…ain’t gonna happen. At least not for awhile. Just for the hell of it, I went ahead and asked Dr. Goodenough about possibly coming down or even off a couple of my medications. I’m on SO many and I don’t seem to be able to get it out of my head that I’m taking too much. I know other bipolar 1’s who get by on three or four; why can’t I?
To his credit, Dr. G had some ideas: we could try going up on the Geodon and down on the Zyprexa, or vice-versa. We could also try tapering off the Trazodone since it doesn’t seem to be doing much for me. But in the end, he said “Let’s just leave things as they are and we’ll talk about it again later.” “Later” turns out to be three months, as I don’t have to go back until August. That’s good news because it means I’m stable enough to not need close supervision, but it also means I can’t experiment until then. And August seems like a long way away.
Still, Dr. G’s lack of enthusiasm for my plans tells me it’s probably best to let sleeping dogs lie. He said the same thing I always say—“if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.” Besides, I go through this every spring, wanting to reduce my medication burden when the fact is, this “cocktail” works. I know better than to tinker with it on my own, and I won’t, especially now that it’s silly season and I’m vulnerable to fits of hypo/mania. I think Dr. G is just waiting me out, figuring I’ll give up on med changes once I get through the spring and most of the summer. And he’s probably right; I usually lose the urge to fuss with my regimen around the time the angle of the sun’s light is a little lower.
And Lord knows I don’t want to either go ape shit, or lose my happy thoughts. I know how bad it can get, both ways. The only thing that stands between me and disaster is the eight medications I take for psychiatric reasons. This combination was carefully crafted for me, and except for some mild depressive and hypomanic episodes, it’s kept me out of the hospital and out of trouble for years. I don’t spend outrageous amounts of money or overdraw my bank account; my credit card is not maxed out. I don’t become suicidal or reckless. I find it possible to treat my fellow man kindly and smile at people going in or coming out of the grocery store. I’m not paranoid or delusional, and I don’t see cats where there are none (and wouldn’t ordinarily be, like in the ER). I don’t even have as much trouble sleeping anymore. So why on earth would I want to mess with the magic formula?
I guess I really don’t, after all. Maybe it’s better this way. I’m stable, and if I could do it on fewer meds I would, but I can’t…at least not at this point. Who knows, I may feel totally differently in three months and not even want to experiment. That’s the thing with bipolar, anyway; we can’t plan that far in advance because we don’t know how we’re going to feel in three DAYS, let alone three months.
In the meantime, there are two puppies playing at my feet and wanting attention. Good-night!