Bipolar is making me its bitch

Well after a splat landing last night…And it was more sheer exhaustion than mood related…
I am clearing the cobwebs off my brain, feeling saucy, and I can feel the mania brewing up again. Round two.
On the plus side, I’ve had enough nightmares in the last week to serve as precautionary tales of what could end up happening if I don’t figure out a way to rein myself in.
Hell, last night, I had a nightmare I let the Donor come back just so we could co parent and next thing I knew, he had the place filled with stoners getting high around my kid. UGHHH. I woke up from that one having a panic attack.
Then the other nightmare involving another situation with a friend…I shudder.
I think it makes the point…If I wouldn’t even allow her donor around her with his self destructive behavior, I really need to make some tough choices on who I associate with, thus exposing her to. Life ceased to be all about me six years ago. Which means, I too, have to consider my own actions. (When manic, this is not something you give a damn about,it’s all about hedonism.)
Of course, how often do I allow myself to do anything that isn’t about her? It seems like such a trivial thing, letting myself unwind on occasion.
Still…I’m the adult (do I have to be???) and I have to make wise choices that may be at odds with what me and my manic episodes may want.

Mania and depression are very complex states to me. Because it changes your attitudes, it doesn’t just distort your views. It’s like an entire other identity coming over you. By the time you shift out of it, you’re looking around yourself wondering what the hell happened.

I have set one solid goal for myself today. SHOWER. I think I last showered Wednesday? Meh. Fly high, crash loooow.
But that poor judgment manic vibe is brimming under my skin, it’s like this clawing at the door that you want to ignore but it won’t stop and you have to check it out.
Very Pet Semetary. Not sure if I am gonna get post buried Church or Gage.
That and the fact I am starting to feel like this “badass” again. That’s the inflated self confidence brimming up. I, in my other cycles, barely have self esteem, let alone over inflated. But there it is, like I suddenly learned all the answers to life and want to boast what a sage I am.
When truth is, I know nothing. I am a dumbass.

I suppose this is where the doctors get scared prescribing anti depressants to bipolar patients. And in bipolar one, it’s probably wise. But with bipolar two, and more lows than highs, it’s just this necessary evil. I find it odd that when it was a split dose I wasn’t experiencing mania nor extreme depressive crashes. It’s all about that magic bullet mixture, and at this point, my hope for my doctors helping is nil. It happens any time I rock the boat and question authority. But I live this shit, so pardon me if I do think I am an expert on me. That’s not hubris, it’s logic.

Grrr. Bubble bubble manic toil and trouble. It’s coming.
I just have to keep myself grounded and avoid any situations where my altered mental state could result in…well, chaos. Which means I basically have to avoid leaving the house, people, answering the phone, and sharp objects and fire.
Piece of cake.
Thing about mania is, even if you isolate yourself completely, the impulses will find a way to surface and result in some sort of negative outcome. You’re too high on happy brain chemicals to notice it’s a bad thing until after the fact.
Then comes the head slapping Homer Simpson “D’oh” moment.
Rinse, lather, repeat, recycle.

Perhaps the most irksome thing is the mid afternoon crashes. I guess that’s where I defy the books and thus confuse the professionals. I can’t help it if my dysfunction isn’t coloring inside the lines. Like this is fun for me.

My mom once said, “You just use your disorders as an excuse to be a jerk and not take responsibility for you actions.”

That’s idiocy to the nth. I have to live with the consequences of what really isn’t my fault, so I’d say I take plenty of responsibility for my actions. More than most would have to, I think. It’s one thing to choose to be inebriated thus making bad choices. Mother Nature, bitch that she is, granted me this shit and I didn’t ask for it. It’s like cleaning up messes I didn’t make.
But I did make them.
Oh, only fellow bipolars would get it.

Anyway…Yeah, the bipolar is making me its bitch. It’s not my favorite.

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2 Responses to “Bipolar is making me its bitch”

  1. Your Mom said that? Oh, how gross? I could never imagine such parent would tell that to her child who have a disorder.

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