Internal Struggle

I have a pretty awesome internal struggle going on right now. Of the kind that causes anguish, fear, nausea and the trots (no really - I totally have the trots). Here's what's up:

Yesterday hubs and I made a huge decision - one that completely changes our lives.

We're going to foreclose on our house and file bankruptcy.

Why? Because of my stupid fucking brain. No joke. I'm going to be going part time to give myself a break, decrease my stress level, and hopefully keep my stability longer than a month. Which means we can't afford to stay in our house.

The decision is made, we know what we're doing. So then why the internal struggle . . . ?

Because I am me and I suck.

I like to self sabotage. I do it subconsciously, but I do it. I had this revelation almost 8 months ago. Since then I've been working on curbing it. And I've done relatively well.

But this . . . this is difficult. It's a shitty situation and exceedingly stressful at best. And then you throw in my marginally stable, self sabotaging mind and, well, you get the idea.

Today I've been pretty down. I keep having negative thoughts invade my mind. I keep thinking about how all of this is happening because of me. This wasn't supposed to be how things played out. I was going to be better and move on and work and everything was going to be perfect and fall into place. I should be better. We shouldn't have to do this. It's my fault. If only I was stronger or not sick or sucked it up more . . .

See the trend? Great fodder for a downward spiral. And 9 months ago the spiral would have been immediate and devastating.

But not now. Not today. Because I know more about myself. Because I know that I can self sabotage. And because, while technically this turn of events is because of me, I know that my health and my ability to be a wife and a mother are more important than the house. We'll find a house to rent. And eventually we'll buy again. In the big scheme of things, this isn't all that bad.

Now, that being said, this isn't easy. I'm fighting against everything that is me. I'm fighting against my nature, my coping mechanisms. And it is anything but easy. Stopping the negative thoughts is exhausting. It takes energy. It drains me. It would be so much easier to give in. Give up and give in.

But I don't want to. I really don't want to. I don't want to be sick anymore. I can't be sick anymore. So I'm going to fight it and curb the negative thoughts and not start a pity party of one.

My health is more important than the house. My health is more important than the house. 

(I'll probably need to say that several more times)

So About Work . . .

Yesterday was my first day back at work. I was in the nursery (meaning going to deliveries - every delivery) and we were steady - we did 6 deliveries. Overall, I would say that it was a good day.

Now, having said that, I did noticed some definite deficits.

First and foremost - cognition. I was processing things more slowly. Luckily, in a life or death situation (I did a resuscitation on the baby in my first delivery), I was good. Snap, on-the-fly decisions came without hesitation - my critical thinking wasn't affected.

When it came to prioritizing things - charting, making charts, phone calls, lab draws, circumcision checks . . . I was not so good. I was slow to process and I had a hard time focusing and concentrating. You might want to say "but Cami, it was your first day back after 5 weeks off." And I would say yep, you're right - but I shouldn't have issues with this kind of stuff. I'm the most organized, efficient person at work.

Or at least I was.

Next - exhaustion. By 1pm I was done with people. Done. The fact that I had to interact at all was too much for me. I became withdrawn and flat, saying little. I felt mentally and emotionally drained. I felt tired. I found it difficult to be present.

And lastly - myself. Yes, I was a problem. Which is quite stupid, if you ask me. I was a problem because I had high expectations of myself - and I didn't meet these expectations. The day was both harder and easier than I thought it would be. I had a preconceived notion that I was going to fail miserably - and I didn't. So easier. But I didn't meet my high expectations, so harder.

See, my problem is the deficits. With each mood episode you get worse. Where as 2.5 years ago I was 100%, now I'm functioning at maybe 87%. And it will continue to get worse. I notice these deficits. I've been noticing them get worse over the last year (most notably over the last 4 months). And for me that's devastating. To not be able to function at my best, especially at work, is just not okay.

And I'm starting to beat myself up over it which could cause a downward spiral. I'm doing my best to curb the negative thoughts and for now I'm succeeding. It's just that they keep coming. Negative thoughts, what-ifs, and doubt is all trying to creep in. I don't want to function at 87% - I want to be 100%. I should be 100%.

"Shoulds" are bad. "Shoulds" make you feel bad. Part of my problem.

The other issue is whether or not I go part time. I honestly think that for right now, part time would be best for me. A little less work, a little less stress, a little more recovery time. I think it's what I need.

