Mentally Diligent​

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I can’t stress the importance of being aware of your mind and your actions when you are BiPolar. I’m not saying you can stop everything, but you can curb yourself from heading into a dark place.

Things were running through my head this morning. I was cycling again. Started yesterday. Crying sometimes. Depressing thoughts other times. Shutting down and wishing I could just make it all stop.

I thought I could last until next week, but I couldn’t. I called and got squeezed in this afternoon and got a bump in my meds.

I avoided a deep depression and a week from hell.

Being Mentally Diligent is hard to learn and takes years of input from your therapist and family and lots of re-thinking your actions. At least it did for me. I am self-aware and it keeps me diligent of my illness and how my meds are working or not working.

Let’s see how this goes. Another adjustment and another appointment next week. I am blessed and lucky. I wouldn’t survive if I didn’t have the help I get from my support system.

People, therapists, psych doctors and the drop-in center. I guess it takes a village.

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For just a Millisecond…

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There are twenty-four hours in a day. Fact. Within each hour I struggle to hold it together until stability lays itself at my feet once again. Within each hour there are seconds and milliseconds that clash with thoughts and emotions that swirl within my mind as I try and piece it all together into something I can call survival.

I try not to let this overwhelm me. I breathe, I distract, I medicate and detach myself from others so I won’t say or do something I will regret later. My tongue is sharp and my anger, angst, irritability shows when in the company of my family.

I apologize.

I may not be able to say that word enough or at the right time. But it is felt within my heart. For each short tempered moment and each barbed quip.

It is for these reasons I hate medication changes. I get ten years of something working well and then it fails me and I have to start from some lost place and hope to get back to somewhere where my only worry is what to do and not what my mind is doing.

My mother came by yesterday. It was a mixture of nerves and happiness. These feelings weren’t her fault. She did nothing wrong. It was all me. I knew I had to care for someone besides myself and I was overwhelmed. That is the answer to many questions in my life. Overwhelmed. Just holding it together is overwhelming. And that’s with medication that is faltering.

It has taken me so many years to get to a place of stability and to feel it teetering scares me.

I just wanted to lay calmly in bed today. I had taken my meds and played a few games on my phone to ‘distract.’ Napped a little and became agitated while listening to some CDs.

I just want peace and quite right now. I want to be alone. I need an adjustment on my present dosage of new medication. But my appointment is two weeks away.

I’ll be ok. I have to be. There is no alternative.

I can’t deal with other people’s lives and faults at this moment. It’s taking all I have to knit myself back together.

I want to do so much. I have so much to offer, I know this and have always known this somewhere inside. But I lack self-esteem and self-worth.

So I sit in front of my light-box and type this to relieve some of the thoughts rambling through my head. Today will be slow and so will tomorrow. I’ll go to therapy and then retreat back to my home to lick my wounds from stepping out the door.

It’s so hard to socialize and take the risks of not feeling safe.

I feel like I walk through a hurricane each day without protection. Each moment is a struggle and I fight against the wind and rain, but I continue to walk forward because I have no choice. There is some shelter in medication and therapy and I gratefully take them in as they ease the gale forces momentarily.

I step out into the storm again and take each millisecond and knit it into the next and hope to create something I can recognize as survival. Until I finally reach home and some state of stability.

How can you tell someone who lives each day like this too ‘shake it off?’

I will never understand that mindset. And they will never understand mine. I accept this and continue without their approval. Because I don’t need it.

 

Things are changing… Slowly

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I can tell when the meds begin to kick into my system. My thoughts line up, my anxiety lessens, things feel slightly stable. I can tell I need a bump in the dosage. I’m on the lowest dose now. I’m almost there. Almost back to stability or some resemblance of my definition.

I triggered myself before going to bed. It’s strange how you can forget what causes the nightmares and what will give you a good nights sleep.

I have to talk it through with my therapist. There’s something I think I know the answer too, but I’m not sure.

I have defined this trigger and it affects my entire life. Things I have to avoid in order to feel safe. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to work through this one.

Molestation is a life-altering occurrence which I don’t think people fully acknowledge. You can work your way around it and learn how to deal with it in your life. But it never goes away. It hides until it’s triggered. The fucked up fact is that sometimes you don’t know what that trigger will be.

 

I HATE THIS PART!!!

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New MED. New worries. Walking the fine line between feeling good or wondering if it’s a climb into a hypomanic state.

I went for a walk. Brought lots of junk food to put away for those times when nothing satisfies like a sugar rush.

Find myself wondering if I’m cycling up. I upped my dosage two days earlier and now I’m worried. Will I sleep tonight? What will tomorrow be like when I do my grocery shopping? Will I spend like a maniac?

This is the risk I take with every med adjustment. I hate med adjustments. I usually do them in the hospital. But I’m trying to avoid inpatient crap.

I have to be honest with myself and slow it down tonight. I like this feeling. I’m not harming anyone at the moment. The walk felt good.

But now I’m feeling guilty for feeling GOOD. Like it’s a bad thing and can only lead to grandiose thoughts and actions.

I hate not being able to trust my feelings and emotions. A lifetime of this shit is tiring.

No wonder I keep to myself and stay indoors.

Is it so wrong to smile sometimes?

Is it the weather or not?

Rain and snow and high winds for the past few days. Not sure if nature isn’t cycling as well. Had to start the Trileptal a few days earlier. I felt awful. My head was just feeling like it was working on triple AAA batteries when it was designed for AA.

Feel much better this morning. I tend to respond to meds pretty fast. I can tell if it’s gonna work or not in a day or so. This seems like a fit for me. May need an increase in dosage, but time will tell.

I have the opportunity to get a therapy dog. I don’t feel this is the right time to be making this type of decision. Seeing other people leave their dogs droppings in my front lawn just irks me. I’ve always had a dog and I never did that, it’s disrespectful.

