Tag Archives: emotional

MEDS 2


1mednation1

Written previously, but freshly revised.

MEDS 1

So maybe I don’t need fixing?  Maybe I’m perfectly normal except for a few bipolar episodes a month.  Maybe I’m perfectly normal except that relationships are hard to manage under the waves of my high and low bipolar episodes.  Unfortunately these episodes can last throughout the days, weeks, months and years.  These episodes are rapid, can appear without sudden warning and sometimes when I’m outside looking in, I wonder about the duality of everything, the possibility of borderline personality disorder and about the strife everywhere in life.

As a result six months later after ongoing therapy I told the psychiatrist I would finally be ready to give medication a try and to my surprise she wasn’t super elated about it.  I wonder if that meant anything aside from her not caring about making a difference in her position.  The first medication she prescribed was called Lamictal.  The interesting or unnerving thing about this medication is it’s actually considered an anti-epileptic (anticonvulsant) drug, if you can believe it.

This nutty psychiatrist prescribed Lamictal to me based on my bipolar disorder (to delay the episodes) and because she believed I could use additional assistance for weight loss.  In any case, I was determined to give this a shot, so I took it with dedication for 3 months.  Naturally, during the course, I went through many side effects and even if they lasted a mere day I wrote them all down.  It was 2 decades almost exactly since I’ve taken any medication.  Here’s how my brain and body reacted:

General sensation of always being sick
General weakness
Fatigue (Extreme)
Sluggishness
Flu like symptoms
Unbalanced (Clumsiness, loss of balance control)
Forgetfulness (like experiencing memory loss)
Emotional Lability
Body Aches
Tender Breasts
Back pain
Nausea
Loss of appetite
Headaches
Stomach pain (Cramps)
Extra menstrual pain
Indigestion/Heartburn
Taste alteration (Either food taste better or disgusting)
Sweat increase
Sneezing
Nosebleeds
Ringing of ears
Itchiness
Insomnia
Body sacs (like Folliculitis)
Frequent urination
Diarrhea
Constipation/Bloody Stool
Can’t remember dreams

At first all the side effects above were consistent for the first 2 weeks.  Then after the 2 weeks were up many of the side effects began to taper off as my body started to adjust without flu-like symptoms.  However, these are the side effects that remained on a regular basis:  An overwhelming desire to eat more Carbs than usual, extra Perspiration (even if I sat/stood still) and Headaches, Headaches, Headaches.  But WAIT!  There’s more.

In the beginning the one side effect that bothered me the most was the drowsiness; the feeling of perpetual sleepiness and overall weakness.  Every day I was completely exhausted.  During this sensible time, I was fighting with myself and wondering once again where my workout motivation disappeared to?  Lamictal exhausted my entire system where for an entire month I couldn’t even get a single workout in.

The most prominent side effect (for me) that I can’t even explain, (but I’m sure somewhere there’s a terminology for it) tampered with who I am as a person.  I’m not stupid enough to NOT believe changing or altering your brain/body’s chemistry wouldn’t affect your personality because it most certainly does.  To me, this is one of the scariest things about taking a psychiatric pill, aside from consciously knowing you’re putting something extremely foreign in your body.

Lamictal affected one of the most personal parts of who I am – I could no longer write.  I had zero desire for it.  I felt like an entirely different person because of this.   All my life I’ve written for school, tried my hand at screenplays, poetry, short stories and as you know blogging.  So I’m like how could this be?  No desire to write.

This was changing me in ways I wasn’t even ready for and I was doing my best to be objective about it.  I would try sitting down at the table, hand caressing pen to paper, so I can come up with a single sentence and nothing would come out.  It’s like the thought process couldn’t process a single thought.  It’s like words meant nothing to me anymore and neither did the desire to express myself.

I felt severely inept and like I didn’t have any emotional response when it came to writing which blew my fucking mind!  What kind of sorcery was this?  This was when I decided I didn’t want to be on Lamictal anymore.  It was a shock to my system that my brain and body reacted rather extreme.

