Archive for the cyclothymia Category

The Death Knoll

Posted in anxiety disorders, cyclothymia with tags , , , , on March 1, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

8:12 a.m.
I am just going to vent a little now, a little later. I am sure driving in town will have me ready to go to a rubber room so I will have lots to say. Not to mention the aftermath of seeing psych nurse.

I see her at 11 a.m. and I am filled with dread. I am trying to keep positive, I even printed out 2 pages of topics I want to broach with her. Hopefully by reading from that, I can keep my outrage and emotions more level. And something in my gut says they are about to cut my Xanax again so volatilty will reign supreme. I don’t want to go. She is so conservative and indifferent.

Tessa suggested the other day that my whirlwind cleaning behavior might be the start of a manic episode. I can’t dispute it, though there was no joy so it’s more likely hypomania. Yesterday I was wondering, though, as I had the TV on and was also streaming the Cohen testimony (I made it an hour and had to stop, those republicans on the committee are nasty mofos, ick.) in addition to transferring some files from flash drive to the external on my ancient desktop. (Literally ancient, it still has a floppy drive and doesn’t play or burn discs.) It’s seldom that I can handle so much input simultaneously so that could be a hint toward hypomania.

That, too, makes sense, as we aee nearing the day to turn clocks forward and this impacts my energy levels and it’s subconscious, not some choice I make. It’s like the circadian cycle takes over. I wish they’d do more research into this area as opposed to rehashing their cbt-light therapy which has proven completely ineffectual for me. I have the displease of going to a psych center that is conservative and not the least bit progressive, they seem intent on sticking to tried and true and not attempting newer ideas. Again, to my detriment.

I am in clean clothes, hair is brushed, I scrubbed my fangs, started a load of laundry, got Spook off to school. Now…the wait.It is grueling when patience is not a virtue you have. One more thing hinting toward hypomania is the fact that lately I’ve been getting up before 7 am and not having a love affair with the snooze button. I won’t go so far as to say things are looking up, I have been here often enough to know sometimes it is only a prelude and back down the rabbit hole I go. I remain cautiously optimistic.That is a euphamism for being pessimistic but trying to soothe the professionals by keeping an open mind and feigning happy fun ball status.

I just want it over with.

Tracking The Cyclothymic Shifts

Posted in cyclothymia with tags , , , , on March 9, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

8:20 a.m.

After another night of toss and turn, snooze and wake…And a battle with the snooze button…
I am a half hour post Prozac and feeling pretty…hopeful. Well, I’ve got too many unresolved issues in my head to be content or hopeful. But I’m not in the gutter and that’s a plus.
I did something last night I am probably going to live to regret but I reached out to someone I consider a friend. I just wish people weren’t so damned afraid to be direct. It feels like junior high. Tell me yay or no. I actually have more respect for people who tell me to fuck off than avoidance or lies. But…Immersion therapy. Face what scares you most, deal with the consequences, positive or negative.
I don’t like it. It’s out of my control.

I also wrote a letter to the center where I see my shrink. I am going to go print it out at the library and get it mailed today. Maybe they will get it by Wednesday and call me to fit me in with the doctor. That or they will blow me off. That’s the norm. But part of my self imposed immersion therapy, I am rolling the dice for better or worse. In hopes better may come out of it.
Yeah, I want to laugh at that.

My stomach is in knots. I have too many unresolved issues. Not knowing is the bane of my existence. And as I recall, social security left me hanging for five months last review. By the time this is called yay or nay, I am going to have a dozen ulcers and have clawed off every inch of my own skin.

To be continued. The only way to truly track the descent into the mood abyss is to compare my mood from morning to evening.

9:18 a.m.

Damn you, Pellek. Damn you, youtube. I spent a year cringing every time Bex or my kid launched into “Let It Go” from Frozen. Now thanks to some dude doing a metal version that really rocks, I can’t get the bloody song out of my head.
The lyrics resonate.
Bloody hell.

