Splat really needs to burn in hell

I was doing okay for a day or so. Not up. Not down. Apathetic and functioning would be the appropriate description. The racing thoughts and inability to concentrate and follow through have reached fever pitch. I have done very little all weekend aside from child and cat care and cooking meals.
I’m not feeling it.
And while I feel a little slothful…I truly don’t care, never have. Housework is not high on my priority list. Short of rodents crawling on the counter, I sincerely doubt some dirty dishes and laundry that needs folded will cause the world to implode.
This is the price for functionality that lasts more than two hours.

There was no trigger. Nothing bad happened. It just…hit me like a speeding train and once again,SPLAT.
I became overreactive, super sensitive, and my anxiety put a hole in the roof.
This shit sucks. Splat syndrome is not my favorite.
I feel lost. My mind is just…present and yet…unable to pull a single thought from the traffic ham in my head. At this point, I want to curl up and go to sleep. Except I’m not tired, I just want to escape this mind frame. Sooner rather than later.

Shrink’s office called today to tell me my doc will be out all week and they needed to reschedule me, was I doing ok. NO, I am NOT fucking okay. I think it’s borderline malpractice to send a known depressive with seasonal affect disorder to an appointment three months away and then try to delay it longer.
I emphasized that I need to see someone, so Wednesday I will face the telepsychiatry screen with the male doctor on staff.
Maybe he will be more focused on helping me feel better than dismissing me as some histrionic who needs to make her shrink happy by faking being well.
I won’t hold my breath.

I don’t get it. How I go from up high, to so low, to the middle, to angry, to tearful and sad…in the blink of an eye. It’s like how I felt when I was pregnant and under attack from all the hormones. I could go from zero to bitch to weepy needy girl in a split second. At least cyclothymia gives you a heads up on occasion. You can feel the storm moving in, feel yourself sinking in the emotional quicksand.
Except I am no longer getting the heads up. I ponder if my mood stabilizer is conking out on me.
I was interested in Latuda until I researched the possible side effects. I can live with many annoyances but the lethargy and sleepiness are a deal breaker. I have to be conscious and lucid to care for my kid or write or do the things I enjoy. I cannot risk narcolepsy by meds. Not to mention it’s unhealthy when you sleep 12 plus hours a day as a side effect from medication. That’s not dealing with the issue, that’s just avoiding it for the wonderful peace of sleep.
Been there, bought the t shirt, burned it, and had a priest exorcise the ashes.

Is it so wrong for me to want an even keel that lasts more than a few hours or a day or two? I am not expecting meds to change my problems. To be happy pills. I just want some fucking stability so my reactions to the roller coaster ride are in proportion and not blown up into some cataclysmic event.
Earlier, the mood dipped so low, I started remember an episode of CSI where a guy stuck a knife in a closet door hinge, then backed into it repeatedly to kill himself and make it look like a murder.
I’m not a suicidal person, so it’s disturbing such a thought would occur to me.
I think it’s a panic response to such a sudden tumble down the mood staircase. Frustration makes you desperate, depression makes everything seem so bleak and dark and hopeless…You reach for anything that might make the pain end.

I made a pact with myself in the hell of high school that I would never kill myself since my detractors liked to joke about voting me most likely to commit suicide. It’s a vow I plan on keeping.
Doesn’t stop the twisted mind from dreaming up fucked up scenarios in which their might be some escape

What pisses me off the most of all…Is in 12 hours, I probably won’t even remember why my mood was so low. By Wednesday when the doctor sees me, I could be manic.
No fucking stability.
And little fucking help or support because they consider cyclothymia very mild and easy to manage.
Which is asinine as Scientology’s alien god.

Okay, I’ve taken venting into ranting territory.
Stick a form in me, I’m done.
On second thought, use a sharpened metal spork. I want my death to be memorable.
That’s a joke, btw.

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One Response to “Splat really needs to burn in hell”

  1. It is so frustrating when doctors space out your appointments. They may as well talk to you through cans and string for all the good it’ll do. If it’s anything like the monthly shrink appointments I had, it’ll last all of 15mins where she tells you “you don’t need meds” “you aren’t depressed” and when you fight back, fight to be heard, she says you’re being argumentative.

    Hope your week improves. love to you ❤

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