But I have a strong work ethic. And I feel like I'll be letting people down.

I also feel I have an obligation to my family. If I go part time we'll have a major shift in how we're living - namely, foreclosing on our house, filing bankruptcy, and moving into a rental house. That's a lot to process and that whole situation is based on what I chose to do.

How fucking terrifying is that??

I feel all this pressure to perform, to perform well, and make everything be okay. Most of it is probably put on by myself and my expectations, but I can't change that that's how I feel.

And I'm not catastrophizing - I should get that out there. I'm actually trying to minimize everything. I'm trying not to catastrophize. I'm trying to be practical.

Well, there you have it. There are deficits. I'm at 87% instead of 100%. I'm terrified of what going part time means, even though I think it would be better for me. Boom. Done.

Back to Work

Going back to work in the morning, 1st day back in over 5 weeks. I'm a bit nervous about it. Well, about certain aspects of it.

I don't want to answer questions. People, naturally, will ask questions. And I don't want to answer. I don't want to deal with it at all. There are people who I'll talk to, tell them what happened, but they are few and far between. I just don't want to deal with it.

I'm worried I'll get overwhelmed. That I'll need to go off by myself several times to "reboot". Which will probably lead to questions.

I'm worried about akathisia coming on while I'm at work. If it does, I'll have to take meds which could make me drowsy. If I don't take meds, there will be questions (constant movement, walking, antsy, anxious is hard to hide).

I'm worried about my concentration and focus. I notice deficits at home so I wonder what they'll be like at work.

I'm worried about how drained and exhausted I'll be during and after my shift. Hanging with friends completely exhausts me so I have a feeling work will be worse . . .

We'll see how it goes, I guess. There will be a blog post on it, though not tomorrow night - I doubt I'll be up for it.


In other news, I was close to losing my shit today. Today was my son's Cub Scout rocket races. All the scouts made rockets to race down a length of fishing line. There were a lot of kids. Like, I don't know, 20? Plus parents. Lot's of people. Lot's of noise.

Too much stimulation. Apparently.

I got antsy, anxious. I was pacing, rocking back and forth from foot to foot, side to side. One of the moms (whose house we were at) asked if I had to use the bathroom.

No, thanks. Just cold.

Actually, I'm just anxious and antsy and impatient for no good reason and the feeling is growing every minute, so much so that I want to scream and run away and hide.

Thanks, though.

My son's rocket took home the ribbon for "most creative". He painted it like a "creeper" from the game Minecraft.

Back to work . . .

So I'm going back to work on Monday after having been off for 5 weeks. Am I ready to go back? I don't know. I mean, I'm ready in that I want to be back and I'm getting pretty bored at home . . . but I don't know if I'm ready to be back.

I had coffee yesterday with a couple of friends and was, yet again, surprised at how tiring it was. It shouldn't be tiring - it's just coffee - but it was.

If seeing friends, and having coffee with friends is so tiring, so exhausting, how is a 12 hour shift at work going to be?

Well, we'll see.

The past few days I've been coming to terms with something else: how sick I truly was. I can't deny it anymore, even though I still try. I was sick. Very sick. I was mixed and then I was manic - full blown manic, for the first time ever. Then back to mixed. Then suicidal. All in a short period of time. It took a lot out of me. I'm still reeling from it.

There are other changes happening too. Something that I never even dreamed would happen . . .

Hubs and I are considering foreclosing on our house. Foreclosing and filing bankruptcy.

Because of my bipolar.

See, there's a very good possibility that I'm going to be going part time - less stress, better for my brain. But going part time puts an added financial strain on us. Could we afford to stay in our house? Of course! But things would be tight. And if something happened, if I was hospitalized again, or needed disability . . . well, that would be another story.

So we're considering foreclosure and bankruptcy, which is terrifying.

So much going on.

I hate it when I can't lie to myself . . .

I'm sitting on the couch watching the Broncos and Patriots game (going for the Broncos, btw - they're my team) and said to myself, self, you know what you should do right now? You should write.

And so I am.

I had a disturbing revelation yesterday while having lunch at a friend's house. These friends are pretty good friends, just ones that hubs and I don't see too often (they live over an hour away). We can share anything with them - we're comfortable like that. And so I shared about my last 3 months with them, as they only knew the bare basics.

This is where I had my disturbing revelation.