So when I expressed to the nutty psychiatrist that Lamictal has changed me to the point where I don’t feel like myself anymore and I can’t even write anymore which is something I love doing, she says nonchalantly, “I never heard of this.  This doesn’t seem possible.  Let’s try something else.”

To be continued.

-Pennington

DOMS & Addiction Stirrings



Emotional pain is an addiction.

When I think of this fact,  my mind goes into a line I read somewhere, “When a person is continuously stress by emotional pain, there are subtle changes in the body that creates a dependency on stress-related chemistry.”

Is the key word in this line: Dependency or Chemistry?
Or did you find another?

This reminds me of other crying out forms of fixations like depression, food, sex, porn, drugs, alcohol, exercise, justification of the Self and giving way to Ego.  Everything’s an addiction if you wish it to be.  And in my life I’ve went through different types of addictions.  But physical affliction in some form has always been treasured in my beating heart.  Where my mind would crave a razor to skin, my fist to fracture a wall or pills to induce an attention whore suicide:  LOOK AT ME!  I know what it’s like to want to rob your life away because cleaning up your existence in a blink of a rep feels like sweet freedom is right on the other side.

Oh, wait, you  never thought like this? 😉
Well then.  Excuse me.

DOMS feels like a dangerous phenomenon to me.  One I absolutely am obsessed to play with in the pits of violent fire.  I’m completely in love with the euphoria from an endorphins rush.  I’m addicted to the pain I can cause within my muscle bellies and dare I say it?  Sadly my joints.  It’s beyond the rising blood of a bold pump or the voluminous cells and formidable twitching of slow or haste fibers.  I take great pride in the immense pleasure or brutal tenderness of muscle soreness.  At this point in the game, I work like a crazy horse to build a forceful, grinding teeth, overloading rich sore stimulus.  I’m thirsty to hurt!

I’ve yet to grasp the full scope of excitement and arousal levels.  Or even why I hide my smile behind a hood or distract myself by biting down on my bottom lip (something new) in public as if I’m keeping a harassing secret?  All I know is I want no end and I always pine for the beginning, for the straightforward permanence of destruction.  To me, it’s dark, crazy beautiful and downright disgusting!  With a bundle of these emotions and forces I’m drawn deeply in an entanglement of glory, devotion of pain, sufferer of pleasure.

Now, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking on:  BDSM?   To best honest, I’ve never dabbled in nothing more but the occasional whipping, candle wax drippings, tying hands/feet with rope, which was typically seen coming (this doesn’t count, right?).   But nothing where I’m submitting to a partner as a master while I howl at the moon because nipple clamps are about to make me bleed and beatings leave me paralyzed in humiliation.

Mostly because I don’t necessarily enjoy the thought of men abusing me with domination.  I like the Illusion of Control just as much as the next person.  However now I’m wondering if perhaps I must enter an unfamiliar territory in order to understand the different doors within that may be locked?  Maybe this will lead to clues as to where this premeditated arousal affliction to muscle soreness comes from despite the emotional pain on the surface?

Perhaps I’m performing small acts of Light Bondage, Slight Discipline and Sadomasochism without truly giving it conscious thought?  I do enjoy a hard tightening of the grip around my wrists to the point of turning the skin around white as circulation begins to trip itself out and cut blood.  Or the insistence pressure of weight pinning my body down on a cushion of sorts or against a wall.  Or even when my legs, hips or shoulders are being used for thrusting/leverage purposes.  Still my definitive preference is the act of sensual love making.  Pardon me.  *nervous laughter*  I digress.

There are things I’ve yet to discover about myself.  But the growing need for poking, prodding, stretching, tensing, flexing, lengthening, contracting, massaging and drilling my sore muscles as I become invincibly aroused is obsessive compulsive for longer than what I could remember.  Only difference is now I embraced the pain and addiction a good deal.

To end this, there are some folks who believe I train for muscle endurance and  this couldn’t be further from the truth.  Things seem one way always when they really are screaming another.  I train with moderate weights and high reps or collectively with exercise combinations to build extreme muscle soreness.  With sustaining injuries and injuries forever waiting to happen I could only go so heavy all the time.

And this is where I stop. 🙂

-Penn