Well, let's move on to the biggies here - my hospitalization and my meds. (Now, just a note here: I'm not detailing my hospitalization - that part will be in my book). If you read through my past several posts (go ahead, I'll wait . . . done? Good.), you'll notice that I was getting progressively worse. I was having severe depressive downswings where I would start sobbing out of nowhere. Sobs full of pain and despair and hopelessness. Sobs full of thoughts of death, a desire to die.
These downswings were worsening and coming more frequently over about a week's time, each day drawing me deeper into depression. I knew where I was headed. I knew what needed to be done. I knew . . . but I dare not say it.
Wednesday the 18th I had therapy with M. I had been crying in the parking lot before hand, but had myself under control before walking into the office.
Or so I thought.
I broke down again as M was coming out to bring me back to his office. I tried to stop, tried to hide it, tried to play it off as nothing. But let's be honest - M is a smart guy and sobbing uncontrollably usually means something is wrong . . . am I right?
He asked what was going on and I told him I didn't know. I had been like this all week long, each day getting worse, passively suicidal on Monday. But I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't know why, just that it was getting worse each day.
He asked what we needed to do. I shook my head. I don't know, I said . . . though I did. And so did he.
"I think you need to go to the hospital." Boom. It was out. I sobbed harder. "I want you to call J, and give the phone to me. He needs to either meet you here or at your house and take you in. You need to go to the hospital."
I looked at him through bleary eyes, my lip quivering, and nodded. I fished my phone out of my purse and called my husband. M talked to him, told him what was going on, and they came up with a game plan - we would finish our session and when I was leaving I would call J to meet me at the house. From there . . . hospital.
I looked at M feeling defeated. "This is my second hospitalization in a month." I shook my head as more tears threatened to fall.
"Cami, I've never seen you this bad. Even at your worst, I haven't seen you this bad. You need to go in." I nodded slowly.
We talked about the previous week, of the worsening depression. It came on so fast. So much change in just a week. It didn't make sense to me.
And then it did.
I had an idea. What if it was the Latuda? The new antipsychotic I had been put on? My first random bouts of crying started the day after my first dose . . . It was possible, wasn't it? Antidepressant commercials and med inserts warn about worsening depression and suicidal thoughts and actions, so why not an antipsychotic? It seemed plausible.
And was confirmed by Dr. S in the hospital.
When I stopped taking the Latuda in the hospital, the sobbing, horrific depressive downswings stopped. Almost immediately. There was a hug change in me between Wednesday and Friday (and thank GOD for several reasons - one of which was the ability to then go home on Saturday!). Sudden onset coinciding with starting the med, and sudden disappearance of episodes with the discontinuance of the med.
Latuda literally made me crazy.
Dr. S swapped out the Latuda for Geodon - a tried and true med that has been around for a long time (Latuda has been on the market about a year). She's had very good success with a Geodon and Lithium combo - and I've already been on lithium for awhile.
So I'm hopeful now. I'm feeling more like myself - a lot more. I'm actually feeling happiness and contentment and joy. I'm still having some swings - I'll suddenly have a wave of depression wash over me - but it's mild and short lived. But I can say that I'm me.
I'm me. And that's huge.
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