Throw Out a Lifeline

The last I wrote here I'd had a breakdown. A pretty good one. I didn't take my meds for a week. I wasn't eating. I had hit apathy so hard that nothing mattered at all to me. Part of this, Jb and I am sure is that I lost my therapist for about three weeks while she was nursing her son who'd shattered his foot and had to have multiple surgeries. I don't think I understood how very important therapy had become for me. How balanced it helped to keep me.

My dose has changed again. 100MG of Zoloft, 300MG of Lamictal twice a day, and Klonopin 3 times a day. We're winnowing the meds down, which is one of the reasons I like this psych. He had tried me on Lithium, and I couldn't stay hydrated enough to keep up with the shakes and disoriented, vertigo-like sensations. So we dropped as not a good drug for me.

In between, I've been moving along as well as I'm able. I had a week and a half after the major depression where I couldn't sleep. I'd be up until 5 am and running on 4 hours of sleep a day. I was restless in bed, could not fall asleep, thinking and thinking and thinking. I think I might have swung up into a bit of a hypo mode. Anyway, now that's gone, as if hypo episodes burn my body out, and now I'm feeling exhausted and unmotivated and all around... feh.

An amazing thing happened last night, though. Jb came with me to therapy. He actually wanted to. How many guys would do that for you? My therapist thinks he's the best thing on two legs. It was a productive session. I think he got to say a lot of things that were on his mind, and none of them exactly hurt or were negative toward me, but I couldn't help feeling guilty, and ashamed, and humbled by how much he truly cares for me, regardless of my condition. There was so much love and worry there that it really made me tear up.

So. Apparently, I have the best boyfriend in the world.

Last tidbit about what I've been dealing with. Balance issues. I'm still having them. In fact, right after the therapy appoint when we got home, I literally fell on my ass when I got out of the car and rolled down the grassy slope. I'm always tottering. I almost fell on Jb while he was lying on the bed, and when I was cleaning the other week, I feel smack on the metal garbage can we keep in the front room. I've bruises on my arm, bruises on my foot where I dropped a fan on it, and I've fallen into the closet door in the bathroom more times than I can count.

What else. I've a DHHS appointment to review my foodstamps and temporary disability. It's at 8am, and there's really no way we can work the single car situation with Jb working. I've called to see if they'll reschedule, but I had to leave a message. I'll try again later because frankly, I don't trust them to get back to me.

And the SSDI. I got the info about my doctors, though I couldn't get all the dates of tests and visits. I had to fudge and guess years of when I saw some of them. Best I could do. But I can't seem to get further than that. I brought up the online application page and just sat there looking at it for an hour, overwhelmed and unable to start it.

How Deep is Your Well?

A day best slept through than lived. You can only understand that if you've ever been truly depressed. Made myself shower. It had been a week since I'd washed my hair. Made myself refill my pill boxes and take my morning meds. It'd been three days.

I confessed to my therapist that I hadn't been med compliant. And she asked me why, which is a reasonable question, and I surprised myself by saying, "It's not really intentional. Last week, I was so high I didn't think I needed them. And then when I crashed, I couldn't be bothered to care."

There's a lot of that last lately. Can't be bothered to eat. Can't be bothered to care about food, groceries, money, bills, pills. As if they will all, somehow, magically take care of themselves. Don't care about my hygiene, how the apartment looks, if I'm able to get anything done.

I've started having the gas mask fantasy again.

They're Back

Psych took me from 600 Lithium to 300 because I was showing side effects. And while Lithium at 600 seemed to stabilize my mood, it stabilized it at a moderate depression. The 300 Lithium, however, doesn't stabilize me. I've had one 3-4 day period of hypo/mania, and I crashed afterward into a moderate depression. This is hell on my relationship with Jb. It's hard to feel close--for him, as well, I imagine. I don't know how to get closer to him when I feel like this. I feel so self-centered and day-to-day. The financial situation doesn't help. We argue over spending $5. That's how bad things have become. And the IBS just gets worse and worse.

Just Another Manic Friday

What kind of bipolar is it that comes and goes in a day? That leaves me strung out as a junky with the shakes, waiting for Jb to come home so he can take me to get my meds. I can't even punch the numbers into the machine for my debit pin I'm shaking so bad. In the car, I'm ripping through bottles for my Klonopin like it's life or death, and even Jb can tell I'm shaking like an addict and repeating myself over and over and over. I need something--anything--to bring me down.

Strange how it's almost as hard to hold on when you're out of control and too high to contain yourself as it is when you're depressed enough to be suicidal. The struggle when you're high is the lack of impulse control. Any moment you could do something you'd regret.

