Archive for manic episode

Why I am trying to Raise Money

Posted in gofundme campaign, mental health with tags , , , , , , on August 10, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

For those unfamiliar with my plight, I am going to repost my original post frommy Go Fund Me page.


I am a single mom trying to get by on limited income. I rent and my landlord won’t pay to exterminae the place. I have used EVERY product known to man, at my own cost, and still the roaches and assorted other ickies return. Two years ago, I had finally gotten it under control then my neighbors moved out because they couldn’t handle the bugs they had. I begged the landlord to at least spray a line between our homes to keep their bugs from moving in with me and my child. He did not do it and here I am again.
With school starting, summer power bills, treating the cats for fleas, food costs…I just don’t have the money for extermination as local companies require you sign a 12 month contract and that adds up to more each month than I can afford without my kid going hungry. I am asking for help because I am embarrassed for anyone to visit lest a roach come creeping out. Not all people who get roaches are unkempt slobs. These bugs were here from the moment we moved in and nothing I do helps because the landlord has high turnover and any time someone moves out, their bugs come to my home.

I could probably suffer til I manage to save up, but I am terrified my lack of money could result in someone saying I am an unfit parent and my kid lives in an unfit home. My daughter is my life and she deserves to be able to get a cup out of the cabinet with a bug jumping on her. Even if you can spare five dollars, it adds up. Please help if you can’t or at least spread the word on social media. This is humiliating and I am using what over the counter products I can but none of them eliminate the nest and….

We simply need help.

So that is our story. We don’t want the money for superfluous reasons. We need it to improve our home’s liveability. I have tried to do my best as a single, disabled mother with limited resources, I never asking for assistance that wasn’t absolutely necessary for my child or keeping a roof overhead. It pains me to ask for help even now but the problem is just getting worse so even if you can only spare five bucks.. Your help is appreciated.

Here’s the link again.

Even a repost or social media share can make a difference if you’re in the same boat as me financially. Thanks for reading this.


When Mania Mimics Drunkenness

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on April 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

In the categories of’don’t try this at home, kids”, and ‘ill advised’ and ‘are you fucking nuts’…I stopped taking my lithium four days ago. I’m sorry, the nausea was too much and I got to reading my old writing and it was just better than the lithium husk of current days…So I stopped it, just to see if there was a difference in my writing quality. It’s too soon to really say, but at least it hasn’t slowed me down. Fifteen single spaced pages in 3 hours today alone. I will go back on the lithium the instant the roller coaster starts sliding on the rails but for now…Lamictal will suffice.

Which brings me to…manic episodes. I was sort of low yesterday but today, in spite of a cold cold wet morning dragging me under…I bounced back and the brain went warp speed ahead, Mr. Spock, Sula, and Lt. Uhura. I lurve when I get in the writing zone. Ideas coming at me breakneck speed. Following through with planned errands instead of ducking out. Doing utterly unpleasant things that will likely result in me being blamed when I am not at all to blame, R is just an asshole. (parts order glitch.)

Flip side…I came out of my “anti people” slump and called my mom and apparently she told my sister I am drunk at 4 in the afternoon, based on my rapid speech and using the wrong words and stammering a bit. Hello? Vintage bipolar mania.

Perhaps the upside, in my situation, is I cycle so rapidly, I am rarely manic more than a day, at most, unless hypo manic. Axis 2 bipolar is a spiteful bitch, providing so few manic episodes yet giving months long depressions. Especially when attached to seasonal affective disorder, which is mega sucky when you live in the midwest with the fickle weather changes…

My mom, I have concluded, is as hopeless a cause as is my father and friend R, in grasping that bipolar isn’t the same as lazy or stupid. Even today on the phone, the topic switched to her wanting cremated and my sis insists she be buried…I tossed out my wishes to donate my body to a medical school, better to teach something than be worm few or dust…And I said, “They can study my fucked up brain…” My charming mother tosses out, “Yeah, your sister didn’t get any of that stuff.”

