This really can't be as good as it gets

It's early - 6am - as I write this. I didn't sleep well and I've been up since 5. I've broken down sobbing once already, something I haven't done in probably 3 weeks. I don't know where I'm going with this post, I'm not sure what I'm going to get out.

Maybe some background:

It's been 2 weeks since my last ECT treatment (I go again on the 19th). The first couple of days after I felt pretty good, pretty "normal" (whatever that is). Then on Thursday the 8th I was manic. I started out hypomanic and was very giggly, fidgety, anxious, distractible, in therapy. But Thursday night . . . that's a whole other story. Hubs was very scared and was very close to taking me to the hospital. I was manic, plain and simple. He was texting my 2 best friends, asking what to do. Now, sadly, I don't have any more Xanax or Ativan that I can take to calm me down (I threw it all out 6 or 9 months ago as it was all at least a year past the expiration date). Hubs offered me Benadryl. Unbeknownst to him, I took an extra Seroquel (sorry I didn't tell you - I was kind of ashamed). It knocked me down enough that I could kind of sleep.

I remained hypomanic Friday through Monday, but it moved away from euphoria (I was crazy fucking euphoric that Thursday), and into the irritable kind. What does that look like? Racing thoughts, anxiety, panic attacks, hyper-irritability (I become a raging fucking bitch in seconds flat for no reason), and insomnia. Sounds fun, right?

Then Tuesday morning (this past Tuesday, 4 days ago) I woke up and I just knew. I knew my mood had shifted. The cloud of depression was over me again. I felt the familiar despair and hopelessness, but it was coupled with irritable hypomania. A mixed episode. Oh goody.

Mixed episodes are NOT fun. At all. They're also considered the most dangerous state to be in. Why? You have the depression, despair, and hopelessness coupled with impulsiveness. Not a good combo. Luckily, all I've done is cut.

I had therapy again this past Thursday (2 days ago) and M didn't even have to say a word to me to know something was very wrong. He made it abundantly clear that I need to talk to Dr. M about all of this when I see him for ECT on Monday.

But that terrifies me.

I mean, I know I need to let my psychiatrist know that hey: I spent a week hypomanic with a very scary-but-thankfully-short-lived manic day and now I have feelings of depression again. Of course he needs to know that. But what scares me is what he might say . . .

See, I'm worried that this is my new norm. That this is as good as it gets for me. I'm worried that Dr. M is going to tell me that I need more therapy, I need more DBT to learn how to better manage my moods. That there's nothing more he can do.

That really. Fucking. Terrifies me.

Because here's the thing: I am definitely way better than I was before starting ECT. I feel an improvement. People have pointed out that I seem better. I know it's helping. I don't want him to look at my symptoms and say, "well, it's obvious the ECT isn't helping, so we might as well stop." If it wasn't helping, like I know it is, I would be dead right now. That's the truth. It's a fucking shitty truth, but it's the truth. That's how I know it's helping. I'M FUCKING ALIVE, PEOPLE.

And here's the thing with therapy - I'm really kind of an expert now at using CBT and DBT techniques to help manage my mood. How do I know? I haven't been hospitalized in over a year. I'm functioning better than I was a year ago. Two years ago. Three years ago. And people have commented to this. I feel like I'm better in control. My fucking therapist has told me he sees a huge improvement in me.

I'M DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT.

I really, actually am.

And I'm so scared that I'm going to talk to Dr. M on Monday and he's going to wash his hands of me and I'm going to be left scrambling.

So then I overthink things and I think, wait - what if this is as good as it gets for me. That my stupid fucking bipolar truly is this difficult to manage and I need to work on accepting this so I can move on and learn to even better manage my symptoms. . .

But I don't want to settle. What if I give in and accept this as my lot in life when I could truly be doing so much better? I had a little over a week where I was enjoying myself. Where I felt happy. And I think I deserve to feel happy. I deserve more than just trying to make it through the day.

I really, truly, fucking hate bipolar disorder.

Yesterday I was mostly okay. Kind of.

I tend to overthink things, and not just big things - everything.  I overthink all the things. Sometimes this is good. Mostly, it's bad.

Yesterday I was overthinking things. About my mood swings. You know what? It would probably be helpful to tell you about my day to lend context to what I was overthinking. Maybe.

But that's what I'm going to do, so you'll just have to deal with it.

I worked yesterday, in trans (meaning in the transition nursery, where I attend deliveries and care for the newborns). I woke up feeling mostly okay. Not great, but okay. My jaw locked first thing in the morning - like at 7am (I have lock jaw from an old karate injury from high school and it's been flaring up bad lately I think from ECT - bite block and tense, tight muscles during seizures probably not good for my jaw). Luckily I was able to relax the muscles and get my jaw to open before my first delivery (at 9:30). Not that I needed to to do a delivery, but it's much comfortable when you're able to actually open your mouth to talk.