Addendum

Full blown hypomanic today, though. Speeding in the car. Nearly clipped a parked car and ran a red light, but god, the rush of driving fast again. My thoughts were all over the place and several times I had to ask both my therapist and my psych what I'd been talking about. My therapist called it a "flight of ideas." I think that's a euphemism for random, racing thoughts. But it was the first time she got to see that side of me, and it's useful in her sessions with me. Otherwise, I'm merely telling her stories. Same with the psych. It's almost good he saw me like that. I think therapists and psychiatrists, in general, believe depression more easily than hypomania. Probably because you seek help when you're depressed, but when you're hypo, it's a high, euphoric. Who'd report that?

Erf.

So, after the huge energy, anxiety rush yesterday, couldn't get to sleep until 3am. Woke this morning feeling like I had the worst hangover. Sleep schedule this weekend totally screwed.

Twitchy

Started getting twitchy this morning around 11am. The anxiety sits like a knot in my stomach. I've been extremely productive: cake, calls, insurance, resignation, appointments, legal aid. I've been on the phone nearly all day, got up all the trash and even washed out the trash can. Did all the dishes. Baked the cake. Still feel like I could keep going. Something inside me feels like it's galloping, and as soon as Jb gets home, I'm snappy. Things aren't moving fast enough. Chop chop. Send out your IRS payment. Here, let me do that for you. Not getting done quick enough. Gotta move, gotta get things done. Want a smoke, can't wait. Alt-tabbing. Looking at five different sites at once and playing WoW. Tossing off e-mail to mom. Thank you for the birthday gift. Have fun in AZ! Scanning forums, listening to Pandora, twitchy, twitchy. Need to get things done. Need to do things. Everything in order. Right now. No depression in sight. Quite fine. More than fine. Better than anything recently. Slight elation. Can't listen to the music I've been listening to. Too slow. Too about depression and down. Not down. Up. Up up up. Need up music. Something fast and smary. Amy Rigby maybe. The Flogging Mollys. Let's go. Let's go. Vamonos! I got the pistol, so I get the pesos! That seems fair.

And Away She Rides

I'm soaring right now. It's 11:53pm and my eyes want sleep, but inside, inside I'm wired. I've been like this most of the day, neither here nor there, not able to concentrate on any one thing. Spurts of productivity followed by spurts of a scatter shot mind. Tonight's trigger is Carbon Leaf, "Under the Wire," "Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat" and "The Girl and Her Horse." When Dar Williams used to send me flying with songs like "The Ocean" and "Iowa," I used to wonder if certain chords triggered certain states. If there was a correlation between sound and mood. If songs in the key of G were the ones most likely to set me galloping, and maybe those in the key of E, maybe those were the ones that sunk me. Sure, stress, seasonal change, major life changes, these are all triggers, but I swear that my daily triggers are much smaller: music, poetry, books, writing, ideas. I'm two for two today. I'm reading the kind of good, effortless writing that kills, sets the characters off in my head, until I'm doing as much fantasizing about the book as I am reading it. Ten pages read, twenty minute intersessions, lost in make believe and a vast inner world that's all too easy to slip into. And music, if it strikes me, I listen to over, and over, and over, ad nauseum. I can't get enough of the high it sends me on, of the thought of an open road, an open window, wind whipping fresh in my face. It's the runaways, and they're worse at night. Night drives are as much a trigger as the result of a trigger. They're my great escape, my run for the border. Something has to fill me up inside, freedom, miles, lights. And I want one tonight, but Jb can't keep up with me tonight. So I'll lie in bed, good and sweet, and my mind will go 'round and 'round, setting up scenarios, letting characters come to the fore, focusing on phrases, the repetition of words, until words are only sound, and the sounds become foreign, and I keep repeating them, repetition bringing them back 'round to meaning. But there's no sleep in that, not until my body simply gives way, or my mind runs out.

Depression

The depression is still with me this morning. Coming up from sleep is like coming up from deep water, and I'm confused and off-balance when I wake. I realize I didn't take my meds last night. I am up at 1am, 3am, 4:50am, 8:30am, 9:40am. Something in me is empty, and it registers as hunger, so I eat two South Beach granola bars at odd times during the night. I feel nothing but this plateau of emotion that walks a straight line, never rising above the depression, or dipping below it. It's like the static buzz of white noise in the background, constant, consistent. When I am depressed, the only things I seem able to do are the passive things. I can read. I can watch movies. I can--without effort--fall into someone else's story, someone else's life, and subsume my own. In fact, I want to. I don't want to think about myself, or I how I feel (or how I do not feel, which is more accurate).

