Normal . . .

. . . is boring.

No really. Normal is boring. At least when you're used to the constant crisis of bipolar disorder, being normal/stable/in remission is very boring.

I'm at home this morning, sitting on my couch, wondering what to do with myself. I feel like I need to be constantly doing something, constantly active/entertained/whatever. I don't know how to act or what to say or what to do. This is all very weird, people.

Everyone tells me that this is okay. Normal is good and okay. Boring is good and okay. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the heightened awareness that comes with mania or the deep emotion that comes with depression. Or if I said that part of me doesn't thrive on the chaos. . .

Stability is better though. Better for everyone. I can do so much more stable. I don't lose friends when I'm stable. Maybe I can get back to full time work . . .

Stability is good. Normal is good. This is okay, guys. I'll get used to it again.































Who am I trying to convince? You? Or me?

Some Stuff and Things

This week was kind of a busy week, what with seeing my therapist and my psychiatrist.

Therapy was good - difficult - but good. M thinks I'm making great progress and is proud of me for my revelation I finally had (more on that later). He's seeing definite positive change in me and thinks I'm doing the best I have been in the past 4 years he's been seeing me. Go me!

My appointment with my psychiatrist, Dr. M, was funny. Yes, funny. He had previously started me on Latuda and stopped my Seroquel, and he asked how it was going. I told him about my seroquel withdrawals (insomnia, rebound depression, hallucinations and delusions), but that they finally seem to be winding down (thank God). He asked how the Latuda was working for me. "Well, truthfully, I couldn't tell you if it's doing anything for the depression or if my starting to feel better is mainly the bilateral ECT. What I CAN tell you is that it's made it physically impossible for me to orgasm and has killed my libido." Dr. M threw his arms up in the air. "FANTASTIC! That's exactly what I hoped would happen! SUCCESS!" We both start laughing (me rather hysterically). "I'm joking, of course", he assured me. So he cut the dose in half, hoping to get some mood stabilizing effects while lessening the sexual side effects. Which is good because my poor husband. I could never have sex again and be fine with it. And I can't really give blow jobs because I have lock jaw/TMJ really bad and it fucking hurts.

So anyway, about my revelations. The other day (3-5 days ago, I don't remember) I had a day where I just felt kinda meh. I was just going about my day, running errands, whatever when it dawned on me - hey, this is probably how normal people feel. See, I wasn't experiencing extreme emotion, no anxiety, no delusions. I was having an average, normal day. And I realized, this is it. This is what I've been striving for. My mind isn't racing, I'm not rapid cycling, I'm not depressed/down/melancholy, I don't want to die, I'm not manic/hypomanic . . . This is it people!!! And the realization made me happy.

I told my hubby about it and he was all yeah - you expect life to be all smiling and giggling and super happy fun and all "la la la, look at me, weeeeeeeeeee, this is amazing!" (he's skipping and dancing around at this point). But he's right. I guess I've always expected that for me, being stable would be like being mildly, euphorically, hypomanic, which is just not realistic (sadly). And I FINALLY fucking realized it. It's only taken me for-fucking-ever (I'm 37 y'all).

That's what my therapist M was proud of - I finally realized this (he's only been drilling it into my head for 4 years, but whatever. I'm a slow learner I guess).

Another thing I've come to realize about bipolar disorder: I can be "stable" and "normal" and feeling "good/okay" and I  might still have to struggle on any given day. Like yesterday at work. It was a good day. Busy (delivered 7 babies), but good. But I found myself having to escape, having to get away from the nurses station, because I couldn't deal with the noise/talking/people. I had to go hide in a quiet area with no one around for awhile. Walk aimlessly around the unit to decompress. And I realized something else: it's okay if I have to do that. I'm managing my mood. I have a mood disorder that can choose to rear its ugly head at any moment and if I have tactics to effectively manage my mood, well, that's good and that's okay and go me for being able to do that. That doesn't mean I like it. I mean FUCK - I'm supposed to be getting stable now, right? Why the fuck should I still struggle?? But sadly, that's part of the disorder and I'm going to be doing this for the rest of my life. I might as well accept it and come up with strategies to manage it.

Anyway, that's all I got right now. Hope all is well with you.  

I Guess I Had a Win

You'll notice that it's I "guess" I had a win. As in, "I'm not really sure if it should be construed as a win or not". As in, "well, I didn't completely lose my shit and that's really as good as it gets anymore".

I worked yesterday (I'm a nurse, remember) and I was steady all day. I was also working with a couple girls who I like well enough, but who can be very draining and annoying at times. And I certainly wasn't feeling on the ball yesterday morning. It felt like it was going to be a rough day. So I started the day doing what I force myself to do: interact with people. Yep. When all I want to do is hide and withdraw, I force myself to interact. I interject myself into conversations. I initiate conversations. I do the opposite of what I want to do. That kind of shit is supposed to help with depression.

Or so I'm told.

So I talked. With everyone. I forced myself to joke. I forced (and I mean forced) myself to laugh. I didn't isolate, I didn't withdraw. And here's the thing: I felt flat and withdrawn ALL. DAY. All day. Even in the middle of a conversation, in the middle of "laughing", I felt flat and withdrawn and fake. Which is frustrating, but that's depression for you. I could have had spiders all over me and I would have been like "oh. Spiders. Uh, get off, I guess?"

But I tried. I was able to have conversations, do my job, and not break down. I didn't even have to go off and hide yesterday (I've often found myself needing to go away to a quiet, private location to hide/decompress for a bit while at work). My therapist, M, would call this a win. He would call this effective mood management. And I guess it is, in a way. I didn't go off and hide, I didn't break down or lose my shit, I did my job, interacted with people, and appeared to be a normal, functioning adult.

I just didn't feel how I would like to (I don't want to feel flat and withdrawn - I want to feel normal and happy and myself). But I guess I'll get there, right? Eventually? Please tell me I'll get there.

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.