“A kingdom of isolation,
and it looks like I’m the Queen

Don’t let them in,
don’t let them see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don’t feel,
don’t let them know
Well now they know”


I am feeling manic. I know it’s manic because I feel ten feet tall, bulletproof, the world is my oyster, and all I can think is, “Hey, I’ve got this.”
It’s not real, though. It’s too high a dosage of Prozac all at once. Split over the day the mania never happens.
This way, I get my boost in the day, then come evening. SPLAT.
I think this doctor is…Um, well. He graduated from the university of chihuahua, which may well be a good school but I still can’t say it without smirking. Really, dude? Why not University of Dalmatians?
Oh, yes. Manic.
But my stomach is still in knots, courtesy of the anxiety and all the unresolved crap in my life at present time. It’s funny how my anxiety is either generalized and unexplained or when the world outside my bubble intrudes, it goes off the charts.
I want to breathe again.
Wow. My mind is all over the place. No wonder people like me when I am manic. I feel fun. I must be a blast, until the mood crashes.
Though I still maintain if people weren’t ass trash, they’d accept me no matter what mood cycle I am in.
God, I am naive.
One of the first lessons I ever learned was when my mom told me, “Be yourself, people will like you.”
Hard lesson for a kid to learn.
The only time people have ever liked me is when I pretended to not be myself.
And call it hubris or denial I don’t think there’s anything all that wrong with me. I am very up front about being abrasive, direct, and irritating. I know who I am. I try to do better but hey, I fail a lot.
Tying my own self esteem and validation to others is pointless.
I know people way more irritating than me.
Or at least they irritate me. Then again, everyone does.
I’m a bitch, what can I say.
Manic episodes…High money can’t buy. Too bad it’s just a fallacy.

9:47 a.m.
I am hungry and the meds on an empty stomach sometimes leads to nausea. So I need food but it repulses me. Catch 22. This mental illness stuff is fun. NOT.

10:01 a.m.
The downside to manic mixed with anxiety…Mania is fading, paranoid anxiety is setting in. Rapid heartbeat, sweating, jumping at every sound. Fairly certain forces beyond my control are out to get me.
God, it gets old.
What gets older is people acting like this isn’t making a huge negative impact on my entire existence.

1:35 p.m.

Manic as fuck. LIke bouncing off the walls fast talking “are you drunk???” manic. It’s a fallacy, of course, but man…It’s nice for a wee bit to not feel like the grinch of life. I even spent an hour talking to my Avon lady (I am buying my kid a Frozen watch from her for her Easter gift). I rarely let people in my home. But I went out on a limb and she sat and had a few smokes with me and we talked. That was nice.
If you could just bottle mania (minus the impulsive shopaholic hypersexual poor choices thing) it would kick the ass of any illegal drug.
I even went by the shop and R bought me smokes and lunch. My reward for being pleasant? Though I am betting there’s a bunch of store clerks pondering if I am driving around drunk. Mania does mimic that behavior. Don’t think manic episodes are illegal though.
I need to go get that letter to dr chihuahua mailed.
I hate the post office, this one douche that works there pisses me off with his…well, douchiness. I could get lucky and he won’t be working. And monkeys might fly out of my butt. Oh, wow I am quoting Wayne’s World. Definitely manic.

2:40 p.m.

Ok…Definitely coming down from the manic hours.
One would think being done with the dish would actually boost my mood. I don’t think it has a thing to do with my life or schedule. I just think the lump dose of prozac is not serving me as well as it could were it split. Hard to split a capsule, though. I mailed the letter to the psych center. For all the good it will do.
Yep. Think I have run out of good will for man and there wasn’t a single trigger. Just almost 7 hours since the lump prozac dose. Half life…That’s about right. Kind of sad I know more about this shit than the professionals seem to. But then again, how better to know something than to live it.

3:14 p.m.

Mood is crashing fast and hard. This sucks. I felt so good earlier.
But that is cyclothymia.
Except the part where they call the cycles short lived and mild. My depressions last for months on end. My manic eps last a few hours or a couple of days.
I’m not textbook.
I am however, frustrated.

3:55 p.m.
My kid is giving me a glimpse into what I am like when manic, only hers is all natural battery bunny chatterbox mouth. Dear god, stop and take a breath. It’s like silence is against her programming. Indoor voice is lost on her. She’s like a jackhammer to my brain at times.
And I guess during a manic bout…That’s probably how people feel about me.
Though I’ve noticed they want me around while manic so it can’t be that bad.
Even my old counselors LOVED when I came in manic, said I was a blast.
They were fortunate enough to see the flip side, though, when the depressions hit and I’d wander in like a zombie unbathed in bed clothes and burst into tears.
Doctors never get to see you in all your phases.

4:24 p.m.

