Ringing in the New Year with a manic episode hangover

Blah.

Meh.

That’s my mood this morning. Following yesterday’s rapid cycle through manic-freaking out panic mode-falling down the rabbit hole into depression territory.

I was invited to R’s house tonight for drinks and to play cards. I don’t play cards. Furthermore, I don’t want to go. I haven’t responded yet because I am afraid in a volatile state I might say something rude. Like, “I’d rather snake my toilet pipe than hang out with you people.” My inner child is a mean little bastard and sometimes comes out in the aftermath of a manic episode.

But as much as I had wanted to do something for New Year’s LAST WEEK…

My mood has shifted so  severely that I just want to be alone tonight with my kid and cats.

That’s the sucky thing about cyclothymia. You can’t make long term plans because you say sure, that sounds good, then by the time it comes around, you’ve cycled into a mind frame the marquis de sade would run away from. Very frustrating. It pisses me off but I’m kinda being held hostage here.

I agreed to come into the shop today on the grounds he buys me some smokes.

Trust me, you don’t want to be around me if I am out of cigarettes. Those cigarettes are often the only things keeping me from raking my nails up and down my own flesh in a panic induced freak out. Even while pregnant, the OB backed off on telling me not to smoke because he saw the end result of me not smoking. Tis not good.

It’s not so much nicotine addiction. (Yes, I know everyone says that.) It’s just the act of smoking itself that soothes the savage beast that is bipolar and panic.

And the more everyone around me caves in to pressure to quit and tries to make me do the same..the more I want to stick an entire pack of cigarettes in my mouth and light ’em all.

Sure, lemme quit smoking cigarettes and become a meth addict. That’s much better. NOT. Fuck you.

I am prattling. Oh, I took my Cymbalta, so I should be lifting off any time now. Gotta love a med that makes you manic for about an hour every single day you take it. My old shrink wouldn’t give me anti depressants just for this reason, she used dual mood stabilizer therapy to avoid the whole instigating mania thing. I broached the topic with my current shrink last session which was when she whipped out the Cymbalta as a way to control my panic and get me off xanax.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.

Kinda like when they put me on Paxil for my anxiety and it made me a fucking insomniac bundle of nerves that would have made a cokehead look calm.

She’s funny.

I’d bet my internal organs next session she tries to convince me the Cymbalta doesn’t make anxiety worse. I hate when doctors do that. I hate when they tell you a med doesn’t do something but you can go right to the manufacturer site and it will list that as a side effect.

Doctors know shit.

So…Yeah, I need a shower but I am not even dressed yet. I will go make nice.

I just hope my inner child keeps its fucking mouth shut. That brat comes out at the most inopportune moments. And says things that I have to suffer for.

No, that’s not me trying to deflect my own culpability.

Altered mindstates are a lot like being drunk, though. Stuff that normally gets caught in your social filter just flies out.

When I am depressed, I get grumpy and when people try to cheer me up…

Eh, you get the picture.

I’m unpleasant.

But at least I am good at it.

 

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