Everything is so very confusing . . .

I don't know what's up with me lately. My emotions are everywhere, changing at any given moment. Not extreme. These are mild fluctuations, but still outside the realm of what I consider normal for me. And it's just . . .tiring. And frustrating. Though I suppose I'm getting used to it. I don't want this to be my new normal though.
I'll start by finishing with Thursday. Thursday night to be exact. Most of Thursday was tolerable. Good, in fact. That night though, I was antsy and nervous. I didn't want to leave the house but I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted to drive aimlessly around, blaring music and smoking and forget everything. Which is what I did when I was younger. And this is what I wanted to do. Instead, I actually took 2 shots and a xanax. Not a good thing. That could become a slippery slope.
Friday. It started well. I felt good. For most of the day actually. My mood dipped when I told my 2 closest friends about my past. It's hard to do. But it quickly returned to upbeat. I smoked a cigarette in the afternoon as I was feeling a little anxious. Had dinner with our amazing friends. Still, mood elevated. What's wrong with that, you ask? I was feeling hyper sexual. The feeling is one of the most annoying feelings I've had to experience. The urgency, the pressuring need to masturbate is overwhelming. To masturbate, or have sex, or show of my body in some manner . . .I really don't like it. I mean, sex, yes. But the fact that I feel like I literally have to pleasure myself . . .several times a day . . .fuck. It's also embarrassing. To talk about and even write about. Oh well.
Now today, I had the moods that were everywhere. Just, all. Over. The. Fucking. Place. Again, mild swings. But swings none the less. But with more irritability. Because that's always fun to have thrown in the mix. I wanted to cry and punch the wall today. I wanted to curl up in a ball and just sleep. Sleep until everything went away. People, feelings, everything.
And then I started feeling sick. Which doesn't mesh with my plans for this week. At all. Which made me more irritable and frustrated. Then I get to hear bad news about a coworker's sister who's dying (she's 20, I believe). Which dropped my already failing mood.
This. This is what's frustrating. Normal people can bounce back from crap like this. Me? My moods spiral out of my control and I have to work hard to rein them back in. Which is stressful and tiring.
I probably sound like all I do is complain. I feel more stable than I have since the beginning of July (when this whole mood episode started). Maybe my meds need more time or tweaking. Maybe weekly therapy session for a little longer before going back to every 2 weeks. Maybe I need to suck it up and stop whining.
Hopefully this vent will have me feeling better in the morning. Well, that and my Tylenol cold and flu.
Fucking head cold.

WTF, Thursday?

Thursday: Baahahahahahahaaaaaa!! What are emotions?! Let's have all the emotions today!! Then Thursday fist bumped the air.
Because Thursday is an asshole.
Today has been stupidly weird. And I mean that in the best and worse way. I've had a whole slew of emotions today - both good and bad. From being happy and upbeat this morning, to melancholy, to angry, to flat, and back to melancholy. And then just tired.
I coped in a bad way today - I smoked. See, I used to smoke back in the day (which was a Wednesday - trust me, you won't get the reference). But I gave it up when my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. Sometimes, when I'm really stressed, I crave a cigarette. And today I was at my mom's to check on her cat. And she smokes. And I lit one up and it was like an old friend you haven't seen in ages. Each drag calmed me. I took an extra home with me and smoked it after I got home from the gym. Again, it was divine. Tomorrow, I'll probably buy a pack. I figure an occasional smoke is better than the alternatives I've been tempted to do lately (cut, or take pills with alcohol to pass out).
And again, I think all of this has to do with dealing with everything from my past. All the pain and anger hitting at once . . . .I guess it might be affecting me more than I let on. But I'm writing, working out, talking. I'm healing.
Maybe I just need a cigarette every now and then until this is complete.

Well Hello There Wednesday . . .