I know why everyone prefers mania, in whichever way it manifests itself. Because then, you're active. You may be crawling out of your skin, your brain may never stop, but you're productive. You can pretend normalcy. You can achieve things. Sometimes. When it isn't too bad. Yesterday, I accomplished so much, so much more than I had in days. But that night, I was left feeling depressed and bodily tired, while my mind wouldn't let up. It kept going and going and going, despite my body's inability to keep up, but that never shut my brain down. And so I laid in bed, anxious and restless, and unable to stop thinking, but heavy and leaden feeling, depressed at the core.

This is when I'm unsure of this "bipolar" diagnosis. In the past, yes, I've had full weeks, even months, of depression, or mania-like symptoms. But these days, nothing lasts. I don't have hypo/mania for more than four days. It's usually for a day, even an afternoon, then down into some anxious, irritable mixed mood, and further into depression--all within two days. The downs last longer. I'm almost positive of that. Or maybe I was feeling fine, happy, wanting to get out of the apartment, do things this weekend, and then, like a punishment, several days later, the depression hits. And it is like a punishment--for having too much normalcy. Always, it is: this too shall pass. And it does. The good and the bad. Round and round in an unbreakable cycle.

Ha-ha!

Today, I am uber productive. I have called the unemployment, um, place and been told it's best to wait for my job to dismiss me, which I doubt they'll do. I see myself forever trailing on in this unpaid leave of absence state, arm thrown across my eyes like a melodramatic actress

On a yay note, my medical assistance determination went through, and I'm eligible for Healthchoice, which provides free doctor, dentist, ophthalmologist, psychiatrist and therapist visits, as well as cheap pharmacy costs. Jackpot! Whew. I can waive my right to insurance through JHU now and feel safe in knowing that I can get the help I need.

On an anxiety-producing note, I'm under review for food stamps, and other county programs, no doubt, on the 14th. Jb's making more money than he was, but we're still so strapped for cash. I don't know how this is going to affect their decisions. Also, I'm not sure how getting into Medicaid will affect the money I'm getting for Temporary Disability Assistance.

Both my PCP and my psych is in the managed care organization I enrolled in as well, which makes it easy to continue treatment without having to start over with someone new. I've even left a voice mail with a therapist. Now I just have to wait for her to call me back. As always, the waiting is the hardest part, to quote Tom Petty. But it's also anxiety-producing. I worry about this or that, going through every scenario in my mind, obsessing about worse-case scenarios.

Regardless, I went through all my bills, got all my medical bills sorted and ready to show my case worker. Everything else should already be on file, except for Jb's pay stubs, the new rent, and a bank statement. I'll have to talk Jb into going to get that, which he won't like. And I have to remember to tell the guy that what Jb makes annually includes a 2 1/2 - 3 month lay off period due to seasonal work. Because that makes a huge difference in whether we qualify or not.

Lot of time spent on the phone. Now, it's the waiting. And despite it all, I feel good. I have that stupid assurance that I'm fine, everything's fine, and all this medical stuff is useless. I feel like I'm fine, I don't need my meds, that going to my psych isn't necessary, that I've nothing to talk to a therapist about. Truly, I feel ... good. But put me in a situation where I'm required to do something, put me in a doctor's office, and I'm a blubbering mess of emotions. I still can't sleep at night, and I even woke up several times last night: 1am, 3am, 4:45am. I'm restless. Maybe it's the increase in the Wellbutrin. I have this "do something right now" energy and restlessness, but my eyes are so tired, my brain is tired. It feels very strange. Like part of me is sedated and part of me can't stop thinking, doing, planning, worrying, typing, on and on and on.

Mixed State?

I'm depressed and irritable. My irritation is extreme. For example, Jb and I went to the store the other day. He usually can't stand the store, tries to rush me, acts out, won't go unless I have a list, but yesterday, he is all good humor, making smiley faces on the freezer doors, chattering at me, trying to get my attention, and I keep brushing him off, keep giving him looks, rolling my eyes. I cannot stand the constant nattering for attention. I'm irritated, so irritated I don't even want to be touched. Jb's ADD-like conversation and actions are overwhelming to me. I don't want to be pestered. I am upset at having to be at the store, at having to focus on the list I've made. I am functioning because I have to, because I can't let Jb down, but even then, the aisles are too many, the list too long, and I don't give a damn what kind of bread we get, or how much anything costs. I know I'm being cold to Jb, hurting him. But I can't help it.