Denial much? Oh, wait, my sister’s three trips to the looney bin were because she was young, she was stressed, she was drunk, she was on meth. She barely raised her own kid til he was 15. She shunned meds and replaced that with drunken bouts where she becomes combative and violent. But hey, she has a job and she keeps excellent house and cooks fabulously. I’m the loser.

Of course, I didn’t say that to psycho hose beast mombie. She has accused me perpetually of envying my sister, like it’s some petty thing. I envied my sister when she was a grand theft auto breaking into bars and stealing booze troubled kid. Only because she was the one person, even if younger than me, defended me against the bullying I suffered at school. She never shunned me or made fun of me and she wasn’t afraid to throw down. I was a mousy bookwork who could throw out sarcastic barbs but didn’t dare throw down physically lest I get expelled or arrested and upset the parental units. I envied my sister for being fearless and brash. For being loyal.

I don’t envy her getting married at 19 to a man who 18 years later still won’t work and spends all time obn X Box and smoking pot. I don’t envy her living with a bunch of other people and having to wait on them hand and foot. I don’t envy her weekends drinking with her odd friends whom I find as interesting as drying paint. Sorry, not rude, just honest.

Point being (I am fairly sure I have a point but the manic brain spins pretty fast)…Once I envied my sister but I don’t now. Mom will never grasp that any more than she will grasp that I didn’t ask for bipolar. Her hypocrisy is a salty drink to swallow as she was once in a locked ward for depression and anxiety, but hey, she came out of it, no meds needed, she just became completely venomous and a shut in. The meds suck but just getting use to being a miserable person is worse.

See the manic shifts in this post alone? You probably think I am drunk. Unless you’ve been through the manic episodes, in which case you might pump your fist in the air and say “I get this sooo much!”

I know it’s the sudden drop in lithium level, mania is the next step. I just need to mythbust whether my current lackluster writing is related to the lithium shutting down any true emotion. Once I determine that, I’ll go back to my puke inducing sane pills. My shrink seems to have zero problems with me tweaking my own meds since he is so busy he can’t see me more often. I don’t advise doing as I do, but…We all walk our own paths, it’s not up to me to tell anyone what to do as it is not up to others to tell me what to do.

As much as bipolar sucks…Even if steeped in denial…You gotta admit…mania is a high money can’t buy. Shame, like drugs and alcohol, it is so destructive. It’s like feeling good just leads to feeling bad. I don’t even know what that is, Universe. Cockweasel world.

Epic Manic Battles of History…Begin!

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , on May 14, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms


Yeah, okay that is my fave ERB and I had to put it on here because in my head, I keep hearing the title of this post recited the way they say EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORRRRY. (For the record Beeth-Oven totally wipes the floor with Bieber’s ass.)(Yes, I am still on the Bill/Ted/Excellent Adventure spiel.)

Except I don’t rap. I’m hypomanic. It’s almost midnight and I have not retreated. In fact, the mania has replenished my spork supply which was in the negatives after a call from R-sole. I am trying to be objective but that man goes on the defensive when he knows he’s been offensive but can’t admit he’s anything less than ideal and everyone else is shit. It was all I could to do be civilized with all his snarky comments about me not stopping by or me not doing what he wants done or me causing the decline of western civilization. What the fuck ever, McDouchey. Then he kept getting really bitchy because he said I wasn’t paying attention and fact was, his cell kept cutting out, my kid was yapping, the two dogs next door were tied out, barking…I couldn’t hear fuck all. But it’s all about me mistreating him. The man who’s so important and busy yet I am to blame for everything.