So mom smokes pot (legal in Colorado for adults over 21 - not legal for an infant to be exposed. DHS gets involved, baby gets drug tested through the umbilical cord and urine). Pot crosses into breast milk and we encourage these moms to either quit smoking pot, or to not breastfeed. But we can't stop them from breastfeeding. We give them the education and they make their own choice. I was informing mom of this when grandma starts going off on me. Yelling, rude, obnoxious. I managed to stay professional. Now, she wasn't going off because her daughter smoked pot - she was going off because how dare I imply that smoking pot could be bad and maybe I should smoke a bowl because I'm way too fucking uptight.

I did my teaching and left. Vented in the nurses station. But I noticed something: an exaggerated emotional response brewing. I had gotten angry and frustrated, I vented (and cussed), and that should have been the end. But oh no, not for my brain. No. I felt completely overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and as if I was going to completely lose my shit and break down sobbing uncontrollably. I felt despair taking over. I wanted to curl in a ball and hide away from everything. This is not okay. I argued with my mind, with my thoughts, reoriented and centered myself, used all my little CBT and DBT tricks that I know, did everything in my power to be okay. And after about an hour of wrestling with my thoughts and my feelings I was approaching mostly okay again.

I ate my breakfast with B (charge nurse), talked, tried to joke. And it was okay. I was okay again.

Until I wasn't.

My next episode came out of nowhere for no reason. I was chatting with the L&D nurses (trying to be normal over here . . .) and then WHAM! Despair, hopelessness, on the verge of breaking down sobbing. I have no idea why. I got up and went to the locker room to be alone. I fought my thoughts, countered them, constantly, over and over. No, you don't want to die. You aren't going to cut - no, not even a little. You're not stupid or fat - you've lost weight! NO! You're not taking all of your pills tonight - you want to LIVE. Everyone isn't out to get you. They care about you. Stop this ridiculous thinking. You can get past this. You have before, you will again. Over and over and over. Reorient myself (you're at work in the locker room. You're sitting on the bench. Take some deep breaths. That's it. In . . . out. You're wearing your new shoes and fun new socks - taco dinosaurs for fucks sake! You want to live and your going to live. Just breathe . . .).

After about 30 minutes I felt okay enough to leave the locker room. I didn't feel mostly okay yet - but I felt like I didn't have to hide. I chatted with our CNAs, trying to interact, not withdraw, appear/be normal, joke, everything's fine here people. And it was again, for a little bit.

Until it wasn't.

A little before lunch (like 1pm or so) I was blindsided by overwhelming despair. I felt exhausted, like I couldn't possibly keep going. It was bad. I needed 2 things - a hug and a nap. But I'm at work. I can't nap. I can get a hug though. From B (we're friends). I start walking over to post partum to awkwardly ask for a hug but I never made it. No, I had to pop into an empty patient room to sob uncontrollably for 10 or more minutes. And then I stayed hiding in there for awhile - I'm not even sure how long. I calmed myself, reoriented, centered, wrestled with my thoughts and emotions. When I left that room I wasn't mostly okay. I'm not sure I was even slightly okay. But I was functional and I could put on my mask.

And this is how the rest of my day went. Over and over I had to struggle against my mind, bring myself back to reality, fight against my thoughts and emotions. And this got me thinking - what if these types of mood swings aren't related to bipolar disorder? What if something else is going on?

What popped into my head was borderline personality disorder - which is characterized by intense mood swing lasting hours to days. So I started reading about it, comparing what I read to my life, overanalyzing/overthinking. I certainly match some of the diagnostic criteria. But other stuff? Not so much. But still I kept thinking about it and thinking about it. I had J read the diagnostic criteria when I got home to see what he thought. He said no. And what would it matter anyway? The only real treatment is therapy, which I've already been doing for 4 years.

But why then? Why were my moods so labile? Why did I get so bad so fast? And why was I (mostly) able to get a little better?

Well, in a word I think, I'm bipolar. And regardless of what the DSM would have you believe, people with bipolar disorder can and do have mood swings that occur this rapidly. It can happen the other way too, with mania, and it has with me.

As to why I was able to mostly be okay? I'm trying insanely fucking hard to counter my errors of thinking. I'm trying insanely fucking hard to be okay. I'm actively using everything I've learned in 4 years of therapy - both CBT and DBT. I'm doing everything I fucking can to battle this illness and take back my life.

You know what? I'm not entirely sure I made any sort of point with this post. And I don't really care.

SSDD

Same shit, different day.

My mood is still shit. I'm still depressed, still having suicidal ideation, and have been cutting. That is most certainly not a good combo. I have had 2 days in the last 3 weeks where going to the hospital might have been a good idea - except I don't think it would help much (I have been able to keep myself safe . . . well, except for the cutting).

