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.

Today I should have gone to the hospital

I worked today. I was on the floor, backup for trans. I had easy patients. Nice patients. It should have been a nice day. An easy day.

It wasn't.

I knew this morning when I woke up that today would be difficult. I knew I would struggle. I just didn't know how much . . .

I avoided people. Coworkers, my patients even. Go into a room, do what I needed, and get out. I was irritable. I was angry. I didn't want to be bothered. People asked questions. Questions I'm sick of answering. Have you sold your house? When are you moving? Where are you moving to?

I don't. Fucking. Know.

And I'm tired of everyone asking.

Wait.

It's a simple thing. It's not a big deal. People are curious, interested, caring. Making conversation.

But it filled me with rage. I couldn't handle the questions so I withdrew a little more. I gave short answers.

In the afternoon I hid.

I stole away to the report room, sat in a chair in the corner behind the door so people wouldn't see me. That only lasted for half an hour before I got a call from a patient. I left my chair, my temporary sanctuary, to bring my patient pain meds.

I had brought my Nook with me so I decided to try reading. Reading should help, right?

Normally it does. Not today though. Not today. Today I couldn't really focus. After a few pages I would have to take a break. Walk, stretch, check my email. I couldn't focus. I couldn't focus why can't I focus what the hell . . .

My mood was worsening. I grade myself on a scale of 1-10. Five is "normal". Below is moving into depression, above into mania. I started the day at a 3.5. Yes. By 4:00, I was a 2, threatening to go lower. Ever lower.

It can't go lower.

It was. I hid. I hid in the report room again. It was dark in there, the sun was already going down and I left the lights off. I wanted the dark, the quiet. I wanted no one.

Leave me alone.

The charge nurse came in. She didn't know I was sitting there, alone, in the dark. I said boo. She jumped and immediately asked if I was okay.

No. I'm not okay. I'm far from okay.

She offered to take my patients and send me home.

I'll be alright. I'm not okay, but I'll be alright. I can last the rest of the shift. It's only 2 hours. I can do it.

She took my face in her hands and told me to let her know if I needed anything.

Wait. I need help.

Wait.

She left and I sat in the dark, alone. I started to shake, to tremble, lip quivering, tears welling up. I wept. Silently. I tried to stop. I can't have someone catching me crying. Sitting alone in the dark is one thing . . . but crying . . . no.

I stopped crying and I sat, drying my tears, blowing my nose as quietly as I could.

I felt worse. So much worse.

I need to lie down.

I laid down on the floor, in the shadows, behind the door. No one could see me if they were just walking by. Perfect.

Wait.

I was worse. I felt worse. I'm lying on the floor alone in the dark at work and no one knows I'm here and they don't know how bad I feel how bad I've gotten again and that I'm lying here and what I really want to do is die but I can't do that not here not at work and maybe not anywhere but I still kinda want to die and why isn't anyone looking for me?

My mind was racing, I was praying. Please, someone, anyone, find me. Find me and HELP ME. I need HELP don't you understand I NEED HELP!! Someone. Please . . .

Stop.

If someone finds me, if they ask me, I need help. I need to go to the hospital. I want to swallow all of my pills and slit my wrists and  want to go to sleep and not wake up and I know that that's not what I really want. What I really want is for the pain to stop. The pain to fucking END ALREADY.

I'm lying on the floor at work in the dark, hidden from everyone, praying, praying, PRAYING and no one comes. No one comes into the report room. I'm on my side, curled in a ball, full of despair and hopelessness and I start to cry again because no one is coming and no one is helping me and please just someone come and help me because I'm afraid I might hurt myself and it might be real bad this time and I'm scared. No, I'm terrified. My mind races with scenarios of my death and how I might be saved if someone would just FUCKING COME INTO THE ROOM.

But no one does.

I'm miserable. I text my husband. I tell him it's bad, I'm having a rough day, I'm hiding. I don't let on how bad it is because I don't want him to worry. I make him worry so much and I don't want him to worry because I'm okay, really, I'll be okay, I'm fine actually. Just fine.