I was sick. Sick. Recounting my story, watching the expressions on their faces - expressions of mild shock, pity, and almost disbelief . . . It was difficult. It was eye opening. They saw the humor in my mania. They could joke about it which made me more comfortable. They asked questions. But I realized just how sick I truly was.

Talking about it takes away my ability to lie to myself about it. See, I like to tell myself that the last 3 months weren't as bad as they were. That I wasn't really that sick. When I say it out loud, all that goes away. I lose that lie. And losing that lie scares me a little.

I also realized this: I'm still sick.

We spent 5 hours at our friend's house and I left feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted. Completely drained and exhausted. Which forces me to consider the fact that I'm not recovered yet. Which scares me a little.

I was so sick I lost touch with reality - I was delusional. I was so sick I was suicidal.

And I'm not better yet. Yesterday made me realize how fragile I still am. How much my illness impacts my friends and family. And how quickly things can change.

And it makes me wonder how I'm going to do back at work. I go back the 27th. One week. If five hours with friends exhausts me, how is 12 hours at work at a busy birth center going to affect me?

I'm worried and a little bit scared.

The two parts don't match

They don't. Seriously.

I wanna take a minute and talk about jumping spiders and how they're cute little motherfuckers. No really.

How is this not adorable???

These are spiders that I'm not afraid of and will actively seek out.

They wear water droplets as hats.

What's not to love??? Adorable, harmless, and water droplet hats! Gimme *grabby hands*

You know what else is new? My body fucking hates Geodon. Not complete hate, but hate none the less. Eleven days ago Dr. C had me go from 80mg of Geodon to 120mg. Now, I had issues with drowsiness when I went up to 80mg so I wasn't too pleased but I said I'd do it. 

Dumb idea.

He told me to take 80mg at night and 40mg in the morning to help with the drowsiness. Totally didn't work. About an hour after taking the morning dose I would be so drowsy and groggy I couldn't stand. For 2-3 hours. I tried this for 6 days and it got progressively worse. So I switched to taking it all at night. This meant when I woke up I was so groggy I couldn't keep my eyes open - for about 2 hours. And if I woke up during the night to pee? I had better get it done fast because I'd get so groggy I couldn't walk. 

In addition to the debilitating drowsiness, grogginess and somnolence, I also had a host of other side effects: insomnia, racing thoughts at bedtime, a constant all-day headache, tachycardia (rapid heart rate) and PVCs (premature ventricular contractions - basically like palpitations). The tachycardia and PVCs happened about an hour after taking the 120mg dose and happened irregardless of what I was doing. My heart rate would be 140-150 just laying in bed. 

And that, my friends, is not good. Not good at all.

I was also incredibly irritable during this time. I think because of all the goddamned side effects and lack of sleep. 

So after 9 days I dropped myself back down to 80mg. The symptoms all were getting progressively worse so obviously my body can't handle 120mg of Geodon. 

The day after my first decreased dose, yesterday, was lovely. I woke up feeling more rested, no drowsiness at all, no headache all day, and my mood was greatly improved. Night and day difference!

I'm still having some insomnia - I have trouble falling asleep, takes now 1-2 hours (I'm the type of person who would be out within 10 minutes of my head hitting the pillow).  

But I'm feeling better and that's all that matters. 

I emailed Dr. C of course to let him know, and I see him Feb. 3. But I WILL NOT go back up on my dose. The side effects are unacceptable. 

See? The two parts don't match.

Sometimes I get annoyed with shit.

No really. I do. Like medication side effects for example. Like side effects that I continue to get from my damn Geodon. Makes me want to cut a bitch.

So here's what's up. Last Friday Dr. C had me increase my dose of Geodon from 80mg to 120mg. He told me to take 80mg at night and 40mg in the morning to stave off morning grogginess. I had been having morning grogginess at the 80mg dose, but it was starting to ease up.

Well, guess what happens when I take my morning dose of Geodon?

That's right. I get groggy. Drowsy. Sometimes so much so that I can't even stand. Seriously. Are you fucking kidding me, Geodon? I mean, what the actual fuck??

Today I decided that I'm not taking that extra 40mg in the morning any more. I'm going to take it all at night. See what that does. If I keep getting groggy like this . . . well, that's a deal breaker. I can't work like this.