The beer is pickling his brain. He was on about how I’ve been “out of it” and “messing things up” and I warned him up front I was starting a new med that could render me loopy. Hell, I had employers who actually paid for my time who were more understanding when I needed a few days off in a row to see how a new med was going to affect me. R is just a dick. And yes, I have to toss him down the elevator shaft from the 13th floor (Thanks, Chris.) Just not yet. I can’t afford a mechanic and considering how old my car is and decrepit…I have to suffer for car repairs. Tomorrow is my penance for asking him to take ten minutes out of his important busy life to put a car stereo in my dash. Yet oddly when I said I’d have someone else do it, he snapped, “No, they’ll fuck it up, I’ll do it, least I can do it right.” Idget.

I am not looking forward to it. I should be in bed, sleeping working up my ability to not choke a bitch. Instead I have gone hypomanic and I am scanning all my computers for malware and viruses and I transferred a bunch of files and watched Arrow (YOU SUCK, OLIVER, AND YOU BETTER COME BACK!!!!) My kid has wakened twice and thrown a tissy because I am not in my bed so she can’t climb in with me and had to back to her own room. The child has night terrors, has since she was an infant, and I always joked it was the result of living in my hostile womb all those months…But the donor had night terrors, too, and I wonder if it’s some genetic propensity. Weird part was, for almost two years she did sleep all night in her own bed. And then she didn’t. I don’t know how to make her feel any safer. I’m less than twenty steps from her room. I leave my door open so I can hear if she cries out and needs me. I am lost. I don’t want her going to school and saying she sleeps in mommy’s bed thus inviting some “well meaning” idget to make perverted assumptions, or worse, think I am using my kid to avoid being alone. I looove sleeping alone. I’m up and down so much that sleeping with others has always turned into this nasty battle of “will you stop getting up, you keep me waking me.”

I am fairly certain the abrupt stop of the Latarda is responsible for the hypomanic bout. Haven’t had one since early March but coming off a med cold turkey…That’ll do it. But damn, the rage was too much for me to handle. I’m venomous but I was getting furious at shit that didn’t make sense. Of course, following the mania will come the crash crash burn and splat. Which will probably happen tomorrow in R’s presence so he can berate me some more cos ya know, he and his psychologist daughter agree mental illness isn’t real, it’s just behavior. I looove having meltdowns with an audience, they’re always so supportive and empathetic. NOT. But I am willing to barter to get what I need and it’s not like he pisses me off any more than my family does. Least he doesn’t lecture me about drinking alcohol like my parents do. 42 years old and still judging me like a child. Fuck off.

I know I need to cut it loose. Maybe not entirely sever ties, because I do like Mrs R and our Mangorita nights…But for this moment, I am in limbo with the disability review, this Latard fail, struggling with the tiniest things due to money…I can only make so many changes at once and deal with so much shit at once. But…it’s coming, unless things changed. Last time I stopped speaking to him for six months and his wife was the one who came to my door and asked me and Spook to start coming back over on weekends. So I did. And he was on his best behavior after she read him the riot act. Unfortunately, he’s right back to his old shit and…

“13th floor…Ladies lingerie, luggage, and a fall straight into hellfire and brimstone.”

I gotta pick my battles. For now. I think I am starting to wind down. Or maybe it’s just dread at dealing with R tomorrow when he right off the bat went on the defensive like I somehow wronged him when he blew me off for five days. Then said I didn’t wave at him in traffic. No, I don’t do the grinny face Queen Elizabeth wave. I’m busy not having a car wreck, dumbass. I give a nod or half wave or tell my kid to wave at him for me. He just totally went after me on that call and I have no idea why.

It put me in a high anxiety pissed off mind frame. But then I went hypomanic and realized…We will never mesh because I have a soul and emotions and he doesn’t. Least not for anyone outside his bloodline or “worship me” circle. I have messy feelings that get hurt, ewww, ickkky. Waste of my fucking time. But I gotta do what I gotta do…(Meaning, I am almost out of smokey treats and if I go to the shop, I can at least sneak a couple of his, muhahahha.)

Okay…Final note…This one is a writing prompt from Tessa.

