I’m still dealing with the side effects of a medication increase. I’ve had to increase my Quetiapine by 100 mg, but so far I’ve only gone up by 50 mg, and I’m writing this before increasing again tonight. I had to split the increase in two because my body absolutely hates sudden jumps in Quetiapine. I’ve been on it for 13 years now, and I’ve increased and decreased the dose many times over the years, usually in response to weight loss or weight gain, so this isn’t unfamiliar territory – just an especially heavy version of it.

The sedation has made me realise a lot about my brain, about depression, and about how utterly useless I become when a task requires thinking and motor control at the same time. There’s a section in this post about the things I’ve done while sedated. You’re free to laugh – I am now. I was not at the time.

My fuse on this increase is shorter than the list of tasks I can currently do effectively. My humour is quieter. And yet, I already know that my son and I will look back on this and say, “Remember the time you forgot soup was hot?” and laugh.

Mindfulness Is Actually Achievable

Quetiapine does this strange thing where I get overwhelming urges to lie down. Standing feels awful, and if I stay upright too long when one of these waves hits, I start getting presyncope. So I’ve been mostly sedentary out of necessity, playing The Long Dark.

Last night I played while listening to the Mass Effect soundtrack, which was accidentally hilarious. My character, Astrid – also voiced by Commander Shepard’s Jennifer Hale – kept saying things like “I can’t carry this weight for much longer.” Except instead of carrying the weight of the galaxy, she was hauling 62 kg of decorations, including a teddy bear, so I could decorate my base.

Then I realised something: I am being mindful. I am actually partaking in mindfulness – and I like it.

The sedation makes me feel like I’ve been hit by a shovel, and somehow that has made mindfulness suddenly achievable because my brain is quiet. Being hit by a medical shovel is apparently what’s required for me to feel zen.

My brain is usually far too noisy. When I’m not heavily sedated during an increase, mindfulness actively worsens my mental health. Slow activities make me spiral. They amplify the constant chatter from the Council of Rhios in my head. They’re better ignored.

That’s why I’ve been playing The Long Dark so much. It’s slow, and I have to be in the right headspace for it. Normally I can’t play slow games like Minecraft or Stardew Valley at all – they make me too aware of the noise in my head. Faster-paced games like Cyberpunk 2077 or Mass Effect are easier because I can play them regardless of what’s going on internally.

This sedation has temporarily put me into a headspace where slowness is tolerable – even comforting. That made me a bit sad, because I know this quiet won’t last once my body adjusts to the increased dose. But I decided to live in it while I can and make the most of it.

I figured that anything that feels remotely nice at the moment is worth encouraging. Playing video games isn’t productive – but it’s not like I can be productive anyway. Any time I try, I end up doing something dumb.

Which leads me to…

Dumb Things I’ve Done While Sedated

I forgot that soup fresh out of the microwave is molten lava and that oven gloves exist. After running my hands under cold water, I sat down and ate it immediately – forgetting again that it was still far too hot – and burned both my fingers and my mouth.

In Lidl, my body forgot how to coordinate muscles. I tried to grab XXL protein shakes from the top shelf, and it went terribly. They all fell onto the floor, drawing far too much attention. I bought all of them out of guilt.

I got confused about the concept of food running out. I opened the fridge multiple times hoping food would reappear, forgetting I’d already eaten it. Then I felt sad because I had no memory of eating it.

I loaded the dishwasher, put the pod in, closed it… and didn’t turn it on. Later I wondered why it was broken when all the dishes were still dirty. I pulled out my soup bowl and thought, “Why does this still have soup in it? Have I already eaten my soup?”.

I ran a bath for ten minutes, added soap, went back to check it – and realised I hadn’t put the plug in. Turns out the plug is a highly necessary component of keeping water in the tub. Who knew?

I made a coffee, zoned out, drank it, and came back to myself holding an empty mug. I felt sad because my anchor – a black coffee in silence – was something I’d done without being aware of it. I was so sure I hadn’t drunk it that I touched the coffee machine to see if it was warm. It was. The day felt wrong after that, like something important was missing.

This isn’t even all of it, but I cannot remember all of them. That’s probably for the best.

The Depression Slips Through the Cracks

Every now and then, as my body adjusts to the dose, I get a wave of clarity. And in those moments, I realise just how depressed I am underneath it all.

One minute I’m mindfully playing The Long Dark, and the next I’m hit with reality, presenting itself like an unsolicited TED Talk on Life, the Universe, and Everything. It feels like the real me peeking through, fighting the sedation – slipping through the cracks of the Quetiapine armour. Only it’s immediately obvious how depressed I am beneath it.

