They changed my diagnosis from depression to bipolar 2, but I guess this is where this fits the best. Last week I was started on lamotrigine, clonazepam (for sleep and/or panic attacks), and wellbutrin xl. In descending order, the wellbutrin theoretically helps me feel happier, the clonazepam makes sure that if I freak out I have an immediate option, and the lamotrigine keeps me from swinging too far one way or the other. Like I said, it's only been a week, and sometimes, I actually feel like a normal person. Then there will be a lull in the conversation and I start having trouble keeping thoughts together, or I'll forget what I'm saying mid-sentence. Writing things down helps. But I get home, and it's like a switch is flipped. I don't know why I try to pretend. I just want to sleep all the time, because if I'm asleep then I'm not doing anything wrong. This is not the first time I've been on medication for emotional instability, just the most recent. In high school I saw a counselor for a while, but he stopped our sessions because he "didn't want either of us to get too emotionally attached." I'm still not sure how unnerved I should be by that, but I only see female counselors now. Back then, I bit my nails down so far they sometimes bled, and even so would sometimes manage to scratch my left wrist so hard/much that I got through the top layer of skin. I play guitar now, so I grew my nails out. The scratching has started again, but the marks come a lot quicker. Most of the time I walk around in a fog. I say the right things, I get to where I need to be. My makeup looks good. But then there are times like on Tuesday when I couldn't help thinking that maybe, if I just had less blood in me, I would feel better. I started trying to figure out where on my arm (it's always my left arm) I could cut that would be low down by my wrist but wouldn't harm and motor function. This somehow prompted a jagged spiral doodle that was the entirety of my notes for that class. I have a cat and a dog. I've had my cat since October, when my old cat died after a year-long battle with renal failure. This cat, like my old cat, keeps me going. The dog I adopted yesterday. He is a dachshund/chihuahua mix who is having to learn that he is not allowed to growl at my cat. My boyfriend worries that every time I go further towards self-harm, I'll adopt something to take care of. I assured him I do not have the funds for that. The lamotrigine is starting to kick in, in that I am starting to want to sleep, but I guess all of this weird, rambling insanity has a point. Which is: am I getting worse because of the medication? I am definitely getting worse. Or am I just falling further and further into this hole on my very own? Does anyone have experience with any of these, good, bad, or indifferent? I am seeing my counselor tomorrow, and will be telling her all of this, but I swear 75% of what she does is nod at me, tell me that sometimes we just need to allow ourselves to feel bad, and then ask me which pharmacy I want the script faxed to. She is my college's counselor. I am stuck in an Eddie Izzard joke: pills or death? Pills, I suppose. But is there something I'm missing?