And splat has arrived. Not even a gradual come down. Just slip, slide…Splat. I don’t get it. Normally, evening/night time are when I pep up. It means petri dish time is over, kid will be going to bed, and it’s mom’s me time.
I’ve lost even that little bit of happiness.
I don’t need to be manic. I would prefer not to be because wow, I make some shitty choices when manic. But I would like very much for the medication to be split up so I don’t keep going down the rabbit hole as afternoon turns to evening.
There have been times in my life when I had much more going on, way more stress, way more reasons to be splat…And yet I was managing.
So what the fuck is this shit?

It’s not my favorite.
I’ll spare the details of swirling into the abyss. If you’re reading this, chances are you’ve lived this part.

Manic to splat in a few hours flat

Posted in cyclothymia with tags , , , on March 5, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Flood posting?
Just tracking the mood shifts.

And after I fetched my kid from school…
No trigger, no warning.
I suppose that’s the hallmark of cyclothymia shifts, rapid.
But the depressions pretty much secure me at bipolar two.

My kid is throwing a fit because I am going to make her eat pasta with me for supper. Kicking, whining, screeching, telling me how mean I am.

Enter anxiety.

And she just mauled the cat, because she is mad at me and taking it out on what she knows I love.
I sent her to her room.
All this because she doesn’t want to eat differently shaped pasta.

Life is hard enough.
Toss in the mood crap…

Calgon, take me away.
So 1970’s.
I am soo old.
Or as I prefer to say, retro.

Yes, please.

Down the rabbit hole is not my favorite

Posted in cyclothymia with tags , , , on February 20, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

My kid is forever turning down things by declaring “It’s not my favorite.”
Well…Abrupt mood crashes after a day of…managing…is not my favorite.
The anxiety has been like a crushing weight for days on end now. It’s not my favorite, either.
Now I can grasp stressful situations cause anxiety to rise.
But for me, even when there is nothing going on around me, my anxiety tends to ebb and flow and skyrocket.

Like this abrupt mood crash down the rabbit hole. I managed the whole day pretty well. If going through the motions and putting on a bra are considered doing well. But rather than cave into the anxiety and negative thoughts plaguing my mind…I dealt.
Then from out of nowhere…Down the black rabbit hole.
I have done everything to combat this crap. I have spent twenty years in therapy and gotten to the point where I have come to terms with my emotional baggage, bad habits, et al. I have learned new coping mechanisms, broken old patters.
These mood swings without triggers…Continue to boggle my mind.
There was no catastrophic event. Nothing. But I could feel that depressive tug so I thought, we’ll go out for a car ride, get into the sunshine, fresh air, get up and moving about. Ya know, all the propaganda says that cures mental issues.

Shocker. It did not help. I am sliding downward faster and faster, ready to assume the fetal position in bed because my mind is in a very dark space. Everything is stressing me out now. Every sound seems amplified. Incessant chatter makes me want to stab bbq skewers into my ears. As long as the mind was hobbling on crutches, I could manage the anxiety. But once the floor dropped out on my mood,suddenly my entire mind frame changes.
And while the propaganda demands there be an explanation, some trigger (some way for it to be your fault because you just have a weak personality and get bent over reality.)
In my case, there really is not one.
This was why my med dosage was divided into a.m and p.m dose, to soften this mid day mood crash.
Now the current doctor has it all going in one dose a day and I am sliding down, down, down. It’s time to make a call, I guess. Not that I have much faith in them. After the snafu with my meds, I called the office to explain and they said they’d get back to me. Three days later I had still heard nothing, so I called in a panic as I was out of Prozac…And they so nonchalantly said, “Oh, we took care of that two days ago, you should check with your pharmacy.”
UM…No one thought to clue me in? I suppose that would be insane, it’s not my like I’m a patient and this pertains to my well being…
Oh, wait…
I don’t think my current regime is really helping me. They are so afraid of setting off a manic episode they are conservative with dosages. They won’t even address the attention/lack of focus except to dismiss it as anxiety related. I want to have faith in the doctor, really. But when he spends five minutes with me on a tv screen, won’t address the most troubling things for me, changes my med routine without telling me, and then they fail to even return a all after three days…
Ya know, if a waitress or cashier gave such inept service, I’d be complaining to management or corporate.
Yet with doctors, you’re taught to defer to their education and experience. I’ve lost so much of my life doing just that.
Speaking up doesn’t seem to help much, either.
What’s the answer?

I am going to keep fighting.
As long as I can keep my nose above water, maybe I won’t drown.
And since I am spending so much time down the rabbit hole…It may be time to decorate, maybe some posters and a blacklight, a recliner…
Normally my own facetiousness makes me smile.
My smile is broken right now.