I had a talk with hubby about everything a couple of nights ago to let him know what goes on in my fucked up brain. Maybe I scared him a little, I don't know. He thinks I need to add something else to my cocktail again. Maybe I do. But I don't know what. I don't have a good track record with antidepressants. He gave me homework though - to look back through my mood journal and see if there was something that I was on in the past that helped, even if I had to stop it for some reason.

Here's what I found:

I've always been on lithium and lamictal  - l&l - (both are mood stabilizers). For awhile I was on those with an antidepressant (most of the time, wellbutrin). This combo had me in a constant mixed state. I had mostly irritable hypomania mixed with depression, with a few short stints of euphoria. Reading through my journal, seeing how much irritability, distorted thinking, and depression was there makes it obvious that this is not a good combo.

I've also been on l&l with cymbalta. This combo lifted the depression a little but still kept me in a mixed state. L&l by itself renders me with deep depression.

I was on l&l with wellbutrin when I was hospitalized last November - wellbutrin was stopped while I was in the hospital and I was started on zyprexa. That knocked out the mania, but depression was still there and I was hospitalized in December after Latuda pushed me over the edge.

While on l&l and geodon, I had depression, sometimes a little more mild, often times more moderate and I lost my creativity. Mania/mixed symptoms are gone. Then, geodon was stopped and I started on seroquel. Still no mania/mixed symptoms. Well, irritability, but I'm not sure if that's mixed or more the depression. And I've been on wellbutrin and brintellix with these combos with no real benefit.

So, l&l with antidepressant alone = mixed episodes. L&l with antipsychotic = no mania/mixed, but depression. L&l with antipsychotic and antidepressant = no mania/mixed, but depression.

I'm not sure what to do. I'm sure my pdoc, whom I see next Wednesday, will suggest maybe upping the seroquel again. But I don't know what else would be helpful. I need something. Something has to change because I can't keep feeling like this.

And how, exactly, am I feeling?

Let's take a "good" day (good being a relative term). Today is a "good" day. I start the day not wanting to be awake because being awake is pointless and stupid. I spend the day going through the motions, feeling empty, and vacant, and detached. I don't really feel anything. I'm flat, apathetic. Why should I bother cleaning/drawing/etc when everything is so pointless and hopeless? It doesn't make sense. Sleeping to escape makes sense. Cutting makes sense. If I cut at least I can feel something physically - pain. That's almost like a feeling. My urge to cut is strong, sometimes overwhelming. I float along, feeling nothing, doing nothing. Well, that's not entirely true - I feel irritability. Easily. It's the only thing I do feel. I get snippy and bitchy. And in trying not to be snippy and bitchy, I tend to withdraw more.

Now, a bad day. Again, I awake not wanting to be awake because everything is pointless and stupid. Only now, I feel despair. Overwhelming despair and depression and darkness. Not only is being awake pointless, living is pointless. I want to die. I don't know how I can possibly make it through the day. The emotional pain is so great that all I want to do is curl in a ball. Curl in a ball and not exist anymore. Sometimes I do this - even at work - because I don't know what else to do. I get overwhelmed easily, I feel like giving up, and my irritability can get out of control. I tear up easily and often break down sobbing. I want to cut - this time not to feel physical pain, but rather to numb the emotional pain. I want to cut deep enough that I need stitches. My mind fixates on death - my death. Suicidal ideation. I hurt so bad that I don't know how I can go on living. I can't live like this - this is torture, not life. I know that if it does continue to go on like this, I'll kill myself. It's a certainty I'm terrified of.

I struggle whether it's a good day or a bad day, just in different ways. Neither of these days are really okay with me. I have to feel something other than this. I'm so fucking tired of dealing with this. No one should have to - especially for as long as I've had to. I'd really love to throw in the towel.

But I can't.

So there's where I am. Stuck between shit days and shit days. We'll see what my therapist says this week and what my pdoc says next week. What else can I do . . .

It's been awhile

So yeah. It's been awhile since my last post and quite a bit has happened. Let's see, last post was about depression coming back.

And that is still the case I'm afraid. But I also have this really awesome thing called anxiety. And it's been bad. I have panic attacks when I try and sleep. At first it was just with trying to nap. Then it started with going to bed at night. Racing heart, feeling of impending doom, shakiness, panic. It happens at random times throughout the day too. Sometimes it's constant throughout the day.

Hell, I'm almost in a full panic attack right now, writing this.

I've had irritability and insomnia - to the point where I've been taking klonopin to sleep.

I have all the symptoms of a mixed episode starting. At first I was thinking it might be caused by Deplin - a folic acid supplement that my psych doc put me on. I found one site that listed insomnia, irritability and anxiety as side effects. But I looked it up on my work's fancy info site and it seems that this is not the case (at least for 99% of people - who knows, maybe I'm that 1%). It can cause acne though - which has gotten horrifically bad. So I stopped taking the Deplin, just in case.

