~ Sarah McLachlan, “Drifting”
I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Tuesday morning. I’m not quite sure what to do.
My “symptoms” are back. Now that I know what to look for as someone with bipolar disorder, I am aware of them. I’m having mania moments. I don’t want to sleep. I have no desire to. My husband sometimes MAKES me go to sleep. I’d rather be up doing the laundry, washing the dishes, blogging, reading other blogs, making to-do lists, and organizing the apartment–all at the same time–at 2 or 3 am. (This doesn’t mean all of this stuff gets finished.)
My husband and I have had physical fights in the past where he has had to restrain me because I wouldn’t go to bed and I wouldn’t sleep. It would be 4 in the morning and I refused to sleep and I’d fight him tooth and nail. I don’t know why. I have no problem wanting to sleep at 2 pm. Make it 2 am and there’s too much to do suddenly. I have the superhuman ability to get things accomplished between midnight and 5 am more than I can during the hours of 9 am to 11 pm. Right.
So now it’s almost 1 in the morning and I have nursery duty at church later in the morning. Then I have a hair appointment in the afternoon. Then I’m paranoid about what my hair stylist thinks of me.
She says she’s my friend but I wonder if she’s just pretending to like me because she feels sorry for me. I’m really lame you know. People at work acted nice to my face and then dissed me behind my back. She does the same thing to others, why wouldn’t she do the same to me? She just keeps me around and kisses up to me because I tip well.
Thinking like that scares me. It reminds me of the way my father used to think. Paranoid. (You can stop reading here. At this point on, it’s just a manic ramble that’s basically full of nothing but stream-of-consciousness just because i can.)
Then I got angry with one of my friends at church. I told her I was suicidal and she never contacted me to see if I was OK. I’m still angry with her and she doesn’t even know it.
I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster lately. I think about Gianna over at Psychiatric Drug Withdrawal and Recovery and I wonder if I suffer from adrenal fatigue. I’m pretty darn tired myself. I’m a hypochondriac (somewhat) so I know I’m perfectly okay unlike her who is exhausted after being on a significant number of medications.
I signed up for Race for the Cure (5K) and AIDS Walk NY (10K) both the weekend after the other (I didn’t realize I did that until it was too late). I’m training myself and I’m winded and ready to pass out after 1.3 miles. Exercise exhausts me. A lot of people say they get energy after exercising. Exercise puts me right to sleep. It’s not good when you’re seeing stars and feeling faint at half a mile. I used to be able to run a mile in 12-15 minutes. Now I’m averaging 17-18. I’ll probably be carted away in ambulance on Mother’s Day after passing out during the race in Center City at one-tenth of a mile. Wouldn’t that kind of phone call be a nice gift for my mother?
And the poor woman. She’s been through a lot. She dealt with my father’s schizophrenia and then she dealt with me and my bipolar episodes. She’s a strong, tough woman. I think the bipolar diagnosis put a lot of things in perspective for her where the depression diagnosis didn’t. Like kicking her. Who kicks their poor 60-year-old mother? I don’t know what I was thinking.
I can be riding on a high, laughing and seeming normal, then for no good reason, just crash, hit rockbottom, and get suicidal. I am up and down. I am afraid of going to church later because I fear it might happen again. I’m hoping it doesn’t happen around the children. The last thing I need is some poor child crying and then I flip out because I want to die.
I want to hide and run away. Sometimes I don’t want to be alive. A lot of these days I don’t. The desire to die is coming on strong more and more each day. 2007 was nice. It was great to get a nice reprieve from struggling with suicidal thoughts and impulses. I am in remission no longer.
Which brings me to the reason for this post. I am on 150 mg Lamictal. I tried going down to 100 mg a while back and I started having suicidal thoughts again so I bumped myself back up. The thoughts went away temporarily but are back with a vengeance. So now I don’t care. I want off of Lamictal. At whatever cost. It doesn’t matter anymore. It seems like some people do well without medication, right? Maybe after all my counseling, I can do well too. I don’t know. Who is Marissa without medication? Have I lived the past year of my life as Marissa’s twin–a lookalike but a different personality? I don’t know. Will I begin my mixed-mood episodes again off the medication? I don’t know. I’ve had one or two in the past two months. I don’t want to be on this drug forever. Especially since I feel like the beneficial effects have flat-lined.
I also am busy with my new freelance job that I don’t need to deal with withdrawal symptoms. But I don’t care about bumping down to 100 mg. Nothing will change. Maybe my suicidal thoughts and impulses will increase. Who knows? Who cares? I don’t. I’m starting to not care about a lot of things. I wonder when I’ll get to the point where I don’t care about anything at all. (Pix from Jupiter Images)
~ Aimee Mann, “Lost In Space”
Current Mood Rating: 3