Running on Vibes and Wellbutrin

 Because it's definitely not sleep.

There was a lot of reluctance in writing about medications and the vast space between psychology appointments. I'm looking at my page trying to remind myself that one of the best books I've read was a memoir on C-PTSD and all the dark parts it outlined, so I can carry on believing that there's meaning to the words I keep dotting on my screen.

When I was diagnosed with MDD (major depressive disorder), it wasn't really a shock nor an epiphany. The whole time I thought it was just the big SAD (seasonal affective disorder), and all I had to do was wait around for the respite and warmth of summer. 

To my dismay however, I started Wellbutrin, with the hopes that somehow this would be the cure all (because I remain, in fact, delusional, while knowing it's unrealistic). And as the words left my psychologist's mouth, I immediately had to combat the stigma of being on medication, along with the anxieties of the laundry list of side effects. Shutting out the voices of the past that depression meant mentally weak, and taking the pill was admitting defeat. 
I also knew that antidepressants held the chance of weight gain, and with my already skyrocketed body dysmorphia and slightly unhealthy relationship with food, I refused that idea with gusto. I continued my mantra of everything is fine and this would all just blow away with the wind.
Until, of course, I found I couldn't anymore and gave in to the guise of "leveling out". 

I didn't immediately see negative symptoms, and I had let out a huge breath of relief. 
Alas, 5 days later, insomnia hit me like a freight train. After not sleeping properly in a week, and it also taking away my ability to nap after work, I crumpled into a mess of exhaustion and tears (and it happened more than once).
I was exasperated with sleep not being effortless anymore, and the growing fatigue that enveloped my body. 
I was overcome with the concept that when I returned from my trip, things would go back to "normal", and feeling this was very much not the case even with being home for 2 months now.
I have since got my hands on a melatonin/magnesium supplement that sort of helps, although I still wake up at least once in the night where I groan and turn myself over in bed.

I had heavy anticipation for the follow up with my psychologist, half expecting she would have magic to get me to sleep and to assure me this was all temporary. How far from the truth that was.
We talked about switching medications instead, that the part where I sleep was important to the recovery we were working towards, with little comforting affirmations that the decision to start them was worth it in the first place. I cried in her office talking about the trial and error I dreaded when we began.
She tried to go into how opening old wounds would feel like this, that we keep showing up on the road to healing, and that is resilience. She was really trying to hype me up, but being sleep deprived, all I could really muster was telling her how brutally tired I was. For someone paying the average amount for therapy these days, I was a little disappointed in myself for not having a perceptually more productive session. She promised somatic exercises and ripping out the past, which we have not gotten to, and I blame it on this damn prescription.
So off I went with her cliche statements; "it gets worse before it gets better", "there is meaning to this suffering, a purpose", and some other one that escapes me but I remember we laughed at, because of course it had to be said.
She did tell me though, that my manager can go sit on a tack, and that might truly be the best medical advice. 

I know deep down I need to get over the resistance to changing to something different, but for now I've temporarily decided to ride out my Wellbutrin wave and see how big it gets. Whether this is sound, we've yet to figure out, and if I get swallowed up in it, I guess my fear of drowning is valid. Unless it's - (awful line incoming) - waves of sleep on the sea of REM.