I don’t blog that regularly anymore because I don’t feel like I have anything witty to say anymore. I’m just existing, living a
normal average life. Can’t complain about that, really.
I did A LOT of that ^ yesterday. I mean, I was a god damn mess. And today, I’m like this:
And who knows!? Tomorrow, I could be this:
If you haven’t guessed it by now, my meds need adjusting. When I came off the Lithium in early February, I started the Tegretol at the normal starting dose of 200mg a day (100mg twice a day). And I felt really good for about 6 weeks. Then I felt my emotional bubble continue to grow past my comfort level.
((emotional bubble = range of emotions felt: sadness, normalcy, happiness))
I didn’t say anything because I wanted to push it. Just like everyone else, I want to be on as little medication as possible. So my internal dialogue did that same old shitty speech “Buck it up, you can handle it. Normal people handle it. You ARE normal. You CAN BE if you just try a little harder.” So I did. But my bubble bursted yesterday and I was a bipolar mess. Really, 200mg, I might as well be un-medicated. The tegretol is ALL I’m taking for my bipolar.
So I wake up tearing everyone a new asshole, then perfectly fine, then ready to lose it on my kids, then an anxious wreck, all panicky, crying, hopeless, then fine, you get the idea. Rinse and repeat. It was exhausting, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Pillars pretty much kicked me out of the house for the day – for his sake, and for mine. I wasn’t handling existence well anywhere, but it was easier out of the house where I could control all the stimulation around me (remember…3 small children here).
I spoke with my Psychiatrist yesterday and he doubled my dosage, so today was my 2nd full day of taking 400mg a day. I had moments, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Much better than yesterday. Luckily, yesterday was also support group night. Well, or unluckily. When it was my turn to talk about my week, I bursted into tears and I’m sure the words coming out of my mouth didn’t make any sense. They made me feel tons better, as being with people who are equally fucked up typically does.
The battle here for me is when I feel myself being pushed, to NOT continue to allow it. To tell myself that it’s OK to ask for help, and to stop expecting myself to function as other people do.
So here I am, being all bipolar and shit again.
I think we’re going to have to change the times I take my Lithium up a bit. I see the psych this Friday.
I am currently taking:
Lithium 1200 mg at bedtime
Ambien 10 mg at bedtime
Ativan as needed
Pretty mild considering some of the other concoctions I hear about people being on. So that’s one positive I suppose. But I am tired of being irritable and nasty in the evenings and night. Some people in my support group said my meds are probably wearing off, which makes perfect sense. Either way, I am just going to go in to the office Friday and present my symptoms. I think I do a really good job at keeping Pillars and the kids out of the line of fire. I just rage at everyone else. And it’s horribly exhausting.
I should probably just go take an Ativan right now. I’m sorry I don’t have anything remarkably insightful to say. I’m sure as soon as the fog clears out of my head it’ll all come out.
And before I forget, I would like to list some of the things my sweet husband (of 7 years, this month!) does for me on a regular basis:
– I am not saying this to brag, but there are some people in this community who have called him “vile”, “dangerous”, and, my personal favorite!, “a bipolar” lately and I merely wanted to say that if loving vile is wrong, I don’t want to be right. Haters gonna hate! –
Hot towel massages, complete with calming music and scented lotion
Head/foot/shoulder/back/whatever aches rubs (sometimes 2/3 a day)
Random yummy surprises (candy bars/nachos and cheese/soda/OJ…my favorite things)
Romantic cards with smushy love letters written in them
Lots of house cleaning
Cleans the litter box
Wrestles with the kids every day, and makes it a point to show them how to treat a woman and what a woman should expect
Plus all the “regulars” like making dinner, unexpected trips out of the house (“Go out to eat, read a book, just relax!”)…shit, he’s even shaved my legs before.
I bet you all wish you had someone vile like him. 🙂
I’ve been having trouble falling asleep lately, despite the help of Ativan and Ambien. I’m also (as displayed in previous posts…) having anger issues in the evenings and I’m drinking entirely too much fluids and getting up too much at night to pee. Last night was 4 times.
Many people in my group told me last night that they had a similar irritability problem and it was easily fixed by changing the time they took their meds. I’m gonna call my psych Monday and tell him that’s what I want to do. I don’t want to be an angry person.
