Lucidly Depressed

Is lucidly depressed an oxymoron? Hmm. It seems to fit. I’ve come crashing down from the manic episode sparked by stopping Latarda, went into exhausted crash and burn space, and now I am back to that grubby little corner I know all too well. The one where the sun is shining, I see only darkness. Birds are chirping, I want them to STFU. I’m too cold, too hot, too bored, my brain won’t stop spinning, I hate you, I love you, I just wanna be loved…Yeah, THAT place. Which apparently makes me borderline or some shit because bipolar people only have the two extremes, there is no room for mixed episodes or a torrent of emotions and moods to strike all at once. Nope. Must be bad personality and we can “mindfully” cure ourselves of it by doing jumping jacks while wearing a chicken costume and eating caramel dipped cucumbers.

Much as I despise this place…This is like returning home from a visit to skid row where you roomed with the dirty needle and biohazard containers. Nothing has improved at home but it sure as hell makes you appreciate its shittiness because, you just found out the hard way, it can get worse, and more insulting, it got worse by merely doing the thing the doctor said would make it all better. Home miserable home.

So, yeah, still depressed and run down and anxious but…I no longer want to stab things, including myself. I can walk again without blindly banging into walls and furniture (I have big and small bruises all over my body from last week’s Latarda zombie shuffle, none of which I remember acquiring.) I am coherent. I don’t think I should kill myself now. Fairly sure people are NOT out to get me. Bugs are NOT crawling in my veins. LUCID.

Political correct idiocy aside, I think my dubbing it Latarda is very appropriate. It retarded (hindered) my lucidity. And now I think I can return to the Before Latarda days and believe there’s still hope, everything is not futile, I am not braindead, my kid is not lucifer.

Lucidity is nice. Unfortunately, I just went through nine days of hell for no benefit, and got stuck with one more dent in my self esteem armor because one more med failed. And the doctors will make appropriate noises about “everyone is different, it’s more art than science to find the right combination.” But by the fifth or so medication failure, their words lose sincerity.Their expressions become critical, questioning, and ya wonder, is the term “non compliant” going into my file because I’ve opted out of meds that make me sleep 20 hours or convince me I should kill myself. I’m not right back where I started. No, it’s worse now. Because in a small area like this, if Dr B has a hundred patients and 97 of them are flourishing on Latuda…No complaint I have is going to be viewed as valid. The masses are asses and majority rules. Especially in Podunk, Midwest.

BUT…I will dwell on all that another time. Right now I am sitting at the shop, alone. R was beckoned to babysit the 8 month old grandson but the parents FORBADE their kid being in the shop. Because yes, it’s a vile disgusting bowl of filth which is why not one customer has ever lodged a complaint. The kid sits in a carrier or playpen. Oh, right, dust in the air. Snowflakes must be protected from eeevil dusty musties. I just don’t get some people.
I don’t wanna be here. Unfortunately, I kinda made my own bed and have to lay in it. I’ve avoided driving to my dad’s corner of podunk for so long, it’s added up to two years since the car’s oil has been changed. My loving dad buys the supplies, R insists I must come over for him to change it out, and I in turn get to drop everything and attend to whatever bidding R wants me to do.
Last week, I’d have been furious.
But the car needs the oil changed, I hate going to dad’s podunk cos it costs me gas money and if R doing it keeps me from having to go that far outside my bubble…Meh. Bed. Nails. Laying on it because I designed it myself, unintentionally.

Pruning will have to wait until circumstances change. Besides, R and his wife are about the only friends I have, I don’t want to make me world even smaller. Least this way I can be distracted from the depression by being pissed off by R’s insensitivity. (He’s convinced I did something to spark the Latuda side effects because doctors simply wouldn’t give you a drug that made you go that nuts.)

Once I am done here, I’m gonna go get my Spook from mom”s (praying they remembered to pick her up.) R asked us over tonight but I said “meh”. It offended him. And he knows my thoughts on crowds (ie, more than three people) so his “family weekend” thing with ten people there, much as I “like” everyone…It’s not happening at this juncture in time. The anxiety is still too raw and will be for awhile until all the Latarda is out of my system. (Why do I get the feeling a hundred years from now my corpse will be dug up and still test positive for that ass trash toxin?) Not to mention how mean he’s been to me, like this whole thing is my fault and I was useless just to inconvenience him. Rather be alone.
Though he always suckers me in with a Mangorita.
Yeah,yeah, stop being shallow and prune, prune, prune. When I feel solid for more than a six hour stretch, I’ll work on that. For now…I honestly just feel like I survived a near death experience and want to relish my survival and regain my fighting strength.Besides, my kid is still grounded and I must be consistent. Bam, I have my socially acceptable excuse. Which he will negate and yet oddly when it was his kids, their punishment was not disrupted by a tornado. House no longer standing? Put your nose against the rubble and stand there…

Mr. Rboto. The robot, not Kilroy who made the robot human.

I am feeling fiery again rather than just venomous. It is good. There will come a huge crash as the cycle dictates but for this moment…

Life is shit but I’m gonna stick around just to see if maybe it gets better.
Lucidly depressed.


6 Responses to “Lucidly Depressed”

  1. I’ll take lucidity over zombie brain eating crazy. I feel the shift from it now…maybe I won’t need partial next week? Eh, one can dream…

  2. This may be an odd question to ask here, but – have you ever experienced a lucid dream?

    • Most of my dreams are pretty fleeting but I’ve had a few over the years that seemed very real and lucid and there was barely a transition from sleep to waking. I’d come to with clear memory and occasionally, a clear solution to what had been troubling me before I fell asleep.
      Rare, but pretty cool.

  3. Lucidly Depressed sounds like a fantastic novel title. If we could turn our horror into fiction and consequently into money.

    • Isn’t that cruelest part? it would be an excellent novel…if we could ever come out of the haze and remain coherent enough to form cohesive thought long enough to write it.

      On Sun, May 17, 2015 at 3:24 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


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