Sometimes I would really like to change my middle name to Frustration.
Seems the definition of my very existence.

I try so damned hard, take three steps forward, then six steps back, all the while everyone’s asking why I can’t just get my act together.
Kind of like asking why glass is falling off shelves and breaking during an earthquake. No stability, it all comes undone.

The rabbit hole is soo not my favorite.

Cyclothymic Crash and Burn

Posted in anxiety disorders, cyclothymia with tags , , , , on February 15, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

I have no idea why but my mental state has tanked out today. Maybe it’s the single digit temperature and lack of sun. (Odd how I loathe sun because it makes my head hurt and yet, it seems to improve my mental state.)
I had a quiet night without my kid for Valentine’s. I spent the day watching crime documentaries. Crashed at 8:30 p.m. Woke up four times even though she wasn’t here. I even leapt up once thinking I forgot to feed her supper…But she wasn’t here for me to feed, that was on Grandma.
I was up before the alarm.
So I could go get her from Mom’s for Sunday School.
My mother, of course, has made her snarky little comments about how they have no trouble with Spook therefore the problem is with me being too strict and making her not like me. She likes me fine until I say no.
So while mom is critiquing my parenting ability, I ask, “Has she had breakfast yet?”
And mom says, “I gave her a Hershey’s Kiss.”
Um….Yeah her criticism means shit. She was the yes mom, no boundaries, constant criticism, screaming fits followed by teary I love yous…
Pardon me for wanting to do better by saying no to my kid wearing summer clothes during winter and shoveling candy rather than actual food.
I can always count on my mother for an ego boost. Or self confidence assassination.
I’ve come to a point where I consider the source and blow it off but my kid was so vile to me yesterday while she was home with me…I let my eeevil momster get inside my head and feed my self doubt. I wanted to take my kid out for lunch yesterday (gift certificate) but she did nothing but scream, bawl, and basically drive me to submission to take her to Grandma’s.
I am chopped liver all because I want to do right and be a parent instead of a best buddy.
Bloody hell.
To add to my anxiety, the woman who picked Spook up for church (who is a lovely woman and means well) said I am welcome to come along any time and she understands how winter and anxiety affect people. And it was so kind of her and I just ended up feeling like a big loser because I really cannot do the crowd thing often. It just costs too much in aftermath.

So I am low. My horrorscope said I am going to do something to get myself into trouble because people don’t like my abrasive manner. I’d blow that off except, I am abrasive at times even if I prefer to view it as blunt honesty. Good thing I have no plans to leave the house today. Or tomorrow, for that matter. Unless I have to. This cold gloom makes me wanna become a hermit.
I was doing ok.
Now I feel like I need a ladder just to peek out of the mood gutter.
Good old cyclothymia without rhyme or reason.
Though I doubt the defiant child and overly critical mom exposure helped. My Teflon coating wore off long ago, so things tend to stick to me and not even soaking and scouring can get the lingering flecks off the surface.
Ride it out. It’s all I can do.
And maybe avoid reading horrorscopes.
But then again, my ringing phone or the mail coming make me paranoid and anxious and I can’t very well avoid them.
I reiterate…bloody hell.
Low mood, high anxiety, and frustration..

The compartmentalization of the fractured soul

Posted in biolar disorder, cyclothymia with tags , , , , on February 8, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m big on this music theme as of late so let me change up a line from Papa Roach’s “Last Resort.”
“Cut my mind into pieces…this is my fractured soul.”

With my kid at her grandmother’s for the night, I’ve had lots of time for the wheels on my mind to go round and round. And it never goes anywhere good. Just trip after trip to the landfill of my emotional garbage.
Last night I was teetering, okay but feeling that tug of depression. I tried to fight it but I ended up in my bedroom at 7:30 curled up under blankets tossing and turning. I thought, hey, I have vodka in there, a shot or two would slow my mind down. But I had nothing to mix it with and plain vodka is just narsty. Plus…I was too lazy to get up. I like laying in bed with Forensic Files playing on the desktop computer. It’s soothing. I get to cuddle with a kitty (which usually involves Nightshade or Willow making biscuits on my jugular).
THEN from out of nowhere came the downward spiral of paranoia, panic, and emotional terror. It’s like being asleep, trapped in a nightmare, but you’re awake. And every bad thing that could happen-financial ruin, death of loved ones, health issues-it all just comes at you like a funnel cloud and you think, wow, I am being a drama queen paranoid….But to no avail because it keeps coming until the terror reaches this peak where you know you’re losing your mind…Or think you are. Or fear you are. Or know you could.
That’s when fear and anxiety make you think, oh, a drink would fix this fast. Or ten. And normally, I’d be panicking and looking for the mental novacaine of a drink or ten.

