Screaming Inside

6 p.m. The crazy is seeping in. My mood is slipping. My paranoia is skyrocketing. My anxiety is so high I am getting that angry snappish thing. I don’t like getting this way. Enter Xanax.
For all the good that will do against the paranoia. I’m silent but I am screaming like a banshee inside.

I haven’t heard from the doctor’s office. Wednesday is the day the shrinks do their tv screen doctoring. At the very least, I’d have thought the nurse would have called with a med change or something.
So now I have scumbag brain telling me I fucked up by rocking the boat. I fucked up by waiting so long, now it looks like I am just malingering due to the disability review. I know I am a goner.
Then it hits me…What if soc security never got my paperwork? Mail gets lost all the time.

There’s this sickening terror down in my bones telling me I am so fucked.

Good thing I track my mental dysfunction so well. I’ve been flailing since long before that review paperwork came in.
But in light of the confusion over the prozac dosage, I thought I’d wait until my next appointment in April to let things even out.
Now…

Sooo frustrated.
God, this time change makes the days seem to last forever. My brain wants darkness and sleep. Not that I get much of the latter.
I thought by mixing up the routine a bit today I might ward off some of the depression. But it’s not working out that way.
If anything, it seems to have amped up the anxiety and paranoia.
I am trying too hard. It’s always my downfall. I want to be well and I want to wow everyone with not being a mental case anymore so I push myself and I keep pushing…And I get splat.

Oh why won’t scumbag brain shut up.
I had no idea paranoia was part of bipolar. The professionals always make it seem like a personality quirk. Maybe it’s more prevalent with bipolar one so my diagnosis precludes it as a symptom.

Earlier…I was thinking-even though the sun was shining, my kid is healthy, I was out of the house and nothing was going bad…life is fucking futile. I think I’ve served my purpose, I’m done now. I brought a beautiful daughter into the world. It’s her oyster now. I’m just too damned tired of picking myself up, lame as that sounds.
But there’s only so much living for someone else you can do. I’ve had it pounded into my brain enough that “you have to be there for her.”
But I have more days of coming apart than succeeding so…why? Why am I still here?
I mean, she went to school today with her dress inside out. What kind of mother doesn’t catch something like that?
Oh, right, the moron that took an herbal sleep remedy and was half comatose this morning. I won’t get points for getting her to school on time, clean, fed, and prepared. No. It will be all about what I got wrong.
And I’m kind of a world class fuck up (not putting myself down, just admitting, I screw up a lot) so this is all…
Crushing me.

Back in the day (Ya know, like a year or two ago) I could reboot via sleep until the cyclothymia shifted.
These days…Sleep does not come easy nor plentiful. I can’t even get lost there anymore.
Forget reading. Writing. Craft work. All the things I love. And yet, I am getting no enjoyment because I cannot focus or shut out the crazy.
I try. Damn it, I try.

I’m tired of splat being my best friend.
I want a new drug.

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