The anxiety and irritability continues (the insomnia has gotten better, thank God).

I've had some other issues (that I won't discuss here) which has led to my psych doc having me increase my geodon back up to 80mg - which I really do not want to do (last night was my first increased dose and I certainly feel the effects today - namely fatigue and grogginess). He's also considering starting me on Depakote, which we'll discuss when I see him on Monday (I have strong reservations about going on this drug because of the side effects). He's also started the process of trying to get me seen by the mood experts at Mass General in Boston. I want to go so badly but I'm not terribly hopeful that it will happen.

I've taken to rating my mood on a scale from 1-10, and most days it's around a 3. I'd like it around a 6. I've had some 2's, and I've had a few 4's as well. But, still pretty low. And did I mention anxiety? And irritability? Oh I have? Okay.

What else . . . I was in on a code on a baby and the baby died. This was my first infant death (though I've coded many babies). I took it pretty hard - harder than I thought I would. So hard, even, that my brain went into overdrive giving me full blown depression with suicidal ideation for a day. And then - poof - gone. My brain does not handle stress well at all apparently.

Speaking of stress, I still get overwhelmed at work. I'm keeping my shit together just fine, I just feel overwhelmed and exhausted after working. And during working. Especially since almost every day I've worked we've done 8-10 deliveries. So crazy busy. But I'm handling it better than I was even a month ago, which makes me feel hopeful that at some point I'll be able to go back to full time. Probably not anytime soon, but at some point (I still have a hard time handling two days a week - let alone 3 right now). But I'll get there.

And lastly, my son has been having some anxiety issues of his own - mostly about something happening to my hubby or I (or his uncle). This has been going on for weeks. A few days ago he asked me tons of questions about my bipolar (not that he called it that - he's 7). Wanting to know why I act the way I do, why do I get angry or cry for no reason, why am I sad, why doesn't my brain work right, why do I have to take so many pills, will I always be like this. That kinda stuff. And he made a request that actually kinda hurt - he asked to see a therapist. He wants to "talk to someone about this like you do". It broke my heart a little because I know that quite a bit of his anxiety is cause by my instability. But I'll find a child therapist for him so he can talk - as much as he needs to. Maybe it's only one session. Maybe it's several. I don't know.

Alright. I've written enough for now. A brief overview of what the hell has been going on.

Where am I at?

I'm at a weird point in my life right now. After the horrible setback I had last week after stopping and then restarting the geodon, I find myself getting more stable.

So why is that weird? Why is getting stable weird?

Because I'm not used to it.

Let's look at my life: I have been in complete chaos for 2.5 years. I have been either mixed or severely depressed for 2.5 years. But look at the last 5 months - 2 hospitalizations, several med changes, going part time at work, having issues every day at work (with memory, cognition, and getting overwhelmed easily). It has been rough. And that is putting it ridiculously mildly. All I'm used to is crisis and heightened everything. I'm used to feeling like shit. I'm used to thinking that it will never get better.

But now, I'm slowly getting better. Now I'm slowly getting stable.

 And I have no idea how to react or what to do with myself.

I'm confused. I'm unsettled. Truth be told, I don't like this feeling. It is so foreign to me now, so strange, so . . . wrong that I can't quite handle it. All I've wanted was stability and now that it's happening, I'm terrified. See, as I'm slowly getting more stable, I'm slowly losing my identity. Everything that is "me", everything that I'm used to is going away and that's pretty damn scary. Even if it's for the better (which it is). I have to reinvent myself now. I have to figure out who I am when I'm not in crisis or chaos.

I'll be honest - I'm struggling with this. Part of me is fighting this, wanting to go back to the way things were - where everything is familiar and comfortable, no matter how horrible it truly was. I know it will take time - possibly a lot of time - before I'm comfortable with the stable me. I'll get there, eventually. And hopefully I won't muck everything up along the way.

Stupid Med Changes

First let me remind you about my med changes. Almost 2 weeks ago I saw my psychiatrist. My depression was coming back and I wanted to get on the ball and take action early. So I made an appointment and we talked about what as going on. He agreed we needed to be a little more aggressive and not wait for it to get worse. He raised my Lamictal does from 200mg daily to 250mg daily and started me back on Wellbutrin.

The other thing I had talked with him about was stopping the Geodon due to sexual side effects. He said he thought it was safe to do so. After my first decrease from 80mg to 40mg I had rebound hypomania the following day (read about it here).

This past Thursday (the 20th) was my first night not taking the Geodon. I slept for 1 hour. Maybe. Could have been less. Friday was weird. I was depressed and felt . . . off. Even mucking stalls and being around the horses didn't help. But I minimized it and told myself that that was Friday and it was probably due to lack of sleep and that Saturday might be different. Day to day.

Saturday came and I was at work. It was not a good day. I spent much of my time hiding in the report room curled in a ball in the corner because I was depressed and couldn't face people. I'm exhausted, I told myself (I had slept 6 hours the night before). Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be better.

