I want my story to be heard, as I want the stories of all mental patients to be heard.
In the fall of 1995(August, I believe), when I was a freshwoman in highschool, I started taking Paxil. I weighed 154 lbs. I was depressed, and it worked for me. That, among other things like love and art, brought me out. I stabalized at 20 mg a month or two after taking it. I still went through rough patches (I gained 20 lbs.), but I did okay. I felt like me. Then I went to college, and life was wonderful, but challenging (down to 165 lbs.).
Things started to get bad the tail end of Softmore year of college, Spring 2001. I had gotten lice and shaved my head (I had long hair that I'd promised myself I'd never cut) and I stopped taking Paxil because I hated being tied to drugs and got fed up with the HMO doctors not being avialable.
Junior year, Fall 2001, I moved off campus into a really depressing living situation. Classes were really difficult, and I started getting panic attacks and insomnia. I wondered if I was going crazy, like two of my female relatives both had - in their twenties, no less. I was 20/21 at the time. Just as bad, I had a friend that I had a messed up relationship with, and she was the one I hung out with the most. Maybe we needed each other, in some twisted way. I was also so anxious that I lost 10 lbs. in about 2 weeks, going from 165 to 155 lbs.
Things were hellish, and then, suddenly, they got wonderful. Christmas break came, I started taking Paxil again, and I started seeing a new shrink. Those changes helped give me the courage to get out of my bad living situation, and back on campus, which I loved. Once there, I was so happy, and I met my bestfriend/ boyfriend Robbie, and I was so happy. And so happy. And so happy. And so happy... For two weeks straight.
In other words, I had a 'manic episode.' I was aware of cheerfuly driving myself into the ground. I was also terrified of dying, and went to the emergency room twice. I was anxious. My Dad said all I needed was to relax and get a good night's sleep, but I couldn't. Not after what I had just been through. That fall I had been dragging and kicking and puching myself through life. I couldn't just let go...
I was also on Paxil, which was helping to keep me in happy land. At least, that's what I intuitively felt, and I now know you're not supposed to give Paxil to manic people. But instead of just taking me off Paxil, the doctors decided to put me on something else _in addition_(That kinda pissed me off, and made me feel not listened to).
That something was Saroquel, 2.5 miligrams if I remember correctly. That did not go over well. I went from manic to delusional in a heartbeat. Really bad. I had been somewhat delusional before, but that Saroquel, in trying to get me to sleep, just turned off my rational brain. I can remember telling my Mom something like 'It feels like I'm dreaming.' And then It made me flashback to a nightmare I'd had when I was a little kid. There was an evil lady I had to run away from... suffice to say, it didn't go over well with my Mom. Or the police.
Things haven't really gotten that much better.
