When I went on Wellbutrin 15+ years ago, I described the effect not as a lightening of mood, so much as lightening (as in providing light) on my ability to judge. Faced with a negative situation, say something as simple as spilling a glass of water, with Wellbutrin, I could look at it and subconsciously choose to be frustrated, or sigh, or even laugh it off as another example of my clumsy self. Before Wellbutrin, the situation provoked no alternatives but to see yet another reason why I could not do anything right, why I should just give up, why I was completely worthless.
It is not hyperbolic to claim that in 1998 Wellbutrin saved me – all 300 Extended release milligrams of it. The dips, even the deepest, since then have usually accompanied some adjustment of that dosage – going off of it for Eliot’s pregnancy and post-partum nursing year, modulating it during the infertility years, and adjusting it during Auden’s pregnancy.
This is the worst depression to hit that accompanied a standing regular dosage of 300mg.
So, my psychiatrist increased my dose to 300XLmg with a 75mg non-XL boost in the morning. It has admittedly made the daily steps from point A to point B more navigable, but the fog still permeates everything and makes the path more perilous. I started seeing my infertility therapist, Madeline, about a month ago. From what I can tell, she is approaching this on two fronts – helping me tease apart why the depression has taken hold and attempting to give me some behavioural tools to manage the unexpected anxiety attacks, the ease with which I can mentally catastrophize most situations.
Fortunately, I have not sunk so far as to start sabotaging, but I can see it peeking its head over the horizon.