I feel like fucking shit. I don't have the strength to roll over in bed, so I am stuck in one spot and wake with countless aches and pains - it's like someone is beating me during my sleep every night. Well, when I actually sleep. I get an average of 2-4 hours a night so that is hardly sleep. Speaking of sore, my knees are SCREAMING from the added weight that I am carrying. I can see my ass parked in a rolling fat cart if this keeps up because the gain has been so much, so fast, that any more weight will make it impossible to walk. Standing is torturous. STANDING.
I have to stop this medication that I desperately need to stay alive. How will I do that? Which would you choose? I will not survive. I will take enough pills to fall asleep on the tracks and wait for the next train. In the alternative, I will continue down this road - each day gaining a few more pounds and looking more and more like a monster. Each day hiding the beautiful person beneath. When people see fat they see slovenly, lazy, stupid, gluttonous. They do not see illness, sadness, despair, hopelessness.
They do not see me.
I have been sqawking about the weight gain to my psych team for weeks now - since the beginning - and neither of my mental health team members seem to give a shit. They are only interested in getting me into a hospital. I was nearly blue-papered twice. I'm not insane - I just need some assistance with these medications, assholes.
The fact is that the medications are not working. While they may be pulling the poles in, they are not stopping the mad swinging between them. I still go from manic to depressive in a matter of minutes, several times a day. I don't want to kill myself - that is the only change.
Whoopdefuckingdoo.
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Regards, TMR