Stop.

You're not fooling anyone. At least, not yourself. You need to get up. You've been on the floor for 2 hours.

Get up.

I can't. I need to stay longer. Someone may find me and I can get help. I need help. Remember?

Get up.

I sit up. I feel defeated. I feel empty and hopeless and scared and depressed and I don't want to move but I have to move I have to check on my patients and no one is coming to check on me so I have to get up.

Get up.

I stand. I look into the hallway to make sure no one is around while I make my way to the bathroom to clean myself up. I need to be presentable. People can't know that I was crying. That I was silently breaking down and losing my shit while they were doing their work and being happy and normal and not looking for me or helping me because apparently I still do a good job of hiding my suicidal thoughts and depression and no one seems to be the wiser.

Wait.

I check on my patients. They're fine. I was on the floor for 2 hours and they didn't call me and they didn't need anything and they're fine. I sit in the nurses station staring at my phone, scrolling through facebook, trying not to think about how much I hate life and how much I really want to die and then countering my thinking because I know I really don't want to die, remember? You want the pain to stop. You want to not feel like this anymore.

Please.

My shift ends. I give report. I drive home. I tell my husband if I have another day like today I need to be admitted. I need to go to the hospital.

I don't want to go to the hospital. Not again. Please not again.

Help.

 I feel empty and drained and horrifically sad and hopeless and it's maybe more than I can handle. Is it more than I can handle? I wish I knew. And how will tomorrow be? The same? Worse? Better?

Stop.

I wrote this. Before going to bed because if I didn't write this it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to sleep and my mind would probably race even more and I can't have that, not now. Now I need to sleep. It's the only real escape I have.

Holy Shit Y'all

Let me catch you up to speed.

I saw Dr. C on Wednesday about my looming depression. I was thinking that I just need to suck it up and deal with it. He says, no, I don't. I don't need to feel the way I've been feeling.

So we're starting me on Wellbutrin, which I was on before and it was starting to help with the depression in September (then I went all mixed and manic and we had to stop it). We're also increasing the dose of my Lamictal.

I asked him about stopping the Geodon. When I was started on an antipsychotic, he said it was only temporary to get me through the mixed episode. I told him I'd like to try going off of it as I'm pretty sick of not having orgasms. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. It sucks. He said it was fine, but to drop from 80mg a night to 40mg for a week and then stop it after that.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So, being given the go ahead to wean off the Geodon, I found myself terrified. Because I don't know how my body will react to this. I may go straight into another mixed or manic episode. It may be worse. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe I'll explode. I don't know.

But there's only one way to find out, right?

Last night was my first night at the decrease dose of 40mg. I didn't sleep well. But I woke up feeling wide awake and energized. And then antsy. And anxious. And impatient. And my mind was racing. And I mean racing. So fucking fast.

I went to go muck stalls and I felt less anxious. But my mind was going and going and would get fixated on a phrase or song lyric and replay it over and over and I couldn't stop it. Or I'd manage to stop it but some other phrase or song lyric would get stuck and I couldn't focus or concentrate and I was flustered and annoyed.

After mucking, exhaustion hit (I worked yesterday and it was stupid fucking busy - so this, with lack of sleep . . .). But I was still anxious and antsy and my mind was still going. I went to the store and the post office and stopped briefly at a friend's house. While I was at L's house I could hardly concentrate on anything she was saying because my mind wouldn't SHUT THE FUCK UP.

And now I'm home and I'm exhausted and I have this really awesome IRRATIONAL RAGE and I'm even pissed off at air. Mother. Fucking. Air. My mind is still racing. I'm typing this so fast trying to keep up with it and I'm making so many typos that I have to go back and fix which just fuels my rage but I can't stop typing fast because I can hardly form a rational thought.

It's song lyrics right now. "Don't assume, that I need your love". After the Disco by Broken Bells. Over and over and over and I love the song but Clancy what the fuck are you kidding me right now???

