Rapid Cycling, Hooray

Yes, I know it's been awhile since I've written anything. This is for many reasons. Reasons I won't go into. Today's writing is just for me. So I may say things you may not know the definition of. And I'm not going to explain it. And for this, I'm sorry. But sometimes I need something just for me.
The last 2 months I've been in a mixed episode. Maybe slightly longer than that, I'm not sure. I had tons of stress and other circumstances that threw me into this episode. One was trying to go down on my lithium. BIG mistake. Others don't need mentioning here - I know what they are and how they contributed. So on came the mixed episode. Ups and downs. But they were somewhat manageable. Then, it got worse. The mania side mainly. Racing thoughts, pressured speech. I saw Dr. C and we agreed that I needed to go back up on the lithium. Done. I thought I was golden.
Nope. Not so much. Then came the rapid cycling. The ups and downs that came every few hours or minutes. Feeling like I could burst into to tears at any minute for no reason. The anger, the RAGE that would wash over like a tsunami, pulling me under its currents with no escape, helpless to reach the surface. Anxiety. About everything. The racing thoughts still, pressured speech, word vomit, inability to sleep . . .shaking, paranoia, scared, exhausted. Lost.
My days are made up of me trying to keep all of these feelings bottled up, under wraps, so know one knows - family, friends, coworkers, AND patients. I have to bite my tongue, lest I offend someone. I have to breath, slowly, deeply, lest I punch someone or the wall. I have to walk away lest I start sobbing uncontrollably. Constantly I have to keep myself in check while inside I'm withering, crumbling, dying. I constantly wonder if people know, if they see past my shaky facade. Do they know how badly I hurt? Do they know the anxiety I feel? Do they know how lost I am? How empty? And worse, do they know my anger? My irrational, explosive anger? So far I've only taken it out on a wall and an elevator door . . . but, sometimes I worry.
I want to cut. So bad. J still has the blades all hidden which is good. For at home at least. But at work I have access to unlimited scalpels. And the temptation . . .to just get one and and go to town. My leg probably. Fewer people would see it. I've not fallen into the temptation. Mostly. I did take a plastic fork to my hand. It's not deep, barely visible. but it kept me from the scalpel in my pocket. I've punched the wall, a box and the elevator doors at work when the anger and sadness was too much. No one knows I've done this. Suicidal ideation is starting to come back with all this. Hooray to that. And the scary thing is that I have a whole bottle of Klonopin in the medicine cabinet. It's very tempting. But I don't want to die.
I DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Let's get that clear. But I want this turmoil to end. I know it will, eventually, but right now I see know end in sight. I try not to catastrophize this, but when you're in the throws of  it? Pretty hard not to. My emotions overtake my intellect. Plus, what's annoying, is that I see myself taking on the roll of the victim. This is not me. I'm NOT a victim. I never have been. I was raped by my ex boyfriend, verbally and emotionally abused by him and, luckily, only hit once. Not a victim. I was sexually assaulted by my manager in the back room at Albertsons when I worked there. Not a victim. (Also? I've never told anyone about those things before). Never took on the victim role. NEVER. Because that's not who I am. And now? I see myself doing that. I have bipolar disorder. Poor me. Look at me suffer.
FUCK THAT! That's what I try and tell myself. I'm stronger than that. And when I was controlled on my meds? It was true. I was stronger. I was NOT my bipolar disorder. Right now I have no idea what I am. A ball of emotional wreckage, ready to self destruct at a moments notice. Feebly trying to keep my head above the rising current while the undertow gains constant strength.
Sadly, I'm now having a harder time talking to anyone about this. I have a feeling that people are growing weary of my mood instability. J especially. He's tolerance seems to be slipping. Not all the time. But the past week . . .I don't even want to mention anything to him. I don't want to burden him with this. My close friends? They've heard and dealt with so much from me. My other friends? They don't want to hear it. Coworkers? Fuck that. All I can say is that thank God I have M to talk to.
Anyway. That's me right now. Lost and stuck and sinking. Ever down. Always down.