New definition of exhaustion

Last Saturday, as I mentioned on my last post, I had to sleep 11 hours out of complete exhaustion. I thought Sunday I would feel refreshed and ready to continue to fight my battles but I ended up sleeping 12 hours. I only left my apartment last weekend to have dinner at my mom’s on Sunday. She said my eyes looked really sleepy but I was in a good mood and the dinner went well. Monday morning I didn’t hear the alarm because I was in a such a deep sleep. When I finally got up, I went to the kitchen first and then went to the bathroom. I have a vague memory of a feeling of nausea taking over my body and then the lights went out. I passed out.

This was probably caused by low blood pressure. I usually have low blood pressure and spending most of the weekend in bed probably didn’t help. But what I find funny is that I woke up, and as I didn’t know where I was or what happened, I let myself blackout a second time. This to me became a new definition of exhaustion – when you let yourself lose consciousness because trying to figure out where you are and what happened is such an effort you don’t even try. I was actually quite comfortable with my system shutting down. Losing consciousness is apparently the only way to make sure I don’t worry about anything. It’s the only way my mind actually takes some time off. Because even when I’m sleeping I’m in such distress. Last week one night I dreamed I was being stalked and another night I dreamed I was trying to kill myself. Last night I dreamed I was running because I had witnessed a crime and they were after me. It involved running down endless flights of stairs and finally trying to escape on a motorcycle (never drove one in my entire life). I haven’t been watching movies or TV (no time for that) so I don’t think that could be an influence. But I can’t figure out my subconscious agenda either.

When I woke up the second time I managed to get up. I realized I had bruises on my knees, shoulder and face. I also cut my lip. I think I literally fell on my face. Had it been more serious, I wonder what it could have happened to me. I live by myself, so how long it would have taken for someone to help me if I could not do it myself? Better not even think about it.

Supposedly, my psychiatrist took me off escitalopram and put me on Prozac to help me be more “up”. When I first started reading about MS, I learned that Prozac is one of three drugs sometimes prescribed to help with fatigue. I don’t know what Prozac is doing, but I’m certainly not more “up” and I’m certainly not less tired. I don’t think that was the deal.

Speaking of meds, I finally know what my new MS drug is going to be, after failed attempts with Avonex and Copaxone. It’s still going to take a while before I start, but I will sure keep you posted.