Speaking of work, I'm not going back until the 27th at the earliest. I'm not ready. I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted. Just . . . exhausted. Then add in the medication side effects and the akathisia (got that too, joy) and it's a no go. I talked with my manager at length about everything and she supports me 100%. I don't need to worry about work.

Huge weight off my shoulders.

I have nothing else poignant to say. Nothing at all.

So bye.

I'm Stubborn

And probably stupid.

Why? You ask. Work. Work is why.

See, I'm going back to work this Saturday (the 11th). I've been out since December 18th - 3 weeks. Which, in retrospect, doesn't seem very long. Three weeks off to get better from a long lived mixed episode and severe suicidal ideation.

I took 2 weeks off after my hospitalization in November. Worked two weeks, and then was back in the hospital. And now two weeks off then back to work. Not a good track record as of late.

I ask myself, am I ready to go back yet? My answer? I don't know. I've had a few days where I say YES! Yes I can go back! I'm all good y'all!

But I have days like today and yesterday and the day before where I'm anything but good. Where I most certainly do NOT feel like I'm okay to go back. I feel fragile - like I could shatter at any moment. It would just take the slightest knock . . .

I'm still getting overwhelmed easily. I'm still having anger and irritability. Racing thoughts every night (it takes me 2-3 hours to fall asleep thanks to my racing mind). And then I have this . . . horrid feeling. I'm pretty sure it's akathisia. We'll use yesterday as an example because yesterday was bad. I get this feeling like I need to move. I need to move or constantly be doing something. If I'm not I have this looming sense of dread, of impending doom. I get antsy and restless and anxious. I get highly agitated. If I'm not doing something, everything is pointless and I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day or cope with anything.

I felt like that all day yesterday. I drew, I sewed, I was on the computer. I paced in the kitchen constantly while dinner was cooking - I couldn't stop. I could hardly sit still to eat. And after I was finished I left. I left the house to go on a drive and smoke my electronic cigarette because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I was so antsy and agitated it's all I could think to do.

While I was driving something hit me. Hit me hard. I realized how profoundly exhausted I am. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. I came out of a major depressive episode this summer to a month or so of relative stability, only to be thrust head first into a full blown mixed episode for the last 3-4 months.

I have not had a break.

I'm in a constant state of emotional chaos and I'm goddamned FUCKING tired.

I finally realized this last night while driving around, listening to music, and smoking.

When I take all of this into account, how I really feel, how tired I am . . . I'm not ready to go back. But I am. I am going back. This Saturday. Because I'm stupid. I guess I need to see if I can handle it. I need to prove to myself, to J, to M, to my friends and coworkers that I'm okay. I got this guys, I'm fine. I'm going to put everyone ahead of me. I know this is what I'm doing and yet I do it anyway. I have my pride to think of, people. And that good 'ol financial burden - not a good thing to foreclose on your house.

And think of this too: I go back, I can't handle it, I have to take more time off. What does that do for me?? Makes me look even worse. Wow, she must be really sick - she can't handle being at work. What if I lose my shit at work? What then?

But what if I'm perfectly fine to go back? What if all of this is just me being nervous about going back? What if I'm just psyching myself out? What if I'm really fucking fine?

I don't know what the fuck I should really do. I don't want to jeopardize my health. But I also don't want to jeopardize my job.

Or my stubborn pride.

Bruhaha

That title makes no fucking sense.

You're welcome.

I'm still not sleeping great. I don't feel tired at 10 like I normally would. So I've been going to bed around 11. And then it takes me 1-2 hours to fall asleep because my mind starts racing. Thinking about everything. Like rainbows. And shoveling dog shit, which I need to do.

I wasn't too groggy this morning, which was nice. We'll see how that lasts after I take my morning dose of Geodon.

Mood wise I feel pretty well. Though I keep feeling threatened to be overwhelmed by tiny little things. Like making too much smoothie this morning.

Seriously. Too much smoothie. Apparently a big deal.

Clancy you weird little fucker.

Losing my shit

I wanted to try and describe how it feels when I get overwhelmed. Since it happens so often now.


It starts with a feeling of dread. My heart and stomach drop. I know what's coming, what feeling, what experience. I know what to expect. My heart starts to speed up, slowly at first. It beats hard and fast and I can feel each beat in my temples. In my whole body. I start to sweat a little. Not much, just a little. Everything is in slow motion now. My world will come crashing down.

