Daily Archives: March 15, 2013

The Pleasure of Busy

I am writing this from our future office space; we had come in today to arrange things in advance of ‘everyone’ starting here on Monday. I don’t know that we will be moving in quite that soon, but at least we are making progress in turning the space to our needs.

As I sit here enjoying a nice lunch from the sandwich shop on the corner, I am quite happily reflecting on the pleasure of busy. For me, it feels good to be doing. That’s one reason I always have a video game running at home — besides the pleasure of gaming, it helps me fight against the bipolar’s attempts to dominate my thinking and mood. So one can probably surmise from that that the act of doing something actually productive and vaguely novel feels all the more better!

I don’t know whether or not the doing feels all the better for having bipolar; it’s something I wonder about though. As I’ve mentioned in the past and those who also have bipolar appreciate, part of the disorder is feeling things very strongly. The good and the bad, it puts us on the blade of the knife. It’s not quite that dramatic now that I’m medicated and better aware of my health boundaries, but it’s oh so easy to push too hard because one feels buffered by the good and the satisfaction. I know that I’m both pleased and slightly weary, and that I’m patting myself on the back for sitting and taking a break.

Anyways, there’s not much more I can add to that. I’m pleased with things at the moment, and hopefully am doing the right thing to cherish it without pushing myself into a bad state. :)


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The Monthly Dysphoria and The Experiment

Though never formally diagnosed, I strongly believe I have the menstrual dysphoric disorder because for about 8 days leading up to the monthly curse, I become extremely weepy and angry and well, unpleasant. The sadness I feel is amplified. My counselor was lucky enough to end up with euphoric menstrual disorder. Once a month, she gets to understand what a manic episode is like. I find that both sad but fitting. I can relate to a spending spree buying three hundred dollars worth of pillows only to wake up and barely remember doing it. It seems fitting and sad that I live my life in a state of depression, which once a month, gets magnified and amplified.

Which meant this morning…I was a bitch. I hated everything and everyone, but by lunch came close to tearfully breaking down.

On the plus side, I did an experiment and took a xanax instead of klonopin, and my anxiety was very low, paranoia non existent until about hour 8 when the xanax began to wear off. It proves it to me. The fact I even have excess xanax should be proof I don’t abuse it. Hell, I was due for a refill on the klonopin on the 6th and I still have pills left. I don’t overuse this anti anxiety stuff, I just take what I can eek by on and maintain sanity. If the klonopin achieved the same result, would it really matter what drug I was on? It’s not like xanax makes me high. If anything it’s the only one that seems to make me more lucid and grounded to earth. I’m a girl who buys generic EVERYTHING so if I honestly don’t care what kind of toilet paper or pain reliever I use, do you think I’d quibble over which anti anxiety to use unless it was an effectiveness issue?

Now…I am trying to fight beyond the usual evening mood crash into “what’s the fucking point of life” depression but in all honesty, I am failing miserably.

Part of my depression I think-truly believe-is that spending multiple hours a day with a man who carries on about people on wellfare who don’t work-and even shows youtube clips making fun of such people who speak out on such matters- really plays hell on my morale and self esteem. I am trying, what else can I do? Maybe everything isn’t meant as a person dig against me but you can’t make sweeping generalizations then toss out “Oh, I don’t mean you.” The Donor did that,. and it doesn’t fly. If you believe some people are different, then you can’t take that sweeping attitude that anyone who receives disability or public assistance is a bad person or lazy.

And while I am on that subject, why are people so down on me for being on  food stamps while my kid’s father gets to walk out and go two years without contributing a cent to her care? Why isn’t anyone outraged at his lack of responsibility? I’m the one who’s been here for two years, eeking by, trying to do whatever it takes to get what she needs. I don’t get much credit for that though. And I wouldn’t want or need credit if people weren’t such narrow minded judgmental assholes. Some of us are on assistance out of necessity. Y0u got a problem with it, blame the system. I asked my public aid case worker if they would give me a job to earn cash. She told me it wasn’t worth my time and I should just try to find work on my own.

Two years later and no one will hire me, so wtf?

God, I am so fucking off my gourd right now with the hormones and mood crash, I don’t even know why I went off on that rant. Oh maybe because between my so called friend and my own dad ranting about people on disability and food stamps, most days it’s all I can do not to drink bleach since I am viewed as such a malignancy on society.

If after reading this blog and doing a stability check on my mental status, someone out there wants to hire me, I am more than willing to work. I just can’t promise I will last long or be very competent.

Which is in keeping with my entire existence, because I can’t even be consistent and competent in that which I love, like writing or reading or even watching bloody TV. Every aspect of my existence is pretty much at the mercy of my stupid misfiring brain.

It’s making me wonder if the Cymbalta is actually working, but I don’t think I can know that unless I am off the klonopin and back on the med that works. If am wrong and it is the cymbalta failing, I’ll eat crow. But the fact that the cymbalta did well the first time around kind of hints it’s not at fault here.

I am just tapped out. It’s not even 8 pm and I am already so mentally drained all I want to do is go to bed. Which saddens me because I wanted to attempt to write, maybe watch more Vampire Diaries. I don’t even have the damn stamina and will to do the things that please me. Is that not the very definition of anxiety and depression?

But ya know what? I am gonna force myself to include something that made me smile today.

I taught my kid the chorus to Rob Zombie’s “Sick Bubblegum” because she loves headbanging to it. And it’s so precious and hysterical to see a three year old headbanging and singing the words “sick bubblegum.”

Mom of the year I am not, perhaps, but I am letting her be a kid and have fun, which is all I ever wanted for myself. Maybe if I couldn’t and can’t have happiness and fun, I can at least allow her to know it.

Now I have to go because my tear ducts are doing this weird thing where it seems they actually produce moisture, which is NOT the norm when I am on mood stabilizers.

Stupid fucking hormones.