Then Sunday came and again I was at work. I started the day almost a little hypomanic. I had tons of energy, I was joking around, I was inappropriate, I was talking fast. I calmed a little after report and assessed my patients. Around 9am I started to feel funny. I started to feel down. At 9:30 it hit me - severe depression. I was charting. I closed out my chart and just barely made it to the bathroom before I started balling. I was in there, crying uncontrollably, for 30 minutes. I felt horrible and alone and empty and I wanted to die. But I composed myself, walked out and walked behind the front desk. I meant to ask the CNA there if I looked okay when one of my managers saw me. Her eyes got wide and she asked if I was okay. I shook my head no and started crying again. She rushed over and hugged me and asked what was wrong.

"I just had a med change and I think it's made me depressed and I want to get a scalpel because I kinda want to die." I hadn't intended to admit my suicidal thoughts (though I'm glad I did).

She looked at me and told me that I couldn't hurt myself because there were too many people who cared for me. She asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I told her probably, I was feeling bad enough to but that I didn't want to go back - it's only been 3 months since my last hospitalization. We talked and agreed that I could go home to be with my hubby and son with the understanding that if I didn't improve I'd admit myself.

So home I went and I did everything I could to lift my spirits - including a nap and a hot bubble bath (while listening to music that makes me happy). I emailed Dr. C and he agreed that this was due to me stopping the Geodon and he said I obviously need it and to start back up at 40mg. I emailed my therapist and he told me if I needed to see him this week (my next appointment is the 1st) that he would make time for me.

Today I'm mildly depressed and have no motivation for anything (except maybe staring at the wall). I was a little better this morning than I am now, but I'll manage. I'm hoping that with being back on the Geodon my mood will improve quickly.

I'm tired of setbacks like this. I just want a med combo that works and that I don't have to keep tweaking. Hopefully this current one of lithium, Lamictal, Wellbutrin and Geodon will work (I also hate being on 4 meds for this stupid disease).

Oh well. As long as I can reach - and maintain - stability, that's all that matters.

Fuck you, self

I'm sitting here very restless but very apathetic. There is a torrent of thoughts racing through my mind, none of them good. I hate this feeling. This feeling of needing to do something, anything, but having no idea what to do. But of also not caring enough to even try. Of knowing that everything you do is pointless so there's no sense in doing anything.

I have still been down. I have still felt empty and lost and confused. I have still been horribly withdrawn and, early this morning, I was unaware of this fact. I felt somewhat okay this morning. Sure, maybe I was a little down. Maybe I was feeling a little empty, even a little irritated, but I was okay, right?

Until my best friend, L, came over. Then, I realized, just how not okay I was. I was acutely aware of how down I was feeling. I was acutely aware of how withdrawn I still am (she even made mention of it). Truth be told, I didn't want to talk, I didn't want her company, I didn't want anything except to disappear.

But I couldn't disappear. I couldn't even go on a drive and smoke. See, my son is home sick from school. Can't really take him around with me on a self destructive spree.

So I painted/drew with him and then read while he played games on his kindle.

And I had bad thoughts.

I thought about taking pills. I needed to escape what I was feeling and taking pills seemed like a viable option. But everything I have will sedate me. Which is fine if it only did that for a few hours but the last time I tried it I was in and out of consciousness for a day and a half. I need uppers. I have no uppers. I need percocet so I can feel high. I have no percocet.

So then I thought about alcohol. But the problem with that is drinking with my meds. I can't even take a fucking Benadryl with my meds without being so knocked out the next morning that I can't function. I have therapy in the morning! I have to be functional!

I thought about stopping all of my meds. So that I can maybe be manic. Get the high of mania - the euphoria, energy, on top of the world feeling coupled with invincibility. But that would prove highly destructive.

I'm considering anorexia. I'm not even fucking joking. A slow form of self harm that, hey - will maybe make me look good! Weight loss isn't all bad!

I want to destroy things but I don't have the energy. I want to punch but in order to be satisfied I need to hurt myself.

And I think about all of these things, these self destructive things, and I can't help but wonder if this is all just me trying to self sabotage. I'm trying to make my situation worse. Bring about crisis. Because we all know that I don't seem to function without some form of motherfucking crisis.

I know this. And I'm doing everything to try and counter this thinking. It's not healthy. I'm not healthy. But no matter how hard I try and counter, it doesn't change the fact that the feelings are there. That the thoughts are there. They're FUCKING THERE and nothing I do seems to work!

What the hell am I supposed to do? I see what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. It's there, right in front of me. And still it happens. And I try, and right now I seem to be failing. I'm too much for myself. I can't counter my own sick mind and I'm going to make things worse.

What. The fuck. Do I do?