I still feel dread. I go from barely knowing what month or even year it is, to suddenly being acutely aware that it’s January. A new year. And that the anniversary of losing my best friend is approaching fast.

I want to hide. Isolate. Disappear. I struggle to see the point in doing anything.

I start thinking my son hates me for being quiet and down, because he’s being quiet too – even though I know he has a lot going on himself right now. I know, logically, that if I were causing him grief he would tell me to my face, bluntly, without hesitation. But depression lies anyway. And right now, I believe it far more than I usually would, even with everything I’ve written here telling me otherwise.

Just as I start dropping deeper into that black hole – spiralling, succumbing to the brain entropy of everything, everywhere, all at once – another wave of sedation hits. I’m back in The Long Dark, feeling like my mission to rescue all five teddy bears is vitally important. I walk mindfully with Astrid and escape back into the fictional universe of Great Bear Island.

Either that, or I get so tired my brain can’t even form sentences, let alone sustain a depressive monologue.

I’m in a strange, medically induced purgatory – waiting for everything to settle, to work, to stabilise. In the meantime, even drinking enough water each day feels difficult, because my cues are sedated too.

Quetiapine Hunger – and the Lack Thereof

The changes to my hunger cues – or lack of them – since increasing Quetiapine have made me realise that a lot of what I’ve experienced over the years as “faulty hunger” may actually be medication-related.

I can go all day without a single hunger cue. Around 7-8 pm I might get a mild one. Then, at about 11 pm, I get very intense hunger cues. This doesn’t change even if I eat regularly during the day. I’ve tried. They tell you not to “save calories for later,” but it genuinely makes no difference here. Given that I’m in recovery from an eating disorder, it’s actually far more comfortable – physically and mentally – to eat when I’m genuinely hungry rather than forcing food when my body is giving me nothing back.

The intense hunger comes with intense cravings, specifically for greasy, fatty food. The greasy part is essential. I’m imagining fat-soaked burger buns while writing this. Microwave Rustlers burgers, of all things, feature heavily – which is deeply annoying because they’re not exactly nutritious. They’re edible, but in the same way cornstarch packing peanuts are edible – technically speaking. I’ve never once, while playing Cyberpunk 2077, thought, “Wow, that synthetic food sounds delicious,” but Rustlers burgers would absolutely belong in Night City.

“You shouldn’t moralise food.” I’m sorry – microwave burgers are morally questionable. Why wouldn’t you just get a burger from the hot counter? They seem to exist solely for this exact scenario I’m in. (I am mostly being sarcastic here – but still, if a Pot Noodle is the healthier choice, questions must be asked.)

I’ve had my microwave-burger days. I know from experience that responding to those cravings would make me feel atrocious, but the craving itself remains stubbornly present. I’ve eaten Greggs sausage rolls. I’ve eaten the last festive bake of the year. Apparently that wasn’t sufficient. It needs to be dripping in grease.

What’s particularly odd is that these cravings don’t respond at all to “healthy fats.” It has to be saturated. It has to be greasy. Meanwhile, eating during the day is genuinely difficult, and when hunger finally arrives it’s asking for food that would absolutely wreck me physically.

Drinking has also been a struggle. My thirst cues are largely absent, so I have to force fluids. The act of drinking feels horrible – it makes me nauseous, then puts me off food even more. I have no idea why. It’s just drinking, yet my body reacts like it’s an ordeal.

At the moment I’m mostly living on soup with sourdough. It’s easier to eat and far more comforting than “proper” food. My burrito bowl feels like too much effort to even think about, let alone prepare. And honestly, given the dumb things I’ve done while sedated, it’s probably wise to stay away from sharp knives and the fine motor control required to make cucumber sticks.

I did find Biscoff Creme Eggs in Lidl today though, so there is that. A small light shining in the darkness of absent – or aggressively intense – hunger cues. I really miss my Biscoff advent calendar but now i have an Easter version… In January.

Biscoff the bear is very happy.

When All Is Sedated and Done

I’ve just been hit by another sedative shovel mid-writing, so I suppose this is how this story ends. I need to go and lie down again to get enough energy back to make soup. Apparently this post took more out of me than I realised.

I didn’t get to the part where I talk about how sedation strips away my ability to mask my depression – how I’m now just very obviously depressed, without the energy to put a brave face on it. Oh well.

Here’s to increasing it again tonight. If past experience is anything to go by, the second increase doesn’t stack – it just stretches this one out a little longer.

The music I’ve been listening to while playing The Long Dark:-