We get through the store with only two brief brushes of rushing, snapping words. I can tell I'm wounding Jb when I don't appreciate the humor of his actions, or the way he's being so good at the store, helpful even. The rest of the trip goes fine. We drop the groceries off, pick up food. We get home, though, and it's suddenly a whole other game. We're arguing again. I'm not even sure about what, except I know, I know, Jb is trying to box me in. There's a sort of hopeless anxiety about it, where I want to cry because I can't do something simple like watch a movie. The argument gets way out of line, as they seem to these days. I'm going places I don't mean to go, saying things I can't take back, and Jb's had enough that he won't put up with it. I am being irrational. When we quit, Jb's the one who comes over and tries to talk to me, to tell me that I need to be more proactive in our relationship, that I need to participate in it. I have, obviously, been withdrawn. Jb is frustrated because I am not accessible. I am the burden. The depression deepens and I withdraw more.

Today, I know I am supposed to unpack something, one thing, sort through a bag of clothes, but I wander around, knowing I should do something, but unable to make myself do it. Instead, I'm online, in-game, blogging, reading, getting up, sitting down, and none of these activities last for more than 10 minutes at a time. I am unable to focus. I am writing in fits and starts. I am thinking about calling Jb to tell him I love him and that I'm sorry. I am thinking about cleaning. I am thinking about eating. I don't do any of it. There are things I should be doing: following up with my unpaid leave status at work, calling the county to check on my assistance and status, calling the credit counseling center or rescheduling my bankruptcy class. I have done none of these things. I break down and take Protonix and Levsin for my stomach and IBS. My stomach has been killing me. I only eat to calm it down, and that only lasts a little while. I probably wouldn't eat otherwise. IBS tends to be seasonal, and stress-related: both conditions are being met.

My symptoms are symptomatic. I can't focus, I feel awful. When Jb asks me how I feel, it's always, "I don't feel well," or, "I'm tired," things that mean, "I'm depressed. I'm unstable right now." Sometime toward the end of the night, during a CSI episode, I suddenly have this need to just kick and thrash about. Jb looks at me awkwardly, and asks what all that was about. All I have to say is, "I don't know. I just had to." A sudden surge of hypomania? Of wanting to crawl right out of my skin? I honestly don't know. Is this a mixed state? The depression is there, my anger and irritation are extreme. I don't care about anything. I have very little focus. I'm wanting to do something, then not wanting to do it. I stumble from one "diversion" to the next, not diverted, not really interested in doing anything at all. The tv annoys me, the internet is boring, gaming is unsatisfying. Of course, the IBS takes everything to another level. Not only do I feel mentally unstable, but I feel physically ill, as well. It's a double-hitter that makes the depression and irritation worse.

Change

As Jb puts it, "It happens." But then, so does shit if you believe the bumper sticker, and this week has just been a shit kicker for me. Major life changes have always been a trigger for me. This move was no exception. The last few days before the move I was already in a passive-aggressive state. The two days of the move, I was snappy, angry, bitchy, and hard to deal with. Jb and I went 'round several times during those two days, and even more since the move.

I actually had a small breakdown over not being able to put my own computer together. This from the girl who's always been capable with her own computer setup, who used to troubleshoot computers for her co-workers, etc., etc. This time, though, the wires were too much, and I sat there throwing things around and having a tantrum, all the time looking at the wires like they were some foreign entity I couldn't wrap my mind around. And that pissed me off. I can't explain the frustration. Somehow the fight escalated to me swearing I'd leave Jb -- and all sorts of irrational nonsense.

That night, in bed, when I was far calmer, Jb told me that I couldn't control my moods anymore, that it was worse now than before I went into the hospital. And I feel so helpless in the face of these moods. They overtake me on a whim. I hadn't realized how mercurial my moods had been until Jb pointed it out to me. And at least, at the time, I was in a rational state where I could really look back on the last few days and see that Jb was right. That hasn't stopped the moods, though. We had another fight yesterday, and I ended up sitting in the bathtub for a while. We've already snapped at each other this morning.

The following are among the things that are setting me off:

• My computer setup: I hate it. It's uncomfortable, too compact, and I have no where to put my feet up, which is crucial to me because of the lymphadema in my legs. But I have no space, and I can't stand that. I can't stand not having personal space.

• The bed: It is on the floor sans frame. I hate this. It's difficult to get up, and frankly, I slept on the floor on a futon the entire time I was in college and at my ex's place, but I was 21. I'm freakin' 32-years-old. I want a proper bed frame. I'm too old for this shit, and I wake up every day feeling like someone pummeled me during the night.

• My knee: The osteo-arthritis is acting up. Maybe due to all the rain we've had, maybe because it tends to be seasonal. Either way, it hurts like hell when I'm trying to get to sleep at night, and the computer setup isn't helping any, neither is the bed.

• Cutting: Jb wants to cut this Ikea bed table we have to give me some sort of setup that gives me more room, but (1) I don't want him cutting up a $200 piece of furniture and (2) it won't solve anything because I need a solid base, like the end of the bed frame, to put my feet up. I've been trying a storage container, but the sucker moves all over the place, my keyboard feels like it's sliding off my lap, and it's uncomfortable as hell.

