I actually went to the doctor today. Oh yes, I did. I made the appointment last Monday, spent all week having thought-convulsions over it, took over an hour to get dressed this morning cause I was freaking out so hard and almost didn’t go, but I trailed myself round there and did it. And holy fuck, is it unpleasant talking to doctors. I’m sure there are some lovely doctors out there who I’d get on really well with if I met them at a party, but put me in front of one in his or her own office and ask me “So, what can I do for you?” and I freeze up.

So after ten minutes of me throwing my life story and neuroses at this poor guy (history of depression M.E. constant pain stuff going on can’t sleep usually able to override emotion with logic but can’t right now freaking out) he decided the best thing to try would be amitriptyline cause it’s a pain killer, helps with sleeping and is an anti-depressant. So far, so good.

Until I got home and looked it up on the net (I’m totally over-cautious when it comes to prescription medication) and found horror story after horror story. The normal AD side-effects, I can deal with. Puking, dizziness, weird dreams, risk of strange bodily occurrences…that stuff is all fine. I can cope with it, at least long enough to see if the pills are actually helping. But. And it’s a big but. Or a big butt (possibly). Those evil words, the incantation of doom, the invocation of my own personal Satan (not the cool red guy with the horns, but a different one). W-E-I-G-H-T G-A-I-N. Yep, possible weight gain. And so many stories from people who totally porked out when taking amitriptyline.

Now this fucking terrifies me. I already put on a load of weight just from having M.E. and I am not at one with my body right now. I don’t like it. The thought of it getting any bigger really puts the shits up me. Most of the stuff I’ve read says that the weight gain comes from amitriptyline causing an increase in appetite. If this is the case, I’m not really bothered cause what I eat is actually one of the things that this addictive little personality is good at controlling. But I don’t know if that’s definitely the only reason or if there’s some other chemical/physiological reason that amitriptyline makes people gain weight.

I’m on a low dosage and I’m going to try the pills for a few weeks (cause anything is better than what my brain and stupid achey body are up to right now) but fuck, I am so scared of gaining weight. My mind is already running away with thoughts about restricting my diet, about how my own body and it’s urges can’t be trusted. And all that feels very much like my mindset when I was full eating disordered a few years back. I wish I could do real exercise, just to feel like I have some level of control over things, but I can’t.

Note for first-time readers of my blog: Having M.E. means I have a very limited amount of energy, and since I work and have to do normal life stuff which generally uses up this limited energy, there’s not much of it left for other things. Contrary to the myth that graded exercise programmes help with M.E. symptoms, they are often counter-productive and can make matters considerably worse. I have tried graded exercise, and just exercise in general. It’s only a plausible option if I could inject myself with caffeine, never have to do anything else (including work) and have a mountain of painkillers to take afterwards (ie it’s not a plausible option). Just wanted to get that out of the way cause it grates on my nerves having to explain it a whole bundle of times to well-meaning people who have no experience or knowledge of M.E.

I stopped taking sertraline (zoloft) last year or the year before (I can’t remember…I’m crap with timescales) because it was murdering my creativity and ability to give a fuck about anything, and since then have had ups and downs. The ups are times when I can recognise the onset of a panic attack, or pick myself up when I’m feeling low or numb, or laugh at myself when I cry for no reason. The downs are times when I can’t talk myself out of what’s going on in my head, when distractions don’t work, when everything is terrifying and huge and constant. This is the long-term chemical side of depression, not the ’something bad happened and it fucked me up for a while’ side or the ‘I’m feeling a bit down this week’ side.

Even though I know that sometimes a chemical treatment is the best thing for a medical condition, I still have this little voice inside me (umm…not an actual little voice, don’t call the white bus just yet) that says taking anti-depressants is a sign of weakness. The way I’ve been feeling for the last couple of the weeks and the effect it’s had on all areas of my life beat the fuck out of the little voice and screamed “Get some fucking help, you stupid woman!”.

So I did. The doctor was really nice, in an abrupt friday afternoon kind of way, and actually said that I seemed to have a decent awareness of what was going on in my head and any kind of therapy would probably be counter-productive at this stage because I’d end up being over-analysed and that’s no good for anyone. He also accepted me at my word when I explained that my M.E. symptoms weren’t worsened by anxiety or depression. I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands because doctors generally seem to enjoy telling you that your head is fucking your body up, or your body is fucking your head up, rather than just accepting that sometimes both of those things can just be fucked up at once. So I was quizzed on past over-doses (no, at least not self-destructively or intentionally) and sent on my way with my prescription.

So the experiment begins tonight. A new pill. I’ve got a quiet weekend planned so that if I do end up sleeping or vomiting the whole time, I’m not going to miss anything important. I have to go back to the doc in a couple of weeks to see how things are going…and hopefully (please please please) I won’t have turned into a blimp.