I guess I just write the prompt and go from there…

I often wonder…Oh, so many things. If I had been a boy would my dad have loved me more? If I didn’t look like my dad would my mom love me more? And what if I’d gotten to be the thin blonde blue eyed “fun” sister instead of the book wormy chubby smart sister. What ifs are a part of life.

I often wonder..Had I not gone through being bullied and having all this mental stuff, would I have turned out to be an absolute shit person lacking in empathy?

And most often I wonder…How did it come to this? What happened that sent me into a downward spiral of instability that held me back from my goals, dreams, the things I enjoy. At what point did my soul calcify to the point I can no longer feel true joy?

I know the answer. I tried. I tried hard as I could, given the mind frames, meds, side effects, personal circumstances…I did try. I just keep failing because my mind never sends me the right messages consistently.

I wonder what it would be like to be able to trust your own thoughts and emotions without suspecting them lies and distortion.

I often wonder…

Manxiety, Dr. Sweetheart, and Karma

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , , , on April 3, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s official. Not only do I have panxiety (paranoid anxiety) I also apparently have Manic anxiety disorder (manxiety.)

The new doc thing was terrifying. I got there wayyy early. I read a magazine, remembered nothing, reread the same things over and over. I was sweating and emitting that stagnant stress smell. Heart pounding, mind spinning, yet completely downhearted and exhausted. Ya know, where you bury your head in your hands and try not to yank out clumps of your own hair.
I was weighed. Yeah, if you weren’t already depressed being told you gained 15 pounds in spite of cutting out soda and eating one meal a day…Hate that part. And my blood pressure was higher than norm. I was FREAKING OUT, ffs. Of course, it’s gonna be elevated. The nurse said, “Oh, he’s a sweetheart, you’re gonna love him.”

I’m not sure I love him but…I didn’t hate him. He was…OPEN. He listened. He said I was manic, I tried to explain I just get high strung and panicky like that for appointments…I don’t think he bought it even if it’s factoid. He declared me manic as well as ADHD.
Then I broached the whole focus/Focalin issue and he said he had no problem prescribing Focalin because obviously, I am ADD.
For years now I’ve been told I’m just anxiety ridden and finally a doctor sees that I actually have this attention deficit thing and it’s not in my head????
He said a large percentage of bipolar patients do have an attention deficit, with or without hyperactivity, even if insurance companies seem to think ADD or ADHD ends when one turns 18.
I was in his office about twenty minutes. He heard me out, told me his stance, and we just discussed it rather than him handing down edicts. I agreed with him the prozac should be lowered, split into two doses even if the half life should last longer than it does for me. He actually said everyone reacts differently instead of making me feel like a loser for not being one size fits all.
It was mind boggling.
He did consult the old files, but only after talking to me. I guess he was seeing if my story meshed with the record. I flat out told him that I have seen so many doctors and counselors, all with differing ideas, that I am flat out confused aside from the bipolar two and anxiety disorder diagnoses.
He didn’t make me feel like a leper for being honest.
He prescribed 5mg Focalin without a fuss, said he could see why I’d need it and he was trusting me not to abuse it. Considering insurance won’t pay and it’s an extra sixty bucks out of my disability check which barely provides shelter and heat…I wouldn’t be asking if it hadn’t helped in the past. Trying to find the money is stressful but it’s also…hope.
I wasn’t really manic, I was just fucking nervous.
But he perceived it as mania and hyperactivity so at least he saw that there IS something rotten in the state of Denmark. He’s the first doctor in 7 years who saw the attention deficit for something other than anxiety. He gets points for that. As well as for blunt honesty. He asked on the way out if I had any questions, and I said, “No, you answered them all and I am shocked you listened to me.”
He said, “That’s what you pay me for.”
I respect honesty even if it stings.
I also asked him if he, too, was going to rotate out in 2 years like all the other doctors there and he said that he and the hospital were contracting together for five years, minimum, trying to turn the center into a large scale care place as well as a ward at the hospital that hasn’t had one in dozens of years.
That…made me hopeful.
So…Prozac back to 20mg twice a day and 5mg Focalin twice a day. Excellent, Smithers. He wasn’t so much a sweetheart as a…a…PROFESSIONAL. It blew my mind.