I'm hoping this is just rebound from lowering the dose and that once my body adjusts I'll be good and this shit will stop. Because if this continues, God help us all. I probably will explode. Which would be a huge horrible mess that hubby will end up having to clean and then he'll resent me forever for it but I'll be dead so I won't really care.

Run on sentences FTW.

Somebody fucking shoot me.

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.

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?

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.

It's Christmas Eve and I got pissed at church

And I don't mean I got pissed during church (well, I did, but bare with me). I got pissed at church. As in the entity of the church. The thought, the notion, the feeling, the tradition, the meaning. The church.

It pissed me off.

I'm not even sure I can explain this. Because it doesn't make sense. But I'm going to try, mostly for my own sanity and/or amusement.

J is Catholic so tonight we went to Catholic mass. Let me just throw out there that I dislike mass. I find it boring and pointless. And all the damn singing and standing and sitting and kneeling and now stand again. It needs a dislike button.

So we're sitting in the pews, listening to the choir, and I started feeling irritable. At nothing. Just irritable. And this cute family, mother, father, and 6 month old or so son sat a couple pews ahead of us.

I hated them.

For no reason. Then her friend or sister showed up with her husband and two kids and I hated them equally as much. Look at these two families, all happy and festive, enjoying themselves in church. Fuck them. I shot daggers at them with my eyes.

An elderly gentleman sat next to the second couple - a little to close for what my personal bubble would be - and I fumed. I screamed at him in my mind that he was sitting to close and why the fuck are you not following social boundaries??? You have a whole fucking pew and you had to sit that close??

More singing. Where the fuck is the damn priest? Why is the singing not stopping? Oh, now we have to stand. Good.

I fumed. I looked around the congregation at all the people, hundreds of faces. Everyone seemed so happy and content to be spending Christmas eve with their families in church.

Fuck them.

Catholic mass on Christmas eve is the same every year. I swear that it's exactly the same. And tonight everything about it was adding fuel to the fire. My irrational anger, my irritability and rage were completely out of place - and confusing. I don't know why I was feeling the way I was. But I was and I didn't like it. I couldn't seem to stop it though.

So I did what I always do and tried to overanalyze the situation. Not much - just a little. All I could come up with was that I don't really like Christmas and that I'm still in a mixed episode.

Yep. Despite what I wish and what I'd like others to think, I'm still actually in a mixed episode. Not crazy from meds - that bit is over - but still mixed.

The entire time at church my mind was racing. And I mean racing. Flight of ideas, racing swirling thoughts about nothing and everything and the house and dog and mucking stalls and dolphins and bipolar and my wedding and friend's wedding and my bridesmaid's dresses were blue and T's were lavender and a flock of pigeons take flight and there's a fountain when should we take down the treewe'rehavingsandwichesonfridayatafriendshouseand. . . . . . It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.

I couldn't shut up my mind. And that contributed to my irritability. And driving home, it continued. And I said a few random outbursts of ideas and thoughts that may or may not have had anything to do with each other. And I laughed.

I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably at the same time. I felt like I would explode.

Instead of exploding, which would be messy, I went to the bathroom and took my meds. Tonight I increased my dose of Geodon. I was told when I left the hospital that if I was experiencing irritability in the afternoon or evenings to increase my dose. So I did. 80mg instead of 40mg.

I'm writing this under the influence of my racing mind which is gradually slowing thanks to the increased dose. I'm starting to get drowsy. I'm going to be honest - I don't know if what I've written makes much sense. But I'm not going to go back and read it. Because drowsy.

Night y'all. Have a Merry Christmas or whatever the hell you celebrate.

And the annoying thing is . . .

. . . I need to write and I want to write but I want to sleep to escape my conflicting thoughts, my racing mind.

I have so many thoughts, so many that won't go away. They hang on, tenacious bastards that they are. They race around and they don't stop and I want them to stop but they don't and I'm so tired of it.

And so I need to write and I want to write but I need to sleep to escape my own mind. Because I can't concentrate because round and round my thoughts tumble and bounce and go.

And it's annoying, and so I'll sleep. I'll write tomorrow. Maybe the thoughts will calm themselves.