The drinking, I don’t know what to do. It’s a “I’m dying of thirst!”feeling, and I know it’s a side effect of Lithium, so there isn’t much I can do. I complained to the psych about it a few weeks ago and he said “drink less”. Thanks. Asshole.
I think sleep will get easier of I change the time I take my meds. I’m just too agitated, anxious, and angry to be able to pass out at a decent hour.
So I’m struggling right now, and I feel like it shows.
*Disclaimer* Sorry, as I am writing, I realize Im using some inappropriate language that some may find offensive. But if you like to curse, read the fuck on!
October 1st marked the beginning of me no longer working nights. I had been working nights for 11 months, and had been (I believe) consequently suffering from some of the worst mood swings, depression, anxiety, and mania I had ever experienced.
I think there were some life changes that took place in October that alongside my current medicinal cocktail proved to help me become more stable.
Well, mainly just 2. A set bed time of 10pm (alright, so I had a few nights that I stayed up late), and a new attitude.
I’ve wanted a new attitude for a long time, but lacked the tools and medication to come by one. I know its vulgar, and probably rude, but it’s important for me and my mind. Are you ready for it?? My new mantra??
I don’t give a fuck what you think. I’ll only do what I want, and when I want to do it. I just don’t give a fuck.
Yes folks, you too can have a new attitude – all by creating a cheeky new motto.
Naturally, its not a blanket statement:
>I do give a fuck about my family, my husband, my life, etc etc. What I don’t give a fuck about anymore is how clean my house is, getting called out by a boss because my shirt isn’t pressed enough, or my mother calling and passive aggressively attacking me. And other stupid shit like that.
>Clearly, I have responsibilities: poppy diapers need to promptly be changed, laundry and dishes need to be done so we are at least clothed and fed, I have to be at scheduled appointments, etc.
So, my new way of thinking is really another way of determining what’s important in my life. Taking away all this energy Im allowing these trivial people and things to be draining from me, and putting that energy back into myself.
I kinda feel like Donald Trump, sticking my finger out – “Your’e fired.”
To my old life – you’re fired
To my old obsessions – you’re fired
To letting my mom hurt me – you’re fired.
To the part of me that doesn’t think I deserve to be forgived – you’re fired.
To those ignorant fucks at work who call me slow and try to intimidate me – you’re fired.
So October has been my first normal month. Im skeptical. But it looks nice on paper.
Or maybe I haven’t.
Or maybe I have, and I’m just gonna go to hell.
Or maybe I have, and it’s forgivable.
I mean, I broke a commandment. Thou shalt not commit adultery. There has to be some repercussion for that, right? Some penance? I need penance. It’s not a “Oh, she was manic, she has an illness, she loves her husband and didn’t mean to hurt him – it was wrong, but it’s ok, you need to forgive yourself.” That just doesn’t sound right to me. But I kinda feel like that’s what I’m getting from my therapist.
She said I need to “do whatever you need to do to feel better”. Yeah, we’re at that point. 6 months later, and I’m not forgiving myself still. It’s like she’s pulling her hair out and looking confused wondering why I just can’t get over it. I thought it would just happen over time.
I know, for someone who did what I did, that this will sound really wrong, and maybe like a flat out lie. But I have strong morals. Which is probably why it’s so hard for me to let this go. Pillars says he has forgiven me. I have made great strides in attaining a normal mood, adjusting my life so it’s more kind to me. But I’m holding on to this nasty, hurtful feeling, and I’m not sure how to let it go.
My therapist asked Tuesday, “Why did you do it?”
“Because I couldn’t not do it. It was a physical urge. It wasn’t even an option. It was an energy. It didn’t make sense.”
“And that is Bipolar. It doesn’t make sense.”
Pillars asked why I am looking for sense in something that doesn’t make sense. Why can’t I just let it be: something that happened that doesn’t make sense.
I guess because I haven’t tortured myself enough yet.
If I wanna torture myself, fine. But the reason I am trying to figure this out is because I think that it’s coming between me and Pillars, physically. I had been explaining my low sex drive (I’m only wanting it once every 10 days or so) to meds, life, everything else. But things keep becoming clear to me – I’m able to see ways I am sabotaging myself . Ways I am lying to myself, maybe little white lies to others in effort to be what they expect me to be – or what I think they expect me to be. Doing things I don’t want to do, worrying about people judging me for any little thing. I wasn’t being true to myself; I might not even know who myself really is. I didn’t notice I was doing all of this, and now I’m slowly seeing it all.