First off, it’s gonna be sixty bucks a month out of my limited budget which is OUCH!
Second, my pharmacy won’t have that dose in until Monday. I told them I’d wait because truth be told, I’d rather keep all my scripts at the same place so any possibility of interaction can be spotted. So I said I’d wait and I’ve spent the evening crunching numbers, debating what I can skimp by on to afford this medication.
Nothing is ever perfect. I think given the right speech, I could probably sell my soul to R so he’d shell out the lump sixty bucks I can’t. I THINK. You never know because people will promise to help you then the next day ask why you needed the help. (Viva drunk friends.)

My kid is at my mom’s so I have had the day to myself, after the appointment hell ended. I’ve done…Um…Dishes. Cat boxes. One load of laundry, though five baskets remain unfolded…I bought myself a tv dinner for supper. I called my mom’s to check on my spawn and they all started spazzing that it was some sort of emergency. Because ya know, I couldn’t simply miss my daughter.
And I am only allowing this sleepover for her benefit. My mom and sister have kind of pissed me off good. For my sister’s birthday, they had NO food for a week so our dad and stepmom spent a hundred bucks buying them food. Which they proceeded to share with and feed to about 9 people who aren’t family.’
Today, my sis and mom show me how they’ve spent over a hundred bucks on my kid’s Easter baskets as well as a frilly dress and Frozen tennish shoes. I dared to say, “Thirty bucks for shoes she’ll outgrow in a month is dumb” and got fucking verbally jumped.
Apparently I don’t want my kid to be happy because I won’t blow all the money on crap and let her starve for two weeks.
This is just how it is with my mom and sister. They’re all about fun and frivolity whereas I am more like dad in practical terms. It’s never ceased to be a bone of contention. Toss in that I look like my dad, well, mom’s never really forgiven me, like it was some choice on my part.

I get a night to myself, Mother Nature (the bitch) gives me cramps from hell. I want to do nothing and be around no one.
I reconnect with someone I think is worthwhile except they’re too far gone to be reached.
I am sooo hoping the Focalin helps with this.
I soo need a federal loan to afford it. (sad ain’t it.)

So that’s the good, bad, ugly, and karmic.

Stupid hypomanic episodes

Posted in mental illness with tags , on March 5, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

I did something today I haven’t done in awhile.
I called my mom. By choice.
And we talked for almost three hours.
I was, of course, hypomanic after that lump 40mg Prozac.

My mom, while less venomous than her norm. thought I was drunk or high.

I fucking wish.

My brain just catches fire, my mouth won’t stop spewing every thought in my head as fast as it can.
I see why that could be misconstrued as being under the influence.
In a sense, that’s precisely what manic episodes are like.
You become something else, someone else. Your energy skyrockets, you want to talk, talk, talk, you talk so fast, you slur a few a words here and there, and you show emotion you’ve repressed.

Thing is…It was nice. I used to live in a different town than my mom and it cost a fortune for the phone bill because I’d call her and talk forever.
Then her and dad divorced and I got cold shouldered because I just kind of took the middle road where I talked to them both and Mom took it personally.
Since then, we’ve lived in the same time and my mom rarely ever calls me. When she does, it’s about sixty seconds asking about Spook.
So…Talking to my mommy for so long (and she didn’t criticize me even once)….was a blast from the past.

Yet my mother (well, everyone around me) can’t be arsed to do a little research so every time I go manic, I get accused of being drunk or high. It gets old and it is infuriating. I try to tell them, explain, educate.
It doesn’t do a bit of good.

I hate bipolar.
I hate that people are so ignorant about mental illness.
I just…

hate pretty much everything sometimes.

