An Oxymoron

I had an interesting conversation with my psychiatrist tonight. She confirmed I am on the right meds and that comforted me. I told her I was a little hypo and she said to let her know how things go. She wasn’t going to make any changes and I wasn’t asking for one. These things need to ride themselves out, as I have learned over the years. Medication isn’t always the answer to every problem that you face.

My mood was all over the place today. I got really irritable and angry over someone’s comment that they left on my blog today. I don’t know why it bothered me so. I had a long conversation with the voices over this. It helped to air it out and once I did, I wasn’t as agitated. Then I got a stupid migraine and that made me scared. My face went numb within minutes and my eye felt like it was going to pop. I took my migraine pill and waited anxiously for the pain to subside. I had just started to read a research article when my eyes went blurry and the migraine started. I guess I will read that article tomorrow. I am not in the same mood I was in before the migraine hit. After the migraine subsided and I was feeling better, I read some more of Harry Potter. Hogwarts got me the escape I was looking for. Reading has been suggested by a doctor who does man therapy. If you look it up, it is pretty dumb. But men need something stupid to be able to laugh at themselves and break up their manliness. I know I do at times. I don’t know if his particular therapy has helped men but I took his suggestion of reading a book to escape to relax.

I also told my pdoc about my sleeping habits as of late. Three to four hours a night I have been getting, which doesn’t help someone with Bipolar illness. I am lucky I can sleep during the day to try and catch up but I don’t always. Sometimes napping causes more trouble. I never feel rested unless I have a six hour nap. I usually am able to get one over the weekends usually. I don’t know why that is. I tend to sleep better during day time hours than at night anyways. I am a night owl. The funny thing is, I was never really able to work a night shift. By 4 or 5, I was so tired that I needed sleep. And if I got it on my break, I usually slept for an hour, which was against the rules. One time I think I slept for two hours and my supervisor wasn’t happy. But I no longer work so I can stay up till whatever time and sleep all day if I want to.

Today is my therapist’s birthday so I will be texting her a lot. I will stop once she texts back a “thank you”. I can be a pain in the ass, too! She always makes a big deal out of my birthday so it’s payback.

My ankle is really hurting me for all the walking I did today. I have a bum ankle due to nerve damage that I got when a disc exploded in my back. The disc compressed the nerve that controls the muscles in my ankle and foot. I never was able to regain the strength in my foot after surgery. That was 14 years ago. If I didn’t get strength back in the first two years, I am certainly not going to now. What I am left with is pain due to a pain syndrome no one can identify. Some have called it complex regional pain syndrome, others have just called it tendonitis. But if it was tendonitis, rest and ice should have cured it by now and I have been resting it for three years. The pain has gotten a little better but on days like today where I was walking too much, it flares up and is hard to settle down without pain medication. I don’t know why they call it pain medication when the meds are supposed to relieve your pain, not cause it. Just an oxymoron, I suppose.

The article I was going to read before my migraine made it impossible was on the language of suicide. I am a suicidologist from the inside out. I love studying about suicide and read everything I can about the subject. I have the experience to go with it as I have attempted more than a few times. That is why I write this blog. It helps to write out my suicidal thoughts and feelings I am having in the moment. I know that if I don’t write about them, I am as good as dead. After I write my morose feelings, I usually send them to my pdoc and therapist, well sometimes just my therapist as I am afraid of sending them to my psychiatrist. I sent her a goodbye email once and that ended poorly. She sectioned me and I spent the next three weeks in the hospital. It wasn’t fun. The police came and when they couldn’t find me because the ambulance had already taken me to the hospital, they broke into my house by smashing a window. I was very upset. So I am hesitant to send my pdoc my suicidal writings.

It has been at least a month since my last writings. I haven’t really felt suicidal since I gave up the day I was going to kill myself. My therapist and psychiatrist were against the idea of me dying. Go figure. I still am angry with them for keeping me here. I had everything planned out, sort of. I knew how I was going to die, but I just didn’t know where. I didn’t want a family member to find me so that sort of kept me here. But the writing that I was doing before I gave up my date were my one outlet. Now they are gone and I don’t know if I will be that productive ever again.