Let's talk about things

This post will be . . . difficult I think. And personal. Because I don't see my therapist again until next week and I need to get shit out. Air out some bones.

Friday through Monday (starting last week) were horrible days for me. I was irritable. I was depressed. I felt awful. I had feelings of despair and hopelessness. I broke down crying on Sunday. It felt like the old me. The depressed me.

The familiar me.

I did what I could to brush off the feelings. I minimized them. I ignored them. I tried to stay in the moment. I took it day by day, hoping the next day would be better. I didn't catastrophize, I didn't ruminate, I stopped negative thoughts and replaced them with positive ones.

And it worked somewhat.

On Sunday after crying I was able to joke a little - I could move past the despair. On Monday it was difficult. I was at work and I was down and withdrawn and irritable. I hid a lot. I avoided people (which didn't go unnoticed). But I got through the day despite how tired and drained I was.

Yesterday I was at the riding center most of the day. I mucked stalls in the morning which lifted my spirits. Now, I was withdrawn there - I usually talk with the other people there but yesterday I pretty much kept to myself. Interacting proved difficult. I was horribly drained from the previous four days, but I went back in the afternoon for the classes - which was probably a mistake - it took everything out of me.

But I pressed on and last night I was more light hearted and able to joke a bit.

So I'm taking things day by day. I have to - I have no choice. Day by day I have to be acutely aware of my feelings. Day by day I have to check in with myself to make sure I'm not swinging outside the realm of normalcy. And day by day this is exhausting.

It has to be done though. Because here's my problem:

I think I may be starting another mood episode. Possibly caused by the stress of being back at work. And that's not the only problem.

I like to self sabotage. We all know this, right? We all know that I have issues with being "normal", with being "okay". We all know that I'm used to being depressed. I don't know how to not be depressed.

And this is a HUGE problem. See, part of me is excited at the prospect of another mood episode, of going into a state of depression again. Part of me welcomes tis whole heartedly. It's like visiting a friend you haven't seen in a long time - where you pick up as if no time has past. It's like being home. It's familiar and comfortable and part of me longs to be there again.

I hate admitting this. I hate this part of me.

And I'm stamping it out. Or trying to. Which is harder than you think. I'm already dealing with looming depression (it truly is there) and to add to this . . . it's hard. It takes it out of me. I'm already drained and now I'm exhausting myself by fighting with myself.

Jealous?

This is what I'll be discussing in therapy next week. It troubles me and I want it to stop.

I want to stop having to check myself all the time. However, I think with this illness, that will never happen. Maybe it will lesson over time, but I think it will always be necessary.

And I say boo to that.

Therapy and other stuff

I have a feeling this post is going to turn out more stream-of-consciousness than anything else. And I'm fine with that. This shit's for me anyway.

I had therapy this morning and it was a great session. I talked a lot about work (which surprised M as it's a subject I usually steer clear of), my mood swings as of late, sexual dysfunction and whatnot.

There's a few things I'm trying to figure out right now. First and foremost, my recent mood swings. I had some days where I've been downright depressed, where I've had irrational anger and irritability, or, on rare instances, where I've had fleeting moments of hypomania. The hypomania lasts around 30-60 minutes and is punctuated by racing thoughts, rapid speech, and inappropriate speech. In between this I'm usually okay. Typically down and withdrawn, but okay.

I'm trying to figure out why I've had this spike in emotional lability. At first I was thinking hormones (I never know when my "menstrual cycle" would be as I have no uterus). But it's been roughly 2 weeks of this now, more markedly the last week. So I'm not so sure this is it.

My other theory is work. Namely, the added stress of being back at work. I've been back for 3 weeks now and it's exhausting. The stress and drain I feel with it might be causing the cycling (which stress can do for us bipolars). And this stress is something that, sadly, I can do nothing about. I can do relaxation exercises, take hot baths, drink tea, whatever, but that doesn't remove the problem.

Now, about work . . . people have noticed a change in me. Several have remarked about how "quiet" I've become. Or how "tired" I always look. And I am quiet. I am tired. At work I've become more withdrawn. I tend to do okay with patients, just not with coworkers. If a conversation lasts longer than a couple of minutes I start to shut down. I can't handle it - I simply get overwhelmed and can't cope. And I hate that feeling. And people notice. And comment. And wonder if I'm really okay.

Work drains me. By 2 or 3 I'm pretty much done. I'm in shut down mode. My processing slows, I become more withdrawn, I can't concentrate or focus or cope with problems. People notice this too. And ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to notice.

I've been doing some reading in bipolar magazines and on forums and the fatigue with work and with stress of work causing symptoms is pretty common. So at least I know I'm not alone. I guess. Go me.

I wish I knew why work tires me so much. I wish I knew why I find it so overwhelming and difficult to cope with. I want to know the what, why, and how of it. Why does stress trigger mood episodes? Exactly what the hell is going on inside my brain?

