My psychiatrist advised adding Ritalin to the antidepressant (Luvox) he currently has me on, to try to combat the soul-draining fatigue that’s come with it. Don’t really think it’s doing a thing for the depression either, but that’s another story.
At any rate, he directed me very clearly on how to take the Ritalin. One pill first thing in the morning. Then another at precisely 12:00 noon. I may split the pills for a while if I feel the need to try a lower dose. If it’s working, I will know right away (and boy, will I know). It will stop working abruptly at 4pm, but do not under any circumstances take any after 12:00, as it could seriously muck with my sleeping.
This morning my husband is running too late for us to have our usual breakfast together, so I wake up around noon (see soul-draining fatigue) and creep out to the kitchen to take my first pill. My heart is a little bit aflutter about this, as it’s now been more than four months since I wasn’t in a medication-induced semi-comatose sleep haze. Think of all the things I might get done today! I could make a phone call! And send that fax! And put on socks (and I don’t even like socks!)!
So I carefully split my tiny-dose pill in half. I know my physiology well enough by now to know that if something “may have mild side effects,” it will knock me flat on my ass. I choose the smallest half. I get some water. I take the pill. I stand in the kitchen for a moment like an idiot, like fairy dust will start flying off me within seconds of swallowing it. Around 20 minutes later, I am still feeling nothing, so I creep back to the kitchen and take the other half of that pill. Then I go sit on the couch like I normally would. Because it is early. And I am exhausted.
Fast forward to 2:30pm. The plumber is here to look at our washing machine area (the trials of which are a novella of their own). I am still on the couch. I am still exhausted. I am secretly wondering if maybe I’ve had ADD for the last thirty-some years and just didn’t know it. I think very hard to see if I can suddenly concentrate more clearly. I do not think I can.
It is ten after seven in the evening. I am in the kitchen. I abruptly start singing to the frozen pizza I am holding. I want to paint the house. And my cat. I am hyper. Hoo-boy, am I hyper. I am overwhelmingly, dazzlingly, dance around because I cannot seem to sit down hyper. …And exhausted. There is fairy dust.
What the heck is wrong with my body chemistry?