Also, when Jb brought home the saw and measuring tape to modify the Ikea table, I broke down in a crying fit, trying to explain that it was too much change all at once. That I needed time to test out the new setup, to even see if I liked it. I was so brittle from all the newness. I needed time to get my bearings. I swear to God modifying that table would have been the last straw for me.

So, in summation, the apartment is quite nice with its hardwood floors, its quaint window frames that sometimes need to be propped open, and the wild jungle that is our backyard and which I can see through the kitchen window. It's grown on me, though I spent the first few days walking through the place, touching things, opening and closing things, like some befuddled ghost who's trying to understand her surroundings. The neighborhood is quiet, you can hear birds, but little else. And it smells green and loamy when it rains. The apartment feels homey, mostly because it's one of five apartments in an old house from the 1940s. (This is why it's quaint. I'd swear the cabinets and a few other things hail from the '40s, as does the washer/dryer and the stove.) We've met the upstairs and downstairs neighbors.

All this change makes me feel very Benny and Joon-ish, though, as if I'm Joon: fine as long as I'm in an environment I'm comfortable in, but change anything, take me out of my comfort zone, and I start to flip out emotionally, lashing out at Jb and exhibiting a sort of dysphoric mania: the depression and the anger and irritability of hypomania mixed. It's a little like being in a life raft in a raging sea with a small bucket, trying to keep the water from overwhelming the boat. Unfortunately, Jb's no Sam, and he's not dealing well with my outbursts of late. Not that I blame him, but it does remind me that bipolar people are "three and a half times more likely to [`divorce'] than the rest of the population."

Furthermore, the entire time I was unable to log onto the internet because of Comcast's ineptitude, I didn't write. Even Jb asked if I'd been writing, suggesting I probably should be keeping up with that, that he thought it was a good outlet for me. But I simply didn't want to. I felt like I had nothing to say. When in reality, I had plenty to say, especially to Jb. It just all came out in this destructive, irrational way. And part of me feels guilty about it, and part of me feels like I had the right to vent my spleen. That's the grandiosity: the thinking that I'm entitled to more than other people, that I'm different, better somehow. More and more I hear Jb telling me: "You don't care about my feelings, that I'm hurt. You just don't care." And to a point, he's right. There are certain moments when nothing matters to me but me. As if I'm due more than everyone else. And that's solipistic to say the least.

I do care, though. I just don't know how to show it anymore. I feel like an emotional retard, unable to access certain emotions, while others are making hay while the sun shines.

2:04 p.m. I Quit!

You would, too, if you saw our toilet bowel. Got halfway through the bathroom, realized the sink drain is clogged, and I ain't about to remedy it. Hell, after doing some dishes and the bathroom, I can't even get myself up and over to the store to get toilet paper. It is a sad day when I can't walk 2 blocks. And if Jb says anything, "Bang, zoom, straight to the moon!" (Gotta love the old sitcoms that encourage domestic abuse punchlines.)

Okay, dammit, I will go to the store, but it's because of the toilet paper. Not for any other reason! Because, you know, toilet paper is a female necessity of dire importance. Guess I'll get some stupid drain unclogger stuff, too. And finish the dishes, and cook dinner, and, and, and... Makes me exhausted just thinking about it. But, here's the kicker, Jb went out to a flat tire this morning, so the car's in the shop, and ain't no one else gonna go do these little "domestic" lovelies. The fact that we've, maybe, three days until we can start moving stuff to the new apartment and aren't at all completely packed up, well, that's no stress or motivator at all. Nope.

This is how it happens. Every time. I'll take on far more than I really should, work myself up to a frenzy, not sleep at night, wake up far too early, and utterly fizzle once we get into the new place. Once I work myself up with worry and anxiety and cranky resentment, I'll stay uber productive and hypo until I overstep myself, and... crash. With all the fanfare and pomp of my overproductive climb. I honestly don't know how I'm going to pack up some of this other stuff. It's either stuff I need Jb to haul out or down, or it's stuff we'll be using until we actually move. Thankfully, he's been a great help.

7:45 p.m. Up and Down the Merry-Go-Round

It can be the best day one minute, then one song -- one song -- and my eyes are burning, my heart's aching, and something in my stomach turns sour. I want a cigarette more than life, and even then, the tears start to well up.

Early in the day, Jb and I drive out to Cracker Barrel. All the way there and back we listen to country, Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer, my music, and sometime in the last few weeks, Jb's bothered to listen to some of it, has learned to appreciate some of the songs. It means so much to me that the car flies down the highway, the wind blows in the windows, and everything is green, lush, flowing. And I'm happy; I'm content. Nothing sparkles, the colors don't glow vibrant, so intense they light up my heart, and the pure feeling, the feeling of the moment doesn't overwhelm, doesn't fill me to the brim, not like it used to. And I miss it. The day has been beautiful. I recognize that, appreciate it, but I miss the ecstasy of it. I miss the unnatural high.