Instead I took a xanax and rode it out. I was a big girl. Odder still, there was no desire to drink. I mean, the doctor wants to slap labels on you if you drink, but what kind of alcoholic can’t walk twenty feet to the kitchen for a drink? Moreover, what kind of addict declines alcohol because the taste is unbearable without a mixer?
This drinking thing for me comes and goes, usually with anxiety reaching fever pitch. It was this extreme-ism that got me thinking.

Maybe this is why the current psych regime wants to toss out borderline. Because my cyclothymia amplifies all my fractured personality shards and it does make me seem like I shift too rapidly to be anything but borderline.
The major thing for me is, the cycles are always the same. Seasonal. I remember only once being uber depressed during a summer period. It is generally high time.
And I don’t remember ever being anything but depressed during any winter no matter how great life was going.
You toss in some serious emotional trauma at a formative age…
I’m fractured. Not like dissociative. Just a giant jigsaw of chemical and emotional pieces that rarely fit properly yet belong to the same puzzle. Over the years it’s all gotten a little worn and warped.

It explains a lot. How I compartmentalize things. Like doing what others consider bad yet not feeling guilty for it (smoking, drinking, casual sex.)Those are personal moral judgments and I long ago formed my own ides about that.
But if I hurt someone’s feelings…I feel shitty about that because, well, I’ve spent my whole life being on the other side of that one and it sucks. That resonates because it’s another compartment.
My issues with relationships…Love/hate is a borderline thing. Yet when it’s the example your parents set for 27 years, is it really a disorder or is it simply what was imprinted on your psyche from an early age?

We are such complex beings and it is so unfair to be deduced to a few questions in a five minute med check. Doctors who try to make some sort of personality diagnosis from this are committing malpractice. Because if they’d look at my collegiate dictionary sized file and actually read it front to back…
They might see me for what I am. Someone who’s had a rough ride in every way my whole life so the miracle is how I haven’t gone John Wayne Gacy or Dahmer.
(And therein lies my fascination with psychology and true crime: what makes people crack? are people born bad? Is is genetic? Nature, nurture…It’s intriguing to see how people who have otherwise fabulous stable lives can go on a killing spree.)

I fantasize about gluing all my fractured pieces back together. I want to be whole instead of divided.
But then I think, maybe all these compartments are what have kept me from going off the deep end.
I may never know.
Hell, I may go off the deep end eventually.
No one really knows the future.
I only know my present.

And after a night of waking every two hours in spite of not having my child here to go poke with a stick to check for breathing signs…I am just bobbing in the waters of seasonal depression right now. Best I can do is keep my head above water and ride it out.
The more I try to force myself out of it, the worse I feel.

It makes me wish more light could be shined on seasonal affect disorder. Because it’s not simply feeling blue. It’s five months of my life in a rabbit hole, every year. I’d hardly call that mild.

Now…tick tock. I can’t pick my kid up too soon or she will feel I’m robbing her of time with grandma. Yet I want her home. I need the life she brings to the place. Which sounds selfish and yet…I don’t feel selfish. I feel pretty damn good that even a major trainwreck like me can manage to churn out a very happy child who only sees the good in life.
My nature may be depressive but my nurture seems to be in a different compartment.


Posted in cyclothymia with tags , , , on February 8, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Saturday night. My child is staying at Grandma’s. Home alone, free to do as I wish. Which thus far has consisted of watching Bitten all day (awesome show, by the way, I don’t even dig werewolves but I’m into it.)
I could do this. Or that.
But can’t seem to get my shit together.
My motivation is broken.
And as much as my frazzled nerves need the peace….I miss my kid. She brings life to this place. And joy. She is such a vibrant happy kid which helps balance out my tripolar bullshit.

I am not in the gutter, yet, mood wise.
Yet…I can feel that depressive urge tugging at the back of my mind. Sorta. Maybe.
I am fighting it.
I feel like I am losing.
One would think now that the temps are in the forties and it’s sunny, the seasonal affect would lessen.
But then, it was a really shit week so maybe I am in recovery/reboot mode.
I don’t want to be low.
I’m not really low. Yet.
Well, sorta. Maybe.

I have NO idea.