Being Bipolar is Weird

Being Bipolar is Weird

I went to my father’s and did what I had to do. The bus was late, as usual, and then was speeding the way home. I hate it when bus drivers try and make up time by speeding and then having to slam on the brakes when they reach the bus stop. Drive me nuts and makes me really anxious. While at my father’s, my niece texted me. She wanted to know if I could drop off a box to the post office. I said I would. I wish she would have texted me earlier as I went by the post office on my way to the bus stop on my first leg of my journey. Oh well. I will be leaving soon. If I time it right, I will then pick up my niece rather than come back home and rest for a little bit. My house should have a revolving door for me today as I have been out and in for most of the day, which is unusual for me.

I should have asked my therapist for a session today. I just need someone to talk to as the anxiety that I am feeling is building and Tuesday feels like forever. I know she will probably just say take an Ativan, but I will be babysitting soon so I can’t. I already had to take a pain pill because my mother came home and I had to go up and down stairs to get them in the house. My ankle is not happy about it. Of course, I wasn’t expecting to stand at the bus stop either for more than twenty minutes. I guess I just missed the bus because I had to drop off something at my aunt’s. I hate that. It was hot while I was waiting so I was sweating by the time the bus came.

I don’t know why I feel anxious. I think I am just feeling bad about the whole friend situation and being blocked. I should have blocked her when I said goodbye to her and now I am kicking myself. It reminds me that I haven’t heard from another friend in about a week. We usually just shoot the shit with emails. I miss our conversations. I will try and email her later while babysitting. I also been having ups and downs. My mood has been all over the place and I have been having problems getting to sleep. Usually I am asleep by midnight or earlier, but lately it has been later than that. I just am too energized to sleep. If I am not tired and sleepy, it makes it hard to sleep. I don’t know if I am hypomanic. It’s hard to tell because it happens so infrequently. I have been feeling up but then after a few hours, I feel really down and out. It’s like the dementors have visited me and I will never know joy again. Then the upswing will hit me and I feel “high” for a few more hours. Being bipolar is so weird. There is always this spectrum of being up and down. It doesn’t fit neatly into a category or box. And I am mostly depressed so this up feeling is weird for me, which is probably why I have been writing more blog posts lately. When I am up, I feel like I can do anything because I have this energy that is incredible. Then I get down and life sucks again. The thing that worries me is that when this happens, I tend to have psychotic symptoms in between or before the downs. This usually means I have to take additional meds to treat it. I hate taking more meds than I have to. I am already on ten different meds, not all psych meds. Adding an extra pill just sucks. I realized when I was sixteen that I would need to be on medication for the rest of my life. I just wasn’t planning on gaining a ton of weight and needing more meds to counteract it (i.e., hypertension meds). And because I am inactive due to my disability, losing weight is more of a struggle. I wouldn’t mind being a pill to lose weight. That would be the most ideal for me but of course, the doc won’t prescribe it. It has to be diet control. I am not good at diet control. I like cheeseburgers, cookies, and other sweets. I eat these in moderation but sometimes I crave them and need them. It’s kind of bad that my mother will buy cookies, too. I am so bad with cookies. They are my Achilles heel.

I won’t be driving anytime soon. My sister bought a truck and I am not good with driving huge vehicles. My peripheral vision is not that great and only made worse. I know that if I practice, I will get better but I really don’t want to practice on a new vehicle. It will take me five years to get out of the driveway because I suck at backing up. It just isn’t practical for me to behind the wheel of a huge thing. I am so sad because this means I can’t visit my therapist anymore or take my father to his stupid doctor’s appointment. I will need to change him to another primary care doctor closer to where we live.

Random 322

Today’s plan is to go to my father’s and then leave as quickly as possible. I am hoping that he doesn’t need any refills on his medications as that will slow the leaving process. He does need to get more baby aspirin.

I texted my therapist today to remind her to check her mail as there are two letters from me. I sent them early this week and they should have arrived by now. I also sent her a pre-birthday message. I couldn’t help myself. I forgot to wish her a happy birthday yesterday while we were talking. If I did, I probably still will text her anyways. Hehehe. The stupid yapping dog is out on the porch. I hate yappy dogs.