We come home, and suddenly, I can't stand being here in the dark when the day's so beautiful. I get antsy, something beneath my skin starts to itch, for the sunlight, for relief. Waiting on Jb, I'm surfing YouTube and I'm watching some Firefly montage to "Ain't No Reason" by Brett Dennen, a song I've never heard before, and it hits home unexpectedly:

There ain’t no reason things are this way.
Its how they always been and they intend to stay.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
Preachers on the podium speakin’ of saints,
Prophets on the sidewalk beggin’ for change,
Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name.
I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same,
A window and a pigeon with a broken wing,
You can spend your whole life workin’ for something
Just to have it taken away.
People walk around pushing back their debts,
Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets,
Talking ‘bout nothing, not thinking ‘bout death,
Every little heartbeat, every little breath.
People walk a tight rope on a razor's edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.
It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought or a word or a sentence.

There ain't no reason things are this way.
It's how they always been and they intend to stay
I don’t know why I say the things I say, but I say them anyway.
But love will come set me free
Love will come set me free, I do believe
Love will come set me free, I know it will
Love will come set me free, yes.

Prison walls still standing tall,
Some things never change at all.
Keep on buildin’ prisons, gonna fill them all,
Keep on buildin’ bombs, gonna drop them all.
Working your fingers bare to the bone,
Breaking your back, make you sell your soul.
Like a lung that’s filled with coal, suffocatin’ slow.
The wind blows wild and I may move,
The politicians lie and I am not fooled.
You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth.
The air on my skin and the world under my toes,
Slavery stitched into the fabric of my clothes,
Chaos and commotion wherever I go, love I try to follow.

Love will come set me free
Love will come set me free, I do believe
Love will come set me free, I know it will
Love will come set me free, yes.

There ain't no reason things are this way
It’s how they always been and they intend to stay
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.

It brings me down to a level I haven't been at for almost two weeks now. I'm ready to cry. I can't understand the meaning of it all, and everything seems momentary: this too shall pass, this too shall pass. But no one ever acknowledges that also means that this happiness, that passes, too. And we're left on the up and down of a merry-go-round, holding tight to a pole, sometimes brave enough to reach for the brass ring, but mostly so frightened that all we can do is hold on tight and close our eyes and wait for the world to stop.

The worst is that I remember the hospital again. I remember how faithful Jb was, coming every night for that single hour they allowed visitors, and twice on the weekend. Every time he came, and when he left, the girls in the ward made such fun of me: "You know he loves you; you can see it in how he looks at you," "Oo, J-----, hug me, too!" Even the nurses, one of them noting how'd come in the middle of the night to bring me something when I couldn't, and hadn't, slept for three nights in row. She told me if he didn't so obviously love me, she might have a go at him.

Half the women in ward sat in group and talked about love, failed relationships, divorce, and every single one of them got a sort of hungry look when Jb was with me, as if they'd give their selves for something, for someone, to look at them like that, to make life more bearable. And all I could think, swallowed by the deep water of depression and lost to the currents of my own thoughts, was that love couldn't fix me. I had the perfect boyfriend; he loved me, was there for me, supported me in ways I'd never expected anyone to support me. But love couldn't fix me.

3:59 Productivity, Tally Ho!

I have been productive! I am a genius! I got all my mail sorted and compartmentalized and put into the right flaps of the right folders: medical info, bills, job foo, info from the county. All trash mail was thrown away. I am keeping tabs on all my medical info. I called all the right people, including the utilities for the new apartment, and Jb did some calling and packing, too.


Calls Made:

• Pepco -- To transfer electricity to new apartment.
• Comcast -- To get apartment listed in their database so I can transfer cable and internet service in 24 to 48 hours.
• WSSC -- To get gas transferred to the new apartment.
• Allstate -- To get renter's and auto insurance transferred.
• T-Mobile (Jb) -- To figure out why his account was screwed up.
• Jewish Social Service Agency -- To try to find a sliding scale therapist and psych. (They called back to say it could be 3 months. This is the problem of not having money. You may get help, but not necessarily when you need it.)
• Benefits -- To get them to resend the info for my insurance premiums from work so I can pay that bill.

Bills Paid:

• Comcast
• Allstate

Boxes Packed:

• All Jb's console gaming foo
• My jewelry, makeup, misc. from the bathroom and kitchen, and the odd computer part we don't use.