I'll probably never know the answers to those questions.

And while I'm writing, let's talk about the whole "I don't know who I am" bullshit. I know who I am. On some fundamental level, I know who I am. I still have the same sense of humor, the same loves and other "same" shit. But I have changed. I'm different and I am having to find and reinvent myself.

I don't like the process.

I find that overall I'm more down. Overall I'm more irritable and easily annoyed. I'm hoping this goes away because I don't like myself for it. It takes everything I've got not to beat myself up over it, too (something I'm brilliant at doing). Hopefully with time it will subside. But in the meantime it's quite bothersome.

My sex life is also bothersome. Or lack there of, I should say. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. I got nothing. I might as well be watching cacti grow. I know it's a direct result of the geodon but I can't go off it now - I'm too terrified of what would happen.

But I want to actually enjoy sex. I'd like to actually have a sex life. Typically, sexual dysfunction is a deal breaker. But, I'm going to give it time in hopes of my body "growing out of" this whole sexual dysfunction phase. I don't think time is going to make one difference but hey - what else can I do? I plan on talking with Dr. C in April about it (that'll give me about 3.5 months on the medication) and see what he thinks. Originally the antipsychotic was going to be a temporary thing - maybe it still can be.

I guess that's all. For now at least. I have a headache and it's hard to concentrate on a computer screen when your eyes want to jump out of your skull.

Existing and living are not the same

I'm having an existential crisis and it is not fun.

I don't know who I am anymore. I'm stable but that's it. I can say that I'm a wife, mother, RN, artist and a myriad of other things but I don't know who I am.

The last 2 years of my life have been chaos. I've been either hypomanic, depressed or mixed. I've had no reprieve. I've been in crisis mode for two years.

And now I'm stuck in this limbo of trying to figure out who I am, really. I don't remember who I was before this - I have no idea. I can't picture myself before the chaos started.

I'm not happy. I'm not depressed, but I'm not happy. Everything seems pointless and stupid and I don't know why I bother trying. It's like I have this hole in me that I can't fill. There are instances, moments where I feel joy. Being with the horses at the riding center is a huge one - I feel happy there, I feel content. Sometimes with my son and hubby I can feel happiness. These moments, however, are fleeting. I enjoy them when I can, but when they pass I'm empty again.

Part of me truly wants the chaos to return - because at least I know who I am during these times. I know how to act and what to do. It's familiar. Even though when in crisis all I wish for and want is for it to end, to find stability.

I hate how I feel right now. I hate who I am right now. Things still overwhelm me at times. Things exhaust me like they never used to.

I'm lost hopelessly down the rabbit hole and I don't know which way is up.

Why am I so tired?

Seriously? My friend stopped by to hang out and chat for a little while and it was exhausting. I love hanging out with her. I love talking with her. She's my best friend. But after about 45 minutes I was ready for her to go. Not because I didn't want her company - but because I was getting exhausted. I felt overwhelmed just talking with her.

What. The actual. Fuck.

This is stupid. It's so damn stupid. Talking to a friend should not be exhausting.

But it was.

I really hate me right now.

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.

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.

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.

Fuck you, Geodon

I'm exceedingly annoyed this morning. All because of Geodon. The med that is supposed to help me. The med that is supposed to manage my mixed episode and have fewer side effects than the other antipsychotics.

Well, fuck you.

The first night on it was horrible thanks to the drowsiness. But that passed and the next couple of nights were fine. Hooray! *throws confetti* But I had to increase my dose - from 40mg to 80mg. The next couple of mornings I was groggy. Not too bad, but enough to be mildly annoying.

Then I had a couple of mornings where I was very groggy. Like, barely-keep-my-eyes-open-for-more-than-a-few-minutes groggy. And one of these mornings I was dizzy, lightheaded and felt like I was going to faint.

For an hour.

Then, a good morning. Yay! My body is adjusting to the increased dose!

Nope. It's not.

Yesterday morning I was so groggy it was painful and was dizzy and lightheaded again. So I decided that I would take my Geodon earlier in the evening - I'd been taking it shortly before bed (and it wasn't making me drowsy after taking it anymore).

Boom. Done. Decision made.

Bad decision.

I took it at 7pm last night and by 8 I couldn't keep my eyes open. Literally. I was so fucking drowsy it was stupid. So, off to bed I go. I haven't slept the last 3 nights anyway, so I might as well turn in early.

It would have been okay if I was able to sleep. I laid in bed, to drowsy to physically or mentally function but I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was slowly racing. Lots of thoughts, just at a slower pace than when my mind usually races.

I was drowsy as fuck but I couldn't sleep.

I was already dreading bedtime since I hadn't been sleeping well. I was already dreading bedtime knowing how I'd feel in the morning. And now I get to dread bedtime knowing that the Geodon has decided to make me stupid drowsy again.

