The Bouncy House That Is My Bipolar Brain

Sunday, bloody Sunday. (Err, now I have U2 stuck in my head and I really really dislike their music.) My kid woke me at ten after six. Not amused. Then the cats started yapping for breakfast. So I spent my first ten minutes doing everything but tending to my needs. Even my bladder has had to learn it comes second no matter how much it protests.

To add to my general discomfort, I am pretty sure I’ve had a chest infection for five months based on the persistent cough, horking up phlegm, and now the recurring pain in my side. Thing is, I avoid anti biotics when I can because, being female, they just lead to secondary infections and guess what. Insurance won’t pay for that medication. So I tough it out and it goes away then comes back then goes away, lather, rinse, repeat. I’m not stupid. I know I should get my ass to a doctor for an anti biotic. But in the grand scheme of things, persistent cough and phlegmage are lesser evils than what results from the medication to fix it. Okay, I’m a little stupid,but every time I go to a doctor, it turns out exactly the same way: Lose weight, stop smoking, get exercise, and every other complaint is because you’re mental. Meh. Physical discomfort is nothing compared to the misery doctors inflict. Especially considering last time I went to find a general practitioner who accepts my insurance and six of them took my info, said they’d get back to me, only to inform me “We’ve decided not to take you on as a patient.” Um…It’s like applying for a job to find a fucking doctor here.  Besides, let it turn into pneumonia. Then they can all marvel at how I managed to keep walking upright all this time and thus prove my point…The mental illness shit IS debilitating, physical stuff I can handle.

My brain is a bouncy house of billowing mindless thought this morning. No doubt starting a new med and the upcoming hormonal week are in play. On the plus side, I’ve not noticed many side effects from the Trileptal. Compared to the Latarda, this shit is awesome. I take it once in the morning and don’t even think about it the rest of the day. Of course, the doctor said this is a starter baby dose and it can go wayyyy up, so the jury remains out on what the future holds. Yapping kid, mewling kittens, the overload is instant today. I got an email from the Sunday school and they asked if I could bring her in today and they’d bring her home. Um…Fortunately, I don’t have to feel guilty for not being on board because my dad called and asked if they could take her to the carnival that’s in town today. Not like I have the money. Or the nerve to meander in crowds. I used to love carnivals. I’ve never taken my kid to one. Not in six years. I suck. This anhedonia has gotten ridiculous. And it wasn’t always like this. That reaction to Nardil fucked me up for life, nothing’s been the same since that.

I keep braving these “self help” blogs and the more I read, the more disgusted I get. Because it’s not as easy as they make it out to be. OMG, you had a three month period of anxiety and panic attacks? THREE MONTHS? And you cured yourself? Wow. That is impressive. NOT. And telling me I holding myself back from my goals is just ass trash. Much like all “mommy” magazines I read in my first trimester of pregnancy, they made me more neurotic instead of better and I swore them off. If these things help others, great. I’m just not in that group. I wish I were.

I’m sure it seems like I have lots of excuses and self justifications. I think more to the point was the assessment the psychologist made last time I was up for disability review, a doctor of THEIR choosing. “It’s really a case of the sun, stars, and mood aligning for you to stabilize.” Yes. That’s exactly what it is. I’m not some weakling wussy. If all is aligned, I have been able to make trips to the east coast, the west coast. I braved three big airports, long bus trips. I’ve had 14 kids at my house without breaking a sweat. I’ve gone out on nights when I was feeling solid. It’s not that I’m incapable. It’s that I am incapable consistently. Life demands consistency. With a multiple diagnosis, you can’t be running on four cylinders for maximum functionality. It has to be all eight or nothing. And THAT is as rare as an eclipse and generally short lived. There is no one it sucks more for than me. It’s a hindrance that has lead to much self loathing. It is not some excuse to avoid scary things.

And the aftermath of forcing myself to live at warp speed is the same again and again, even when I am in the sun, moon, stars place. (Which since the Nardil reaction in 2000, has not happened very often at all.)

And if I must be honest…I suppose I come from a family of complainers. We don’t communicate, we just bitch. But I vent more than anything and try to find coping mechanisms. My family…Not so much.

Housework. I am drowning again. Yesterday, once I gave myself permission to do nothing, I managed to tackle the sink full of dishes and I cleaned one litter box. Washed my bedding. And I cooked myself a good meal of pork chops, au gratin taters, and super fine steamed green beans. Gave myself and the spawn both showers. It may seem like very little but as far as my days go, it was half ass productive. Today…I am going to have to venture to the store for some sugar and another can of moist food for the newbie kittens but I don’t look forward to it. Much like yesterday,I drove by a yard sale and didn’t even feel tempted to stop.Normally that makes me very happy, almost giddy. I can’t even enjoy yard sales, that’s how far under the surface I am. This isn’t just mundane or scary stuff. This is everything. It’s exhausting.

I went to bed at 9 last night. And kid you not, I woke up so many times I lost count. I don’t know why for the life of me I can’t stay asleep. It used to be my kid waking me and she still does, but usually just once or twice a night. I’m waking up every hour on the hour, basically. I don’t know why. Best the doctor can say is, anxiety. Except when something is anxiety related, then he says hypomania. GRRRR. It’s not me being arrogant and claiming to know more than the doctor. It’s just…twenty plus years living it daily. I know me. Or least I used to. Lately, I don’t know a thing.

I checked out five library books. I’ve read two, and started reading the other three only to bookmark and abandon. They’re due back Tuesday. I don’t know if it’s just lackluster writing on their part or if my attention and anxiety are just hindering. I was doing so well with the focus prior to the Latuda. WTF. And considering it affects hormone balance, I am wondering if I will ever get back to “norm”. My hormonal balance is very tenuous and this was the last thing I needed. It’s not a good sign when even the pharmaceutical literature says it affects hormones yet your doctor insists it doesn’t. I don’t think I stand a chance in hell here. I am doomed. DOOOOOMED.

Meh. Time to take a Xanax and calm the bouncy house. Really don’t like taking them in the morning since by afternoon I will be climbing walls. If I take one then, my bedtime dose is off so it takes hours to get to sleep. I can’t find a happy medium and I am starting to think it’s like that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Doesn’t exist.

Okay…Can’t write anymore, kid won’t stop fussing and before long I will be writing what she is saying instead of my own thoughts…It is going to be such…a…long…summer.

 

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