Call me productive and slap my hiney! I'm proud of all that. Clearly, I'm still feeling fine, and focused. In fact, I don't see how I need a therapist. Maybe the meds have kicked in. Maybe I'm on an upswing. Maybe things are looking up. I don't know what it is. But I have a general sense of well-being in the world. The world, in fact, is fantastic! And I am a productive freakin' member of society! (This may be a little more expansive than I should feel, but I like the feeling. It's a little bit like an endorphin rush, and it's been so long since I felt good.)

I say this with a caveat. I did have a fit of anger when, in furiously digging through old mail and correspondence, I found the rent list for a nice community we'd been looking at last year. We couldn't have afforded anything in the new complex, but we could have afforded a "mini" one bedroom, as opposed to the larger-than-average studio we'll be moving into. And after being severely upset about this, and throwing mail around for a while, I've calmed down and have begun to think there were some "issues" with the older part of the complex. I may be trying to placate myself because, in all honesty, the place we're moving to is quite nice, and I've no real reason to be upset. I just was. And Jb and the mail received the brunt of it.

12:20 p.m. Breakfast

I dutifully make my breakfast -- a little bread, butter, and brie -- and eat it. I'm not really hungry, though. I'm also not sure what to do today. There are things to do around the house, but I don't want to do the things I should do, I want to do fun things, and maybe I should call the therapy places, and I should call my primary care physician (PCP) about that blood work. Then there's the gas and electric and cable to move over to the new place, and someone has to call that in. And there are bills to pay, so maybe I should do that, but I can't find the letter about my premium charges for my insurance. And I think I could be very productive today -- if only I could focus.

11:58 a.m.Perky!

Didn't wake up until 11 a.m. I could have woken up earlier, but I was having this delicious dream that involved some sort of family business rivalry, and perfume, and sex and seduction. I kept trying to fall asleep and recapture it because my dreams are so vivid right now, but I couldn't. And finally, a lady from 1-800-THERAPIST called me back and woke me up. We talked for a few minutes and she gave me some numbers for a few places with sliding scale fees, medication management, and support groups. The support group is every other Thursday, but downtown. I'm not quite sure how I feel about a support group at the moment, but it's a good resource to know about.

And here's the reason I'm unsure about a support group: I feel perky! I feel awake, I feel fine, I feel... just great, really. I took a Klonopin and more Lamictal this morning, so maybe the Klonopin took the edge off the more out-of-control fine I was feeling yesterday. I don't know. If I do what McMan calls a "systems check," I can still feel a little fraying at the edges.

Yesterday was bad, though. I kept doing a shuffling dance waiting for the bus. Everything was so slooooow, and because I didn't want to miss my second appointment, I got there an hour and a half early. So I sat down on a bench outside to get my 10m of sunlight, like the therapist I broke up with, said I should. In case there was any benefit to the hooey. And I kept calling Jb, like 3 times: "You're driving near home? Oh, hi! -wavewave-," which he didn't get and I repeated many times, then I called him about bumble bees because there was a big one, and he was all up in my space: "Do bumblebees sting? No, the big ones, like at the arboretum, do they sting? Wouldn't their stinger be even bigger than regular ones? Wouldn't that hurt more? Are you sure they don't sting? But you said they don't sting! I don't care if they sting different! Are you suuuure they don't sting? 99.9% sure? Well, okay. I just wanted to know if they sting."

And so on and so on. I already mentioned the fiasco in the office, hands shaking, trying to show the psychiatric nurse practitioner my list, being told things about my medications I wasn't quite sure I'd remember, talking too much. Then not being able to wait for the bus because it was so sloooooow, and the wind was getting my hair in my face, and doing that shuffling, rocking dance again at the stop, and deciding no, no: I'll go wait in the hospital cafeteria, yeah, which was a longer wait, but which also had food, which the nurse said I needed. So I ate a salad with eggs and nuts and cheese for the protein and read more Madness.

When Jb finally picked me up, I couldn't stop talking. He definitely noticed I was a little hyper, a little too happy. In the Subway line, I couldn't stop giggling and laughing. I'd just thought of the funniest joke, and it was so funny I couldn't keep the laughter in. And that was the ride home, giggling, and all the way up in the elevator, where I just wanted to laugh and laugh, and should have put both hands over my mouth to keep it in, but couldn't. He called me "crazy," which I sort of resented, but then, inside, he said, "Hey!" And I asked, "What?" And he said, "I love you." And I asked, "Even though I'm crazy?" And he said, "Unh huh." And I said, "I love you too. ... Even though you're sane." And we were good.