So it became clear to me last week when we were having sex that I get little flashbacks, images, etc of my affairs. And of course that floods me with negative emotions: disgust, anger, hopelessness, pity, and more. I get really uncomfortable, and Pillars can tell. Therefore, sex = negative emotions for me. Hence why I hardly ever “feel like it”. We figured all that out in marriage therapy.
Now, I want to forgive myself for my husband. So we can have that intimacy back. So I can be his and be present while we are in bed. 0
I think a confession would be a good step forward. It seems to be what my mind always comes back to when I think of forgiving myself.
On the topic of the ten commandments – people commit murder to save themselves, people work on Sundays, people say the Lord’s name in vain, people covet what their neighbor has…
So it’s common place. It happens. A lot. I probably shouldn’t be so uptight about it.
But a little bit of me worries that if I let this go, I’ll do it again. But I’d have to be manic, and I keep too close a guard on my symptoms and my moods, Pillars pays close attention, and I see my therapist(s) too often for this to happen. So I should just let it go and trust myself and all of them.
That’s where I am. Focusing on that. Or trying not to focus on that. Whichever.
I found myself wondering yesterday evening, as I stepped into the shower about an hour before my first Bipolar Support Group started, “Why am I going?? I don’t like people. I have all the support I need between my blog and my family and friends who know. WHY AM I GOING?”. Surprisingly, the answer flowed from my elusive brain:
I want to see what they look like. I want to see just how sick I am compared to them.
Honest thoughts like that from me are hard to come by. Most of them are centered around pleasing someone, and as emotional as I am, I am not very in touch with MY feelings. Recognizing this has knocked me back a little. It feels like a huge realization that is going to change the way I think. It has, in this short time. I can feel myself care less about if someone is judging me. Its odd…Im still trying to figure it out…another day, another blog.
I was incredibly nervous going to this meeting. I found a parking spot quickly, and made my way to the nearest elevator. There was an older woman in a pink shirt that rode to the 2nd floor with me. She carried on to wherever while I asked the nearest nurse where room C is.
I stopped down the hall from the room. I had to decide now if I wanted to see what was in there. I kicked my ass and walked in.
And there’s the lady from the elevator. She joked and asked if I was following her. I didn’t have to spend much time scanning the room, there was only a total of 4 people there. All older (40+).
Sigh. No one in a straight jacket. No one trying to chew their ear, or screaming, or my personal manic favorite – soliciting for sex.
There ended up being 10 including me. I was the youngest. I wasn’t the craziest. Or the least crazy. Trust, I quietly surveyed everyone. My first check was for wedding bands. Aside from the two partnered gay women sitting across from me, I was the only one wearing one
In 15 years, when I’m their age, will I no longer be wearing one? Do I, do we, have the equivalent of the plauge of marriage? I gathered after hearing everyone’s introduction that they had all been diagnosed later in life. I comforted myself with thinking about how I caught it early and am dedicated to therapy and my medication.
I was fully prepared to say that I don’t want to talk. But I found myself eager to share after hearing a few intros: painful, and embarrassing. I listened and watched everything there was to listen to and watch. Clothing, eye movement, voice, sentence structure, and confusion or delay in their story, and most importantly, what their eyes were saying.
Some eyes were sad. Defeated. Hollow. Wild. Angry. Frustrated. I saw myself in every single one of them. They saw themselves in each other as well. There was an understanding. And it was the least judgmental place I have ever been. They knew when someone was feeling low, when someone hadn’t taken their Meds. They asked how the other’s surgery went, and sent a Happy Birthday to another group member’s dog.
There was a sense of protection there. It was special. It just was.
They were people Ive probably seen around town, and they are struggling just like me. They get crazy just like me. They have a temper just like me. I always thought I was a rare breed…
But I found others. Just like me.
My husband and I changed bedrooms a couple months ago. We moved most of our things to the downstairs office, and most of the office stuff to the ex-playroom. I was in the old room wrapping up some of the last few things to make it ready for our oldest to move into tonight. I picked up a earring and opened up a drawer to my jewelry box. It was full of skeletons.
