I Made a Mistake

I was laying on my bed just a little bit ago thinking that I should write. I even had an idea. But then I lost the idea, had no clue what it was, but still felt I should write.

My mood is crummy this morning which sucks because yesterday it was pretty good. I had ECT yesterday morning, had a good nap after I got home, and woke up feeling like a normal, happy person. Hot diggity damn! I cleaned the kitchen and cleaned the office. We had a boatload of papers that needed shredding in the office. I had to empty the shredder 3 times and the papers took up an entire kitchen trash bag.

Then hubby came home and I was telling him about everything I did. "You only shredded the right side of papers, right?" he asked, a little uncomfortable. "No, I shredded everything." "Okay, well, the left stack of papers was for our taxes."

Fuck.

I shredded our tax paperwork (and our taxes are complicated this year as we went through a short sale). 

Fuck.

I immediately felt defensive and stupid and horrible. My mood plummeted and I nearly broke down right there in the kitchen. Instead, I went into the office and sat on the floor, trying desperately to keep from crying. I was upset for several reasons. First and foremost, I thought my hubby was pissed off at me. I can't stand to have people mad at me. Second, I shredded our fucking tax papers! And third, well, I have bipolar disorder so I emotionally OVERreact to everything.

Hubby came in and assured me he wasn't mad at me. He stated he was upset, and we might have a harder time getting our taxes done (he wasn't entirely sure we actually needed the papers, he was keeping them just in case), but he wasn't mad at me. Which was a relief. 

But I still felt like shit. And I felt like shit the rest of the night, though I tried to hide it from everyone. Then I didn't sleep well (not like I have been anyway), and woke up still feeling like shit.

Which is very annoying because I really want to feel good. Or even just okay. Why can't I just fucking be okay?

Maybe I Should Starve Myself

So I was up at 4:30 this morning (which is better than the 3:30 I was up yesterday at) and I was thinking, holy fuck do I feel fat. And looking at myself in the mirror I'm all, holy fuck do I look fat. And my general over-all feeling is holy fuck I'm getting fucking fat. And so I decided to weigh myself which was fucking stupid because holy fuck y'all - I gained weight and I'm fucking fat. I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life. I didn't even weigh this much when I was 9 months pregnant.

My mood was already not great because I'm not sleeping well and I was up early and I have a headache (again) and I'm generally just battling depression right now. But now I have to live with knowing that I've gained even MORE weight. Which makes me feel worse.

Seriously. I'm considering starving myself. Which is a lofty proposition because I obviously love food. I was going to be starting a new clean eating plan starting the first. I think I'm going to start it today. I've been bad about working out as I have no motivation because Clancy (my brain) is an asshole and I've been fucking depressed as fuck again. Well, now I have motivation - I now have over 40 pounds to lose (though I'll be happy if I can at least lose 20 of it).

This is frustrating as hell.

Weak

I'm feeling pretty weak, which is pretty fucking annoying. Everyone always tells me how strong I am . . . well, I don't feel that way. I feel like I've been struggling more and more, simple tasks are becoming harder to do.

Example?

Okay. Yesterday I showered, got dressed, and then dried my hair. And after I dried my hair, I had to lay down on the bed for like 20 minutes because I was too overwhelmed to put on my makeup. Then I had to psych myself up to get up and put on makeup. Then hubs and I went out to run errands. Stopped by a few stores, went grocery shopping . . . and I was completely and utterly exhausted. Thank god we were going home to watch football because I wouldn't have been able to handle anything else. Like painting my nails. I painted my nails and almost couldn't handle it.

And there's countless examples recently of my inability to handle shit. Dropping off my son at grandma's house and having hubs walk him in because it's too overwhelming to socialize, requesting to work Christmas eve so that I don't have to go to church because I know I won't make it through the whole service (probably not even half - just thinking about it fills me with so much anxiety it's ridiculous), breaking down at work or becoming so withdrawn people notice something is wrong (I'm a nurse people, this isn't good).

We leave the house to go somewhere and I become anxious - sometimes to the point of panic. Someone stands behind me in line and I get anxious. Certain vehicles driving fill me with anxiety and dread (because I have delusions). I often have to nap during the day because I don't know how I can possibly make it through the day - I'm either anxious or overwhelmed or exhausted or depressed.

None of this leaves me feeling strong. I actually feel weaker than I've ever been. I mean, in the past I've worked, I've plowed on through, I've just done it and now I'm looking into disability. I just, I feel fucking weak. Puny. Pathetic. I can't handle shit.

And I really fucking hate that.

Am I Flying?

No, motherfucker, you're not really flying.

But sometimes it kinda feels like I am. Why? Because I'm delusional.

Which is bad.

But I know I'm delusional.

Which is good.

See, knowing I'm delusional means I can manage it. I can counter the delusional thinking, keep myself grounded (literally and figuratively), and better be aware of how I'm acting and what I'm saying. My delusions right now aren't all that bad, really. I feel like I'm not real - I don't really exist. OR, like nothing else is real - therefor everything is pointless and stupid because it doesn't really exist. OR, like I'm outside my body, floating above it looking down. I'm watching myself do things but I'm not really doing them. The floating feeling is strong. Very strong.

And I'm at work while this is going on. Which, really, isn't good. But again, I know I'm delusional, so that helps. I think I'm doing a pretty good job of hiding it, or playing it off. My best friend and coworker, L, says not so much. But she knows me and all my little quirks. Of COURSE she's going to know if something is off! Though how she describes it . . . "you could see you starting to withdraw, starting to disappear. And then . . . you were just gone. There was nothing left. And that's when I worried." I came back, according to her, but while I was gone it wasn't good.

That's a little disconcerting to hear. Makes me wonder if other people truly can tell. If so, no one says anything.

Anyway, I don't like being delusional. I just want to be okay. I want to have a normal rang of emotions - no extremes like I have now. Just be okay, go about my life, and not have to constantly be on alert. Not constantly have to battle my own thoughts. Not constantly struggle. That would be real fucking nice.

An Introduction of Sorts

I guess my first post on this blog should be some sort of an introduction, right? Yes? No? Maybe so? Well, that's what it's going to be, so deal with it.

Alright. So I'm Lynn and I have Bipolar Disorder. But that's really not the main thing. I'm an RN, and an artist, I'm married to the most amazing, wonderful, understanding man and we have an adorable 8 year old son who is probably the best kid EVER. Hands down. I work with horses (helping train a couple, including a feisty colt), and volunteer at therapeutic riding center.

But about that bipolar . . . I was officially diagnosed 4 years ago (by a psychiatrist - my family practice doc suspected 2 years before that that I was bipolar - I just refused treatment because I didn't want the diagnosis). I've been diagnosed both bipolar 1 and bipolar 2, though I believe I more closely fit bipolar 1 as I HAVE had a full blown manic episode and I also have delusions and hallucinations (yay psychosis!). I am a cutter, I have overdosed 3 times, have been hospitalized 4 times, and have been undergoing ECT (electroconvulsive therapy - shock treatments) for the last 6 months (22 treatments under my belt). I struggle mostly with the depressive side of bipolar, my mania tends to come out in mixed states.

How's that for a down and dirty?? This blog is more for my own personal use and I don't really expect to get many readers. That's fine. I'm not necessarily here to entertain you - I'm here to write about my own shit.

Oh - I also cuss. Like, a LOT. "Fuck" is like the word "the" to me. I use it all the time. Fucking get used to it.