The opportunity for a therapy dog is sweet. But I don’t think I’m ready to give up my freedom. Plus there are my physical limitations. Chronic pain and swelling knees. The responsibility would fall on “ME” alone. I can remember thinking my dogs always deserved a better owner. One who could care for it up to the standards they deserved.

The monetary responsibility is the main one. I simply can’t afford it now. Maybe one day. Too many bills. Shame.

I don’t think I could walk a dog through the snow anymore. The rain and winds cause pressure on my sinuses. As I said, my dog would deserve better. God forbid if they got sick. Like my last dog did. I still mourn her loss.

One day I will have one just not now.

Chocolate and new meds.

I haven’t had a med change in almost ten years. I realize that these meds for stability only last about ten years. I wish I was counting and I could have seen this coming. I’m tired. My anxiety is crazy. I want sweets. I want death. I know this will pass but for the moment its hell.

No one to talk to who won’t freak out. If I had chocolate this would all be easier.

I have to add another dose next week. Yesterday was easier. I just need things to be what they were before the confusion. I don’t want to leave the house. Back into the darkness.

New things

I came to a point in my life last year where I felt I’d reached an epiphany. I changed my way of eating. My mind was clearer. I started Italian lessons. I set goals. And I hate goals. But I felt like it was time to do more than “live” in my illness.

Now I find myself cycling from hyper sexual acts to hypomanic states. Fighting depression as I can feel it sneak up on me slowly. Laying in bed crying feeling my mind slip.

Now I’m starting a new mood stabilizer on top of my regular one. I’ve slowed down and am tired. Im supposed to increase the dosage next week. I’ll probably sleep all day if I try.

It’s early. Only day two but things react quickly with me.

I wanna get back to learning Italian. It felt good.

Feeling like this is a fit.

Anxiety

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Surprising I got more support for my short story on FB than here. I thought those of us who get it, would understand the story more. Whatever. Nobody reads this shit anyways.

The anxiety between the get together and my mother’s cataract surgery is starting to get to me. I’m literally having to take it day by day. Can’t think beyond today or I’ll get overwhelmed.

I just want to disappear into my house and never come out. Except for food and therapy. There’s a drop in and I want to go. Probably will. But I doubt the Marvin in me will enjoy it.

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LIFE DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LIFE

 

I should be very happy about my story being published. But I kinda feel like it’s not legit. Like they just needed a story to finish off their publication and threw mine in, mistakes and all.

Two other publications declined it because it wasn’t what they were looking for, “I GUESS NOT!”

No one wants reality anymore. No one wants to read about the mentally ill unless it’s “HAPPY”. There’s nothing fucking happy about existing with this shit.

But we make due. We have happy moments and those are the ones we have to hold onto.

Just shovel us back into the sanitariums and forget us again. You practically are doing that again.

What’s my audience? People. People who want to understand the truth. The reality of mental illness.

Yeah. I guess that makes two people. Me and my friend.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN MY STORY HERE’S A LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST.

STORY PUBLISHED.

Short Story PUBLISHED

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I’m working on a few short stories with a lean towards mental illness. The first one “PIECES OF GRAY” was published by Adelaide Literary Magazine. They offer a print version. An ebook and an online print of the story.

ADELAIDE LITERARY MAGAZINE: PIECES OF GRAY

I’m on page 121. Now to just finish working on the other stories. Polish them up and churn out the one I’m working on presently.

I should be happy. But I have a cold and am very tired. Maybe happiness will come later. You know how it goes.

Doing Better

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Need an extra nap soon. Going to be up most of the night at a concert. My first BIG venue concert and I’m hoping I don’t freak. Gonna take my anxiety pill before I go and stay hydrated.

I talked to my therapist and she kept the printed out version of my blog post last time. I don’t even remember what it said. I just put it out there to get it out of my head and it’s gone. One day I’ll read all of this, just not now.

I get the feeling that I educated them as to who I am and what I would and would not do. I am not stuck in my therapy. That is clear, we agreed upon that. They thought I was isolating and staying indoors and away from people and seeing my mom every day etc.

This is after I was told by my Pdoc not to go outdoors in the sun because of the effects it has on me, because of my meds. DUH!

I told them about my physical limitation and how not having a thyroid causes anxiety and depression. So although the meds are doing their job, I’m still going to go through times of anxiety and depression as a physical manifestation. DUH!

I know their main fear is that after the inevitable death of my mother, I’m outta here too. I need to build my own life and I am trying. But it’s not as easy as it sounds. With the anxiety and depression.

My mom and I talk every day, but we have our separate lives too. Although I do have difficulty when it comes time to leave. I still believe we should be living together and still doing our own thing. But we are not rich.

I do what I can for her and believe she should never go without. She sacrificed so much for me to help ensure that I grew up with a good moral outlook on life. Done. Now I just want her to be happy and comfortable.

She’s allergic to the rug in her apartment, but there’s nothing she can do about that, it’s a senior living complex. Everyone has the same rug.

I have more inflammation with my Sjögrens. Nothing they can do about that. I think it’s the weather.

Mood wise. I’m ok. Not good. Not bad. Just ok. I’m dealing with everyday life and for the moment. I’m ok. I’m not looking any further than that.

I have to accept that people don’t change when they feel that there is nothing wrong with their own behavior. No matter how many times others have pointed out these faults. I’m talking about Asshole.

Patience is a virtue. Guess who’s VIRTUOUS?

Going down for the nap. Hope tonight goes well. I’m not Sally Socialite and I’m kinda stuck when it comes to talking about myself. Read me like braille.

My writing had a short start this morning. I got some things down when my neighbor started her noise again. Headphones are a must, can’t avoid it.