I bought a lot of jewelry during my manic episode. Nothing expensive. Mostly big, gaudy, cheap costume pieces. I still wear some, and I still buy some, but not as frequently. There were a few pieces in the drawers that I had forgotten about, and seeing them made me freeze. It felt similar to what it looks like on TV when a ghost walks through someone. I felt like I do right before someone sticks a needle in me.
I threw a couple things away that specifically reminded me of one of my affair partners. I paid attention to how it made me feel…what kind of attachment I had to it. It was like throwing away a piece of trash, or something was no longer useful. It just had no purpose to me anymore. Can’t complain about that.
Its such an odd feeling when I come across what others who have committed adultery probably consider triggers. I don’t feel a longing for the APs, but a longing for how my marriage used to be. I don’t feel any desire to contact them, or that “me”. I only want to forget this ever happened, being as there’s no way to undo it. But I can’t forget it happened, because it caused my husband so much pain and nearly ruined my family. And I can’t deny it because its my illness, and denying it will lead to my demise.
Its a nasty circle of pain. I try to forget it, but weekly therapy and nightly medication denies me that chance. I have no choice but to live with it, but I think that can only be solved with time. Accepting being bipolar – I’ve suspected that for years, that’s not the hard part. Accepting that a manic me had affairs is a whole other ball game.
I’m gonna make this quick because Pillars is in CA, it’s been a CRAZY night with the kids (who just went to bed…), and my bed and Netflix are calling me…
I saw my therapist again yesterday after an excruciating 3.5 weeks. She had been on vacation. I went in kind of dreading it really, because I was going to have to recap my confusion, anxiety, depersonalizations and depression, and it’s just a lot of stuff to cover.
She said that this week, she wants to conduct an experiment with the confusion/anxiety/depersonalization symptoms. She thinks they’re all anxiety symptoms, even though they don’t necessarily leave me shaky and nervous. So, I am regularly taking an ativan every day. (Although, I’m thinking it may need to be 2 per day). We’ll see if this week shows any marked improvements in that area. I expressed the symptoms being related to the lithium, and possibly lowering my dose, but she really wants me to try this first. I don’t mind. I like ativan. 😉
She has said it many times before, and said it again yesterday – I really don’t handle it well when things don’t go the way I want them.
I know this. It didn’t stand out as anything wrong until I was a grown adult with children. THEN, only then, did I say to myself, “Why am I acting like a 3 year old? I know how I should be acting/reacting. This is not it.”
Whatever. I’ll throw this in the bipolar bucket (see definition below). And by “whatever”, I don’t mean that I can get away with nasty behavior like that, but I mean that I am accepting that it’s not happening because I am a spoiled brat. That there is another factor involved.
Bipolar Bucket: My imaginary bucket that I will envision throwing all of the things about my bipolar self that I cannot change. If it were something I like, it would be pink with hearts and horses on it. Instead, I’ll make it black and put a big sticker of Optimus Prime on it. Because I’ve recently discovered that he’s awesome. And he has a sexy voice.
(Pillars has a sexy voice, too)
We know that bad spending habits is one of the “symptoms” of bipolar. Luckily, this is one things I don’t take to the extreme. I’ve always been really thrifty. Occasionally a couponer, when the mood strikes. Always a deal getter. I am coming off of my most recent high, slowly, thanks in part I’m sure to an increase in my Lithium. But a few days ago, I had the please of grocery shopping and came home with these lovely gifts:
Now, in my defense, my oldest is starting Kindergarten in a few weeks and needs lunch box stuff – and those 12 packs were BOGO. Score!
AND, those other 5 packs, were B2G3 FREE. Double score!
I never buy cookies, even with 3 kids in the house. So it’s just a little weird when I come home with all of this. But I’ve seen much worse…I have a friend that I don’t see nearly enough lately, but whenever I do get to her place, there’s always something new. New furniture, new electronics, new toys, new clothes. It’s definitely the classic bipolar spending. She’s aware of it. But I’m glad I don’t do that. Yet. Never say never!
Fortunately, I found this cool new deodorant designed to help “rebalance” me. HAHA We’ll see ab0out that.