How did you sneak up on me so fast?
The last few days have been . . .weird. An almost constant state of low level anxiety. Heart pounding, racing, hands shaking, adrenalin pumping, on alert, fear, worry. Constantly. Why? What's different? What's the cause?
Who knows, really. I have some ideas. There's dry and musty old bones laying around, waiting to picked up again. I'm stepping over them slowly, gently, delicately. I can't crush them. Not yet. Soon. . . but not yet. Though they are crumbling under their own weight . . .
Why do I even try to wax poetic? Meh.
I'm opening up more about my past, my rape. Treading lightly, but getting it out there. It's getting easier to talk about. The pain is still there, but the sting isn't as bad anymore. I also brought up another sore point with M today. Again, something I kept secret about my rapist - the sexual and physical abuse. I've told people about the control before. About the emotional and verbal abuse. But I always kept quiet about the other . . .worse abuse. But I talked candidly. M pointed out how what was done to me was cruel and wrong and horrible. Unforgivable. I know this, of course. But hearing it from someone else, from my therapist, a man whom I respect deeply, who I trust wholly and implicitly. . .made all the difference in the world.
And do you know what I realized? Yes, what happened to me sucked. It was horrible in so many ways and no one should EVER have to go through that. But I'm stronger for it. It helped shape me into who I am today: a smart, vibrant woman. A force to be reckoned with. I'm a wonderful wife and mother, a loyal and caring friend, a skilled and empathetic nurse. Or, as some have pointed out, a comedian. I am these things in spite of and because of what I experienced.
 My past can be seen as tragic and sad, a hindrance on my mental well being. Or, as I like to view it, it can be seen as empowering.  This ass waffle stripped me of my dignity and self worth and shamed me. Sadly for him though, I have the last laugh. Because despite everything, despite the hiccups with my bipolar disorder, I'm thriving.
Thriving.
As I continue to work with M through all this, and as I open up to my trusted friends and my hubby, the fresh pain will subside. It's already become more dull and I imagine it will continue to let up. And then these bones, these musty, putrid bones, will finally be crushed - dug up from the past and crushed into nothingness.

Ooooo, It's Saturday

A very creative title, I know. You're welcome for that.
I  had planned on writing last night, but there was too much stimulation in the house and I was too tired to try and concentrate. It seems silly sometimes to update the couple of random people who may stumble upon this blog, but it's helpful for me. So let's get on with it, shall we?
Thursday. Was not too bad, actually. I worked that day, a full patient load, and my patients were all quite lovely. I floated through the day with my head just below the surface - feeling a little melancholy, depressed - and couldn't seem to bring it above the water. No matter. I've had thousands of days like that. Who knows - maybe that's what my baseline is. All in all, not a bad day.
Friday. My alarm clock woke me from a nightmare. A nightmare about my rape. A nightmare so vivid, I almost screamed out and was near tears. I kept reminding myself it was a dream, I was at home and I was safe. I calmed down slightly in the shower and I became convinced that my rapist was going to be at my work, his girlfriend or wife having a baby and I would be the one at the delivery. Why did I think this? Hell if I know (though there were snippets of that in my nightmare). I was a bit frantic as I left for work, my anxiety building as I got there. I immediately checked the names of everyone in labor and of everyone coming in to be induced. At least there was no matching last name. Still, my anxiety climbed. I sat down to get report and was called to a delivery. As I entered the room, I was in near panic and unable to calm myself. I tended to the baby who required resuscitation with shaking hands, trying to focus solely on what I was doing. Luckily, I was only in there for 25 minutes - because when I got back to the nursery I almost collapsed into a shaking ball of worthlessness. C, who was charge nurse on the floor, was in there and talked to me while I took my Xanax sub lingually (thank GOD I had remembered to bring it with me). She's someone who I trust, and I told her why I was so upset - I told her about the rape (not details, mind you, but that it happened, I was finally working through it, and I was having nightmares). She told me some of her own past (which I won't mention here - confidentiality for her) and how it took her almost 15 years to be able to talk about it. It helped. A lot. And so did the Xanax, of course. Calmed me down in around 10 minutes.
I also happened to tell my friend T. I've know T since high school, we've worked together since college (both before and after nursing school), and we were in nursing school together. She also knows my rapist. And I told her about it. I felt I needed to - another way to air out those bones. And she was pissed - though not shocked - by what he had done.
Here's the thing: it felt better to tell some trusted people. It lightens the load. And it's part of working through everything I'm feeling now. And the rest of my day went very well - I was in good spirits, my head above the water for once.
Also?
My dog has bad gas.
Thought you should know.

Time to Air Out Dem Bones . . .

