feel like they’re connecting with the keyboard right now. I’m sleeping most of the day and have awful stomach pains after eating. My nose is permanently blocked and I’m craving carbs when I wake up.

I was determined not to spend the day in bed and made it into town to buy a swimming costume today. I’m not going to let this pill cause any weight gain if I can help it. I just need to figure out how to stay awake in the pool lol. It’s a very strange feeling to crave food but not feel that I can be fecked to go to the shop and buy it. I haven’t binged in the last few days and not doing so hasn’t brought up the usual urge to cut.

I read the list of side effects with some dismay. Funny how the more intense a psychiatric drug is, the simpler the enclosed drug information becomes. I guess they don’t think anyone taking an anti psychotic is capable of understanding words of more than two syllabuls. For example it tells you to watch out for certain symptoms, without mentioning that they are signs that you have either tardive dyskinesia or NMS. I’m surprised they don’t just use emoticons and leave it at that. This pill good 🙂 May give bad tummy 😦 etc etc.

So, after nearly 20 years of various psychiatric treatments, I find myself on my first mood stabiliser. A step back or a step forward? Am I being given meds because it’s cheaper than therapy? Do I really need them at all? I’m not going to get into all that for the simple reason that last week I felt suicidal, and this week I can cope. And that’s enough for me right now.

On being fat

I’ve been a compulsive eater for as long as I can remember. I can remember being in trouble at 4 years old for eating all the chocolates in the house, but my problems spiralled out of control when I hit puberty. Partly due to the hormones I suppose, but mostly to do with the available cash I had from my paper round, all of which went on sweets until I started smoking a few years later lol.

My mother was as thin as a rake and that’s where the problems started. I really feel that if less emphasis had been put on my puppy fat as a child, I wouldn’t be over 20 stone now. Fat women were always pointed out to me with the promise that I’d end up like them if I didn’t stop eating. I was told I’d need to take more baths as fat people smell. That I couldn’t have long hair because it makes my face look fatter. At the time I was at the most, 10lbs overweight.

During my twenties I drank (a lot) which helped keep my weight down to a fairly acceptable level. But since hitting thirty I’ve gained at least 6 stone, especially since I left work last year. My day revolves around getting and eating food. I live on ready meals and snacks, despite loving healthy options and veg. The depression makes me so lazy and fatigued that just the thought of making a sandwich is too much for me a lot of the time so I buy preprepared food. Yet I have the energy each day to take a bus to my supermarket and buy binge food. So of course this fatigue is all in my head.

Today I was sent some photographs of myself taken recently on a day out. I barely recognised the woman in them. Huge arms. Rolls of fat and a disappearing chin. I look ten years older than I am. How did this happen without me realising? Perhaps because I refuse to have a full length mirror in the house.

Self harm scars can be hidden from most people. Drunkeness can often be explained away as socialising. But fat is seen by everyone. From the kids on the street who shout ”ugly cow” to the men in the pub who push their friend into you and shout ”she’s yours” whilst they all laugh.

Yes I eat too much. No I don’t exercise. Yes it’s my fault. God I know all that. But when you see that fatty on the street, stop to think for a second. Would anyone who was happy really let themselves get into that state? From the moment I wake up I panic about where I can get food from. I’m sat here right now obsessing about the indian food in my fridge. I’ve tried Weightwatchers, National Slimming Centres, Atkins, Caveman diet. I’ve tried swimming until someone laughed at me. I’ve tried exercise dvd’s at home but just can’t motivate myself. Every time I attempt to restrict my binges the urge to cut comes back ten times worse. So I have a choice between scars or fat. Hobsons choice. I wish I could starve myself.