 I feel myself sink to my knees, shoulders slumped as it happens, as my world falls. And fall it does. Glass flies as the windows shatter, their cacophony almost as loud as my self defeating thoughts. Plaster and drywall rain down on me. There is water, water falling from somewhere that I can't see, to add to the mess. Right in front of me, like a movie projector, is everything I love and care for. My friends and family. My husband. My son. They fade as they're pulled away from my outstretched arms, forever out of my reach. I'm rocking now. I place my hands over my ears and scream. Silently, I scream. 

Everything starts to go dark. I look around at the encroaching blackness and panic. Not again. Not like this. I tell myself that I'm fine, everything is fine, I'll be fine. The rocking quickens and I still have my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes against the darkness and continue with my mantra. I slow my breathing as the anxiety and dread build. Breathing slowly, thinking of my family, breathing slowly, thinking of my family. 

There may be tears, there may not be. There may be anger, there may not be. There may be a rage so great that I feel compelled to add more destruction to my already crumbling world. There may not be. There may be despair and sorrow so great that I completely break down sobbing, knowing that I can't possibly go on. There may not be. 

Slowly, eventually, my mantra starts to work. Slowly, eventually, my heart rate slows, the rocking stops, and I can look around at the destruction. The water is still falling, but so lightly that it's a mist. Debris lays strewn everywhere, piles of glass and drywall and hopes and dreams. I stand in a daze, that dread still there. 

Because now I have to clean up.

I wring out my shirt as best I can and pick shards of glass and flakes of paint and drywall from my hair. I have to push on now. I have to push on and clean up and pretend and act like this never happened. That I'm okay. Because I have to be okay, don't I?


That, my friends, is how I feel when I get overwhelmed. Every time I get overwhelmed. Which may be several times a day. Now, obviously I don't drop to my knees and scream and rock (well, sometimes I actually close my eyes and rock, but I don't scream, let's be honest). But this is how I feel. The feeling may only last a few minutes - boom! Here and gone. It may last a few hours. Or the initial feeling may last only a few minutes but the cleanup may take all day.

It's not fun. And it's not all that easy. It takes it's toll on me. By the evening I feel emotionally and mentally drained. If it's a good day, where these episodes are few and last only a few minutes, I'm doing pretty okay. I'm mostly okay. On a bad day, like yesterday, I'm down and withdrawn, easy to anger and exhausted.

I have a feeling that this is how I'll be from now on. That if I'm not in acute crisis (ie depression, mania or mixed), this is how I'll be.

And on a good day, that's fine.

But on a bad day . . .

And there are triggers. There are definitely triggers that make this all worse. Some of them I know, some are completely random. And a lot of them are unavoidable. So I'm always on guard, alwyas on alert. Always monitoring.

It's pretty awesome.

Worried about work . . .

I start back to work next Saturday (the 11th). Now, keep in mind that I'm an RN and I deliver babies. TOTALLY not a high stress job. Nope. No stress here.

And I'm worried. I am seriously worried about going back. Everything overwhelms me. I'm supposed to be going to a friend's house on Saturday to visit and her kiddos are sick so we had to postpone. I lost my shit people. My world came crashing down. Anxiety, despair, anger, confusion, and the feeling like I couldn't possibly go on. Seriously.

My hubby and son wanted to teach me how to play Minecraft on the Xbox (I don't play video games). After 5 minutes of play trying to figure out the dumb controller I about lost my shit. I held it in because of my 6 year old son sitting next to me, but the feelings were all there.

I almost embedded my sewing bobbin in the wall and then broke down sobbing because it wouldn't feed correctly.

My mind still races. I have difficulty concentrating. I'm agitated and irritable and feel restless like I need to MOVE. If I don't stay constantly busy, depressive thoughts try to steal their way back in. They slink around in the background, waiting to pounce, waiting for me to let down my guard.

And I'm supposed to go back to work. In a high stress job that I absolutely LOVE, but that requires me to be at the top of my game. That requires me to focus and concentrate and make snap (sometimes life and death, literally) decisions.

My manager is awesome. She's a godsend. She'll support me in whatever I need. For this I am lucky. For this I am grateful. But I can't afford to be out on leave - and I only have 6 more weeks of FMLA available anyway. After that . . . nothing. And with my track record of hospitalizations . . .

So I'm worried. I'm worried about how I'm supposed to go back to work. Maybe next week I'll be more stable. Maybe next week I won't be overwhelmed by everything.