As a patient of M's so eloquently put it, sometimes you have to dig up the bones in the backyard and air them out; that way they don't stink so bad.
And it couldn't be any more true, as I found out today. See, today was the day we talked about my rape. For the first time ever, I talked about it. Openly. And saw it for what it was. Saw it for how it affected me. And saw it for the ugly truth.
And now? I'm sharing it with you. Not the details. No one wants to read that, and I don't want to share it. Read on if you choose. I caution that this may be a trigger, so read at your own risk.
My rapist was someone I knew. Someone I trusted. Someone I loved at one point. He held me down, hands pinned above me, his hand on my throat, squeezing, as he had his way with me. I struggled at first. I fought. I begged, pleaded. He had split my lip, was choking me, and told me to stop or he'd hurt me. So I stopped. I gave up. I layed there, silently crying as my dignity was stripped from me. When he had finished, he told me to get the fuck out of his house . I left. Stunned, ashamed, broken. I drove several miles like that before pulling over to cry. Horrendous sobs racked my violated body. How long did I stay parked before driving home? Who knows. How long did I sit in the shower and cry when I got home? Who knows. I was hurt. I was in shock. I was scared and ashamed and humiliated and disgusted - both with him and myself.
And I told no one.
Not a single soul. Not one. I kept this secret hidden inside, convinced that if I covered it in enough denial, it wouldn't exist. It didn't happen. Who would have believed me anyway? So it was buried. I made up a story for my split lip - sparring in kickboxing. Very believable.
Far away went the secret. After a couple of years it never crossed my mind. The denial was working.
Until 2 weeks ago. When I had my first nightmare in the 12 years since the rape happened. It shocked me. I found myself thinking about it, reliving it almost. It was constantly on my mind. Then I mentioned it in a blog post and showed that post to M.
And here we are today.
And do you know what I realized? The rape was not my fault. I was not weak for giving in - I had no choice - my rapist had already shown violence. I'm not a victim - truly I'm not. I don't let myself be. And by finally talking about this - by airing out my old bones - it proves that I'm not a victim. I'm strong, I survived something horrible and I can now talk about it. It took 12 years, but I can talk about it. And even though it was terribly frightening and anxiety invoking for me, I did it. And I'm proud of myself.
Will this get buried again? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But I've acknowledged this part of myself, this travesty against my very being. And you know what? I'm going to kick its ass. Oh yes. These bones will crumble to dust before they ever get buried again. 

I don't even . . .

I'm at work. And this morning, I thought I was having a good day, that today would be a good day. But no. I have to cycle. Not very high. Not too bad. But irritable and low. Feeling like crying, and then feeling somewhat normal, and then irritable. Cycling through all of these stupid emotions I can't control. I don't even know what "normal" for me is. I've been dealing with this episode for 9 FUCKING MONTHS. And quite frankly, I'm tired of it. Tired of putting on this charade of being okay. It's like a constant masquerade, only without the cool costumes.
I just want this part to be over. Done. I want to move on and be genuinly happy. Not happy then manic then pissed then crying. It gets old. And complaining about it obviously does no good. But I guess writing about it helps in a way. Otherwise I wouldn't be doing it.
Only 3.5 hours to go and I can leave. It's hard to feel like this at work. Maybe I'll write more later, maybe I won't. At any rate, I got something out, off my chest.

Curse you, moods

Today was a bit annoying mood wise. Started out depressed. I felt like I was going to cry at any given moment for no reason. Just this overwhelming . . . .sadness. And the anger was back.  I kept it under control for the most part. Well, I did my best at least. I snapped a few times. And at certain times, I had pressured speech and racing thoughts. Then back to wanting to cry, anger and over and over spiraling continuously, a cyclone around me I could barely keep reigned in. I picture myself in the center of this cyclone, hair flying wildly as I feebly grasp the ropes holding the wall of dust together, because if I let go, if I can't hold on, everything falls apart. Collapses in a mushroom cloud of destruction without any chance of rebuilding.
That's being dramatic I suppose. It's not like that will happen. But that's how it feels sometimes . . .and maybe the best way I can describe it. I don't know.
I needed to write and I can't even think of anything TO write. I'm tired, I know that. Even with the klonopin last night, I didn't sleep well. And keeping my emotions under wraps takes a surprising amount of energy.
Anyway, short post. I think I'll go to bed. Maybe have more inspiration tomorrow.