I have just been to visit the GP for a check-up after having a rather nasty infection in my pelvic cavity, I had already popped the magic pills (Tramadol) so I knew I would be able to go alone.
Sitting in the surgery waiting room I feel it, my heart starts racing, palms of my hands become sweaty and that little voice telling me “Behave you stupid women, people are looking at you”.
I bury myself into a magazine and try to concentrate. I feel a rush of relief when my name is called.
I knock. I go in. I sit down. I smile.
I have painted my face on today and I feel OK. The Tramadol is working I feel it, running deep into my veins, it’s a false sense of security I have created with this drug and never yet have I had to face the sad reality that I am addicted to my happy pill.
After an internal examination and the all clear I cannot wait to get out of that room. But she tells me to take a seat.
“She knows” that voices tell me “Now you’re in trouble”.
She questions me about why I have not been back for my last months’ supply of antidepressants. I feel my heart sink, my hands shake and my voice becomes weak.
“I stopped taking them 6 weeks ago”.
I am prepared for a lecture, that same lecture I give out daily to others who do just what I have done. I should of all people know better.
“I am taking Tramadol instead”
After a flurry of questions, I buckle under the heat and I admit to my dirty little secret. I can’t get through a day without taking them.
She is great, does not judge and agrees with me that they calm me, yet are no good for me and the medication they have prescribed me will do a better job.
I find myself agreeing to take Citalopram and Trazodone instead. I promise I will this time take it daily and give it time to work. I tell her of my frustration of the mental health team, how they see me perhaps every 3 months if they have a spare appointment, the GP makes a note to personally contact them.
“Shit will I get my CPN into trouble now?”
I have under her instructions agreed to reduce my dose of my own happy pills, taking just 1 less each day or every other day. Until I am taking none, I am frightened. She has assured me they are safe to take with the other pills which reassure me a little. I still have a backup plan.
The thoughts have never gone away, I have just learned to deal with them, hide them from others.
My secret is out and now I have to try to get better, all over again. I have never given these medications time to work. I don’t like taking them, yet I have the biggest fight to face now and I have to learn to accept that I need medication. I feel I have lost.
The bipolar has won again. I will never be free.