I eventually did fall asleep - probably around 10:30 or so. I woke up many times to pee (at least 5 after 10:30 - I went 4 times between 8 and 9). When I woke up this morning, however, I was wide awake. Thank the baby Jesus for small favors!!!

But now, what to do tonight? When should I take my meds? How will I sleep? How am I going to wake up? I'm seriously developing a phobia about bedtime thanks to this. I was in tears last night because I couldn't go to sleep. Because I was so fucking drowsy but I couldn't sleep. J doesn't know that part - the crying part. Well, until he reads this. Now he knows.

It's just so frustrating. I shouldn't have to deal with this. This, on top of still being in my mixed episode.

How the fuck am I supposed to function? How the fuck am I supposed to go back to work?

Bleh

I have this need to write, but at the same time I feel very apathetic. I just don't care.

I told J today that I don't have depression, I don't feel depressed, I'm not down. And for the most part, that's true. I don't feel depressed. And I'm not depressed.

But right now I am most definitely down. I've been down most of the day. Not depressed - just down. And my irritability keeps shooting through the roof. Everything sets me off. Everything. I nearly lodged my sewing bobbin in the wall yesterday because it wouldn't feed right. I threw it at the wall and then broke down sobbing.

I'm overwhelmed by everything. Everything. Even small things. J and I were supposed to spend the day with our friends. Well, their kiddos are sick so we couldn't go. I felt like I couldn't cope with life. I couldn't find a matching sock in the laundry and my world about fell apart.

This is not okay. This is not normal. I know I'm still in a mixed episode - I get that. I do. I know it's going to take time for my Geodon to get to therapeutic levels. I get that. I do.

But can't I get a break?

I mean yeah, I'm not depressed. Which is fucking awesome, thank you. But this constant irritability and agitation, racing thoughts. I get distracted easily. It's hard for me to carry on a conversation sometimes. And being overwhelmed by everything. It's frustrating. Fuck it, let's be honest - this shit is infuriating.

I'm tired of having symptoms that won't go the fuck away. I'm tired of snapping at my husband and my son. Especially my son. I have no tolerance for him. And it pains me so much to say that. You have no idea. Actually writing that out? Almost in tears (I'm not in tears only because I'm stifling them).

So yeah. Can't I get a fucking break??

In other news, I painted a horse today. So that's good. I was going to post the picture but blogger is fucking up the quality. So check it out here if you'd like to see it.

That's all I guess. Cheers, y'all.

Christmas day

I just reread my post from yesterday and, surprisingly, it kinda makes sense. Kinda. Holy crap was I pissed at church.

This morning we went to my mom's house for breakfast and presents. It was lovely. My mom makes some kickass breakfast casserole and she's not drunk in the mornings so that's an added bonus. It was fine. It was good.

Then we went to Denver to J's aunt's house. Which was fine, but not as fine. See, there's a lot of people there. Like, 15-20. And there's noise. And apparently Clancy can't handle that much stimulation anymore.

It didn't take long before I felt overwhelmed. Trapped almost. Unable to cope. Effectively at least. I was a little withdrawn. As time went on I became irritable. I was shouting at family members in my mind. Yelling at them for their (seemingly to me) stupid comments. It was like church all over again. I became more withdrawn because I didn't want to inadvertently say what I was thinking.

About an hour before we left my mind started racing. Images, thoughts . . . all melded together, coming and leaving almost too quickly to be registered. The racing thoughts continued the whole way home. Even when I plugged in my iPod and sung along, which usually helps, the thoughts and images still came.

At home they reached a fever pitch. My mind was going so fast I couldn't hold on to a single thought. I tried writing in my mood journal and it came out as one long, nearly illegible, run on sentence. I was almost in tears my brain was so frantic. It's a horrible feeling not being in control of your thoughts. Not being able to slow them down enough to get a sentence out. Being confused with all of the images flashing through your mind, completely unrelated to one another and anything you're thinking.

I had J bring me my electronic cigarette. I did deep breathing. I ate so I could take my Geodon. I talked with J a little and texted my best friend L.

My mind is slowing which is why I'm able to type this. Not enough that I can write eloquently - it's still going fast - but at least I'm getting something out.

Yesterday and today made me realize something - I can't handle too much stimulation. It's like my brain short circuits. Too much input and it goes into overdrive and I can't cope. And when you sit back and say, well, I'm still in a mixed episode and this is to be expected, it doesn't seem too bad. But what I worry about is what if it's not entirely from the mixed episode? What if I continue to have issues like this? Issues with stress or crowds or too much visual stimulation? What then?

Only time will tell. I'm trying not to think too much on this, lest I drive myself crazy. Well, more crazy. I'm hoping, obviously, that this is the mixed episode and as I get to the therapeutic dose of Geodon it'll get better.

Because if not, I'm screwed.

And not the good kind of screwed. The screwed kind of screwed.

That doesn't even make sense.