But at the height of a manic episode..
I love everything and everyone.

Aside from the rapid shifting cyclothymia…It’s textbook bipolar.

Why can’t the world LEARN about mental illness before they pass judgment?

Mental Illness an Alcohol

Posted in biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 4, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

From the moment I was first diagnosed bipolar, I did extensive research on the disorder. Knowledge is power and all. A common behavior with mental illness, bipolar, depression, and anxiety specifically, is the use of alcohol. Self medication.
Shrinks will tell you, don’t drink, bad for you, bad mix with meds, worsens depression…And they’re not wrong.
What none of them seem smart enough to figure out is, would a person drink if their meds did as good a job as the pharma companies claim?

I was a late bloomer, as far as alcohol is concerned. My dad used to give me sips of his beer when I was nine, ten years old. It wasn’t some mystical taboo for me. In fact, I still loathe the taste of beer. Drinking was just never a huge thing for me as a teenager when everyone else is experimenting and going off the rails. There were a couple of epic benders, but for the most part…No.
I turned 21 and still…Booze did not appeal. I was on 3mg of Xanax a day so my anxiety never really kicked my ass.

Over the years as my doctors have gone through the local mental health care revolving doors of serving two years and fleeing…They’ve lowered my Xanax. And since then, for the last ten years or so, my drinking has been sporadic but when stressed to the max…It’s a crutch. At times, it’s two crutches. It never helps the moods or depressions. It does slow the thoughts down, quiet the swirl of emotions, and provide a relaxed numb no medication can.
I have tried to explain this to the doctors.
Bam. Instant “alcoholic” label.
I dispute this whole heartedly because at one low point, I actually called the local rehab center and spoke with a professional substance abuse counselor. I described my symptoms, when I drank, how I’d go months, years, without a drop…How I could buy booze and not touch it if I wasn’t anxiety ridden…
And she told me I didn’t belong in rehab because I don’t have an an addiction, I had a behavior problem. I get stressed, I drink. I have anxiety, I drink. There are times I don’t drink and have no desire to.
I’m not in the bathroom pouring mouthwash down my throat trying to get a buzz. I’m not at the liquor store sticking bottles in coat pockets.
When I drink, it’s because I choose to. Not because I have to. Not because I crave the alcohol itself.
And I don’t go in thinking that bottle/can whatever is going to solve my problems.
I do know it will quiet my mind and buzzing nerves and that is what I crave.

So if a rehab counselor can figure that out, why can’t a so called mental health professional?

So many mentally ill people get wrongly labeled as “alcoholic” or “substance abusing”. I find it irritating and a little libelous.
If someone has chronic back pain, and they take a painkiller so they can focus on life rather than being in pain, does it make them an addict?
Well, I don’t see it being any different if someone who is in psychological pain decides to have a drink (or ten) when the pain gets to be too much.
Oh, my doctors have told me time and again, that’s abuser mentality, refusal to admit a problem, self justifications.
It’s crap.
I know someone who is a fine upstanding member of society, church deacon, owns his own business, everyone loves him…But he literally cannot go one day without beer. And I don’t mean a can or two. I mean three, four, five, six tall boys a night. And he’s been doing it since he was in his teens. To me, that’s functional alcoholism.
Because no matter how bad my mental crap gets, I can’t drink 7 nights a week. At some point, the thought of alcohol repulses me. I don’t like being altered. Sometimes, altered is better than batshit paranoid and nervous, though.

I just find it almost comical that someone who is socially acceptable can drink 365 days a year and it’s just who he is, ha ha, him and his beer.
But if you have a mental illness and drink a few nights a month…You have an addiction.

I have a behavioral issue that stems from my anxiety. Booze does fuck all for moods or depression. But when the prescribed meds fail to ease you into a place where you can manage your anxieties…That alcohol numb seems like a mirage in the dessert. And perhaps that’s exactly what it is. A mirage. Non existent.
But with mental illness, sometimes it really is just a matter of “whatever will get me through this day”.