And maybe I won't be better.

And so I worry.

I'm writing again because I need to vent. My blood is boiling right now. My anger and irritability is skyrocketing and I feel like screaming and crying and putting my fist through something. I need to completely lose my shit.

People. People piss me the fuck off. A few people in particular. A few people who seem to think that if I change my diet and go outside more I'll be "cured" of bipolar disorder.

As if it's that simple.

Don't you think that I would have FUCKING DONE THAT ALREADY if it was that simple??????

You know what? No. I'd rather be bipolar. I'd rather put myself, my family, and my friends through FUCKING HELL rather than going gluten free.

Stupid. Fucking. Moron.

I've gone gluten free. I've cut out sugar. I cut out caffeine. I exercise, I meditate, I pray, I get outside, I play, I read positive quotes in the mornings, I give myself positive affirmations. I do all this shit and I'm not fucking cured.

Fuck gluten free. Gluten is fucking delicious and I eat it again. Fuck caffeine free. I fucking love coffee and I drink it in moderation. Fuck sugar free. Artificial sweeteners can be more harmful and everything in moderation is fucking okay.

FUCK YOU FUCKING FUCKERS WHO PISS ME THE FUCK OFF.

What I'm feeling right now is not rational. I know this. But I can't fucking control it at the moment.

And that's why I'm writing.

So I don't fracture my knuckle again.

The Obligatory New Year's Post

Happy New Year, blah blah blah.

I typically don't do new year's resolutions. Planning something on this day doesn't make it any more likely that you'll succeed than if you planned it on any other day. It's a day to make empty promises to yourself to make you feel better about yourself.

So let's get this show on the road. Here are my New Year's Lies To Myself:
1. I will not be funny.
2. I will not get better.
3. I will not shovel a shit ton of manure.

I think 3 is a respectable number of lies. Golly, I hope I live up to them!! (that is sarcastic font by the way. Pretty snazzy, yeah? You're welcome.)

In other news, the Geodon seems to be reaching more therapeutic levels. I'm feeling better, not as much irritability or anger. Thank the baby DeJesus!! My sleeping is also starting to mellow out - not as much grogginess.

Yesterday I spent the day in Estes Park with my two favorite people (hubby and son - though I would've taken Tom Hiddleston . . .). I was calm, peaceful, and happy for the most part. I had a few moments where I could have lost my cool, but I kept it under wraps. Go me! *high fives self*

Driving home I did get a little hypo manic - racing thoughts, pressured speech, slight irritability. I had this idea for a painting of a wolf barfing out ravens. Hundreds of ravens. No, I don't know why - my brain is stupid. But there was this urgency in needing to get this painting done. Like, yesterday. Fuck everything I have to paint!! But after we got home I calmed down and the painting idea seemed a bit dumb. I had no desire to paint it. I'm sure if I remained hypo I would have stayed up however late necessary to finish it though.

Today I've been stable as well. Not as groggy this morning. My son and hubby wanted to teach me how to play Minecraft. Now, let me start by saying I don't play video games. My days of video games died out with the first playstation. I just don't play. So now we have my hubby and 6 year old trying to teach me how to use a controller with like 30 buttons. I don't even think I'm exaggerating.

I probably am.

But it feels like 30 buttons. That's the point. That, and I don't play video games. And Minecraft is boring (I've watched them play for a little bit before). But oh well, let's play.

No.

Not only no, but hell no.

I managed about 5 minutes of play before I felt like my whole world was going to crash down around me. Literally. I was instantly overwhelmed and anxious and felt like crying and hiding and giving up on life.

With this, I'm not exaggerating. What the fuck, self? Seriously? Seriously?? How fucking stupid is that? Here, have a controller. Noooooooooo! *runs screaming in other direction, sobs uncontrollably*   

I handed the controller to J and told them that I'd watch. It took me a half an hour to fully calm down. And this is why we can't have nice things.

That last bit didn't make sense, but I don't really care.

So I still get overwhelmed easily it seems. Which makes me worry for work. I'm taking an extra week off at the "suggestion" of J and my therapist. Neither of them feel that I'm ready to go back to work and that if I do, I'll end up sick again. Which is probably true. But pride people. I has it, and I hate missing yet another week of work.

But a controller to an Xbox 360 almost made me lose my shit. So I see their point.

Well played, brain. Well played.