I'm finding that I'm also getting more pokey and wrestley when I'm like this. I antagonize Jb into getting into small wrestling bouts. I'm more touchy, but not in the good way. I poke and prod and try to get him to pay attention, and he ham-handles me back, which I deserve, but then, which I resent, and so it sort of escalates until someone gets pinched too hard and pouts. Sometimes me, sometimes him. And we're mad for minutes at a time. But then, I start up all over again, and it's not something I can help. I think it's a need to be doing something, I want for attention. I'm bored easily, and Jb's the nearest one around.

I take my meds at 9 p.m., but I'm not asleep until almost 12. My new meds as of May 19th, 2008 are:

• Remeron 30MG taken as 15MG 1x a day
• Lamcital 200MG taken as 100MG 2x a day, or if it starts messing with my sleep, 2 100MG tabs in the morning
• Klonopin 1MG 2x a day
• No Adderall refill
• Benitar HCT 40/25 1x a day

I see the psychiatrist again in 2 weeks.

Doctor!

So, um, it was good: I took a list. Kinda scattered, very talky. She made me eat a piece of candy 'cause I hadn't really eaten all day. She says I should get blood work to make sure it's manic and not diabetes, but I told her I'd had all that blood work 3 months ago, but she said do it anyway.

Med changes. Yes. Of course, always tweaking. Twice the Lamictal I was on. Half the Remeron. She didn't believe me that Remeron made me crave sugar. She thinks I'm making that up, I can tell. That's what the blood work is for. She thinks I could be diabetic. But I was shaky, so she made me eat candy out of her drawer, which was sorta disgusting. It was all dusty with that powder they put on hard candy in tins, and I didn't want it, but she made me.

Forgot to take the Klonopin. Adderall now a definite probably no. Caffeine probably didn't help.

She said I'm supposed to eat three times a day, protein to stabilize my moods. I can't afford to eat three times a day. Jb jokes we'll get me protein bars, which is better than the other joke he could have made. Jb also called me "crazy" in the car. Very clearly manic. Or hypo, really. Up up. To-may-to tah-ma-to. We went to Subway after (Jb picked me up because I couldn't wait for the bus; it was too slow), and that was a great joke. Whitebread! Very funny. Can't explain more, but it's giggly good.

I need to write down my prescriptions, but not now, I can't focus, and I doubt I could read her writing. They use those squiggly things to signify how many and how many times a day. Feh.

3:25 p.m. No Downtime

Note to self: 2 p.m. came and went and no down time today as in the past 3 days. Exhibiting some possible signs of hypomania since Friday. Feels full blown today. Because I have to go to the psych? Unsure of trigger if there is one.

Have also gone from thinking the meds might be kicking in, to thinking I don't need no steenkin' meds, to thinking maybe I need more meds, because I can't quite get myself under control.

Will take a Klonopin and catch my bus on time. Will also not drink any more caffeine. Will not continue to blog or look up studies on Lamictal on McMan's website.

3:00 p.m. Blog Blog Blog

I am blogging again because I can't sit down. No, I can sit down, but I can't sit still. Except, that's not right either. I can sit down, sit still, but my mind can't. So it took me 2 hours to take a shower. One hour, in which, I almost got to the shower, but took a call from my mother instead, because she called, and e-mailed, and sent a package, and was worried. I let my mother talk for a little, saying what I think are appropriate things to say, "Well, that's good," "Okay," "I e-mailed you," "Mmhm, concrete walls," the last because she says her phone connection isn't very good where she works.

Then I'm taking over the conversation as soon as I'm given a chance, and I'm talking and talking and on the edge of my seat with the need to talk. I'm talking over her, around her, only half listening, though I think she needs to be heard, too, like me. We're both unstable in our own ways.

Then it's back to breakfast, to pick at crumbs, and somewhere in there, I turn the shower on, but then I think I'll re-read my blog today, to prep for the psych, and so I do that, listening to the shower run the whole time I'm also looking up the directions on how to get to my psych's office. I find them and think, "Of course! I knew that," and still the water is running, so that has to be attended to, I think, and I'm in the shower. The shower is too quiet, so I put on Paul Simon, which is the only thing in the cd player by the shower, and if I get out to find something else, it'll be another 30m before I get back to the shower, so I'm singing and dancing in the shower, and singing and dancing, and thinking everyone in the hall passing can no doubt hear me, but oh well.

And then I'm out, and right back to the blogging, and can you believe it? I forgot what bus to take to the psych's. So I'm looking it up again. And ping! There's an IM, but it's just a line, and my IMer is off again, but I can't help msg'ing back the ghost of a friend, using too many lines and exclamation marks for someone who isn't there, and if I were talking right now, I know it'd be a touch too loud, and there'd be much gesticulation, but I keep it all in, because I always have, so I talk too loud in my head and prance around like an overactive puppy at my mind's heels.