I reject the notion that I have an addiction to any substance. I have an additive personality, true. I can’t have one of anything, I have five computers, working on a sixth. I can’t own one lipstick, I own thirty. One purse? Ha, try twenty. I’m a hoarder of sorts with possessions.
But as far as booze or drugs go, prescribed or otherwise…My problem is behavioral.
I take Tylenol when I am in so much discomfort, I can’t focus.
I take cough syrup when I’m sore from hacking up a lung.
I take Xanax when I am getting edgy and cranky from anxiety.
And when my mind spins and I get to that place where every muscle is knotted with tension and I think even the cats are plotting against me…
I have a drink.
I may have ten.
I may take one sip and stick it in the fridge for weeks.

I’m sick of having to feel bad about it. People party every weekend and get shit faced drunk and they’re “having fun”.
I have some booze when I’ve clawed my arms from nerve induced hives and I have a problem?
Fuck the professionals.
There’s one thing all their education and degrees can’t make them an authority on.

Actually having a mental illness.
You can’t judge until you’ve walked in those shoes.

Not everyone who chooses to have a drink or two or ten…is abusing alcohol. Sometimes, it’s a buoy in a sea of anxiety to cling to.
And then life goes on and alcohol isn’t at the center.

The mythical magical legend of a happy medium

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on July 8, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

All I have ever wanted isĀ  a happy medium. I don’t need to be constantly ecstatic, if I were I’d have to strangle myself.

But the extreme shifts are really wearing me down.

I was in a despondent depression for 8 months.

Enter spring, Paxil, and I feel half manic. Like a train starting to careen off the track with impulsive behaviors and too much euphoria one minute, a crippling mood crash the next.

“You cycle too fast for this to be true bipolar, it must be borderline personality disorder.”

From all my research, borderlines are generally set off by outside stressors.

I don’t have any pattern of triggers.

One minute, dandy. Next minute, kill me pleeeeease.

Oh to simply stay in between the two extremes, what a dream that would be.

Today I feel this manic electricity under my skin and in my brain, like I’ve slacked off for too long and now I need to shift into gear and get shit done.

My money is on it dying down the instant I start to do something. Because that’s how my brain works. It constantly trolls me.

I used to be grateful that I got “properly diagnosed” with a mental illness to explain all of this instability within my own head.

But all the meds and shrinks and counselors have also been utterly detrimental. I second guess myself, I analyze myself, I analyze others, everything has to be way more complicated than it is because damn it, if I am expected to change because “x,y,z,k,p,o” is wrong with me, I want some goddamn reciprocation. That’s what all this shit has gotten me in the long run. I irritate myself because I’ve been so brainwashed.

Life was simpler when I just shrugged and said, “I’m quirky and eccentric, fuck off.”

Now it’s “Oh, I’m bipolar and I am so sorry if I took my mood out on you, I will try to do better because I know what a pain it is for you to have to deal with me being ill.”


At least with quirky and eccentric I didn’t feel like such a victim who’s screwed up beyond all redemption.

Now it’s all about fitting into some textbook version with symptom a,b, c and d that last x amount of time, blah blah blah.

Fuck this shit. Give me a happy fucking medium.

I want to believe in the benefit of mental health care, I really do. I’ve seen myself with and without meds and the with is a lot more stable.

I’m just hitting the wall on my tolerance of bullshit.

Because if no antidepressant makes me drown for 8 months, and an anti depressant gives me manic euphoria, then I’m obviously not asymptomatic and I am obviously not at a happy medium. And it’s like this every single fucking time.

Becca and I were joking last night in our macabre way and she said something about not wanting to walk on a railing like I used to do ‘cos she’d fall and cripple herself. I told her, hey, at least your illness would be visible and people would have empathy.

It sucks that it’s true.