I made coffee and had breakfast of potatoes and toast. It was all I was in the mood to make. I really wanted to make pancakes but that takes a lot of work. I might make them for lunch. I haven’t had pancakes in a long time. I make them from scratch. Maybe I will make oatmeal ones.

I haven’t heard from my friend, not that I am expecting it this early. This is the second person that blocked me on Facebook. I say good riddance. I don’t need her drama in my life anymore. I hope she stays gone. I still am upset about it because she needs help more than I do. Or I should say, that I am already seeking help and she is not. She has serious problems. I used to feel bad for her, now I could care less.

I haven’t written anything toward my book since Sunday night. I might write another bout of depression and what it feels like as I haven’t written about that in a while. I wish that stupid dog would shut the fuck up. Last night, there were airplanes going around my house so I couldn’t nap. Now there is a fucking dog that won’t shut up. He doesn’t sound happy that he is outside and is yapping to go inside. I hate the owners more than the dog. I miss living on a dead end street sometimes. It was nice and quite in my basement apartment. I didn’t hear anything. It was cool, dark, and perfectly quiet to snooze whenever. But I don’t live there anymore. Course, I was working all the time so that didn’t make time for snoozing. Since being on disability, I have had more naps during the day than at any other point in my adult life. I try not to snooze but sometimes I have to because I get up so early. I woke up a few times today before six. Going back to sleep is always the hardest.

I am hoping to take a writing class the end of the month. It all depends on my finances, and if there is still room to take a seat. There are 12 spots so I am hoping the class doesn’t get filled. It is a class on how to edit and then create more writing. It sounds perfect for me. I have an essay that I want to bring to work on. It is the blog on love/hate that I keep submitting to the New York Times. My pdoc says you have to try at least 300 times to get noticed. So I have been sending emails at least twice a week. I have the time to send it more times than that but I don’t want to end up getting blocked so I figure a few times a week is good and then I will up the anti.

Whatever it is

Been thinking about what next to write. It has been difficult because I don’t really have an idea. My therapist suggested I write about my delusion I had when I was a teenager. But that is too painful to discuss. I hate when she plants a bug in my ear.

I been feeling pretty terrible the last couple of hours. I have been sleeping on and off to try and get rid of it but it hasn’t worked. I guess that jerk that told me to “get help” is still burning me up. I have been trying to escape by reading Harry Potter, but I can only read so much before I get bored. I get lost for a little bit and then I can’t concentrate anymore. I think it’s the depression that is making me feel this way.

I was tempted to get another session with my therapist for tomorrow but I backed off. Sometimes three in a row isn’t good. Friday is her birthday. I really wanted to see her today to wish her a happy birthday but think I will text her a lot Friday. I sent her a birthday letter rather than a card. I hate spending money on a card when it doesn’t say what I am looking for. I miss the mountain cards they used to have. They were cards that had a personal meaning. I always seemed to find one that fits. But I haven’t seen them in Walgreens in years. I think they might be at a Hallmark store. So instead of getting a card, I got sentimental and sent her a birthday letter. It’s kind of the opposite of the other letter I sent her with the lyrics of “Do I” by Luke Bryan. I was listening late at night the other night and her songs kept playing. It was “Do I” and “Whatever it is” by Zac Brown Band. I would have written up the lyrics to “Whatever it is” but the song drives me wild when I start thinking about my therapist that way.

Foot pain has been minimal the past few days, though it was worse Sunday. I couldn’t do anything. I am glad it has calmed down some. I have to deal with my father tomorrow. I shouldn’t be at his apartment for more than fifteen minutes. I usually just do his meds and then get out. I might check his mail for him and that is all. I don’t know what time I will be going over. I usually get there before noon, just in case he wants to go out. He gets impatient if I get there later in the afternoon. I just hope he is in a good mood or else my time there is going to suck.

I need to call my cousin. I haven’t spoken to her since February when the storms were great. We were supposed to get together afterwards but never did. I wish she wasn’t so far away from me. But she is accessible via commuter rail. I haven’t been talking to her because of my depressions and suicidality. It’s hard to make plans with someone when you feel like killing yourself.