First, the confession. I messed with my meds. I know, I know. Intellectually, at least. They've been working so well too. Have usually been able to talk sense to myself enough to not do it. But. Started to get a fear -- pretty rational actually-- that I wouldn't be able to stay on my med. Why? No insurance anymore (divorced, and I'd previously been told I'd have it till September), out of state move and have no P-doc (or any other kind of doc), making another move shortly so in limbo of getting set back up with one or if I'll even be able to, financially, because I'm also unemployed now (and not eligible for unemployment. I left the job -- all 8 or so hours a week of it-- to move.) And how's this for classic? With the new BF, I've felt TONS better than in so long, that I really thought I could get away with it. Soooo, thinking on all this, I decided to lower my dosage (Lamictal) from 200 mg/day to 100 mg/day, thinking the longer I can make it last, the more time I'll have to try to get properly set up, or, barring that, to maintain the balance it's given me that I've never had (and have been oh-so-appreciative of). It's been 2 weeks. Today I woke up a bit of a mess, thinking very negatively and feeling that impending doom on the horizon. To be fair, there were also a couple of nights previous to this waking up in the middle of the night and basically fretting with that blender of dominoes in my head, whirling 'round and 'round.

I'm upping it to 150, and counting everthing out to see how long I have to either get it together or ramp it down safely (don't want to, but may not have a choice). Realistic enough to know that if I don't get it to a working level, my catastophic thinking *will* come true because I'll be so depressed (the "impending doom" -- been there too many times to not recognize the sign) that I won't be able to function well enough to make it happen. With the next move, one of my first orders of business will be looking into what's available, even though it is one of my huge fears (I am in complete fear about asking for help of any kind and even more afraid of negative responses. Past experiences have reinforced this as a realistic fear, though I do realize that part of it is me not being able to admit/express just how badly I need something. And the least negative response spirals me big time. Then I really can't ask. A big frustrating circle.)

Ugh. Sometimes I really really hate my brain. Sorry this is so long, but I just had to get it out. This is the only place I feel remotely comfortable enough talking about it. I know I screwed up. Am trying to fix it, but still freaking out over the very issues that initially brought on my stupidity.

Deep breath. Send.