Daily Archives: June 23, 2014

Reboot successful

After yesterday’s abrupt crash and burn mood swing…And it hung on for a good 8 hours…I finally slithered off to bed for a much needed brain reboot.

Happy to say, it seems to have worked.

I had to spend the first hour awake battling the cobweb brain but now…I am feeling pretty good. I’ve done a few housework-y things and feel like today might not be an exercise in futility.

The Uzi is, of course, rapid firing out of the gate but what’s new about that.

I am supposed to make a ten minute appearance at the shop to rectify my mistake of not ordering the right parts. Yippee fucking skippy.

I am in no hurry. I need a shower. I suppose the spawn needs one, too. I will throw her in with me, but that itself with be a battle. She hates showers. Then I will have to dig from the mt vesuvius of clean laundry to find something to wear. Oh, joy.

Still…I feel pretty good.

Next post…I am going to go through the basics of cyclothymic disorder. I am beginning to think El Quacko of 4 years ago nailed that one and the other shrinks have opted to overlook it or just stick with whatever diagnosis was in my chart. Cyclothymia seems to mimick borderline and bipolar so it’s not exactly an easy diagnosis to make. I may have to forgive and let go of my grudges.

Grudgingly.

Small victories. I’m out of the abyss today. It may stick, it may not. I will enjoy the time I have and deal with come what may.

Besides. This is just commonplace when a med is increased. First week or so, your moods bobblehead as things get leveled out. It’s irritating but a necessary evil.

Though I’d much prefer if psych meds worked like Tylenol. You have a headache, you take a pill, headache goes away.

Yes, please. One pill to cure all that which ails me mentally.

That’d be fucking sweet.

I’m sure it will happen right after I find that mythical magical unicorn.

And in my current frame of mind, in spite of realistic notions…it seems possible. At least optimism seems possible.

Hypomania sweet hypomania.


crash, burn, rinse, lather, repeat

My mood crashed and burned around 5pm.

There was no trigger, nothing happened.

It just…went boom.

Gutter time.

The Paxil was increased so it will likely be this way the first week or so. Never get used to it, though.

I’ve been hanging tough but it doesn’t take Scotland Yard to detect I am in a dark place.

I need a brain reboot. Sleep. Defrag.

Like my kid is going to cooperate with that notion.

Ass trash fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

(big smile because otherwise I will be called a downer.)

(never mind it’s fake, no one cares.)

I wrote this awhile back. Describes the prior seven months of my life.

smile that never reaches my eyes


To Sleep, Perchance (Not) To Dream

Well, I made it through the night. I did end up taking the Ativan, and not only did I go to sleep shortly after midnight, Will couldn’t rouse me until mid-morning. I must’ve been making up for lost time, because I NEVER sleep that long unless I’m a) sick, or b) depressed. Seeing as how I’m neither one, I must’ve just needed the extra rest because I feel great, even though we missed Mass because I was too much of a slug to get myself ready.

I also DIDN’T spend a good portion of the night stewing in my own juices, worrying about stuff that I can’t do anything about in the wee hours. I don’t think I even dreamed…..I just slept like a rock, and when Will tried to get me up I growled at him to let me sleep some  more. He finally succeeded in waking me somewhere in the neighborhood of 9:30; I’d probably have slept till noon if he’d left me to my own devices.

So, taking the Ativan at night probably isn’t the best idea. Sleeping too much is just as bad in its way as sleeping too little, although oversleeping certainly doesn’t bring on mania and under-sleeping does. But I don’t think I need to worry too much about that right now, even though it’s definitely summer. The sun is shining brightly, it’s warm and dry, the flowers are blooming—all ingredients for a rip-roaring manic episode—and yet my mood is still pretty much like it’s been since late March (with the exception of the brief hypomania I had several weeks ago).

As my friend from New England would put it, these are some wicked good medications I’m on, because I would normally be dancing on the moon right now. June and July are manic season for me, and the first day of summer has already come and gone without me going totally ape shit. Now THAT is progress!

But I’m still going to have to get the sleep thing straightened out. The last thing I need is to be dependent on yet another medication, and actually I’m only supposed to use the Vitamin A for breakthrough anxiety, not sleep. Dr. Awesomesauce would probably rather have me go back to using the 5 mg of Zyprexa than the Ativan. But I keep hoping that what’s been keeping me awake at night will be resolved soon, and then I won’t NEED extra medication.

It really was a great night’s sleep, though. I love it when I can sleep straight through a night without vivid dreams which either upset me or get me all excited. Waking up after one of these can be either a relief or a bummer, depending on which kind of dream I had; so I appreciate it when I can get through a full night without dreaming, or at least dreaming something memorable.

I think it also helped that the friend I was talking about the other day is doing better. She texted me last night to let me know she is no longer out-of-control anxious, and thinks the higher dose of Effexor is already kicking in. That may be more psychological than anything, but hey, if it works, you’ve gotta go with it. Just a couple of simple med tweaks may have saved her from a hospital stay, or worse, and her attitude has done a 180 just in the 48 hours or so since the changes. Come to think of it, she’s probably sleeping better at night, too. And that’s one less source of stress for me. :-)

 


Living Alone By Choice

I have lived alone for many years–since 2005, to be exact.  I had some roommate-type people in my life for about six months in 2008, but it was an enormous house and I had the entire top floor, which had a luxurious bathroom by that country’s standards: it had a sort of bathtub that you could fit into if you scrunched yourself up very tightly.  The only time I had contact with the roommates was in the kitchen, and that was bad enough: two Orthodox Jewish women who kept meticulous Kosher (myself and my favored roomie) and the other, a contrary Dutch woman who wanted to convert to Judaism but was too stubborn to accept its laws.

We were not permitted, by Jewish law, to use any of her cooking or eating utensils; and the other Jewish woman was Chabad, and they have different (and much more strict) customs than the stream of Judaism I practiced, so she also had her own set of cooking and eating utensils, which consisted of a frying pan, a pot, a glass, a plate, a fork, a knife, and a spoon.  I am the post-professional cook, so I require lots and lots of cupboard space.  Luckily there was plenty.

That is, until the snow storm melted and got into the walls, and the walls sprouted huge bracket fungus which released choking spores into the air.  Time to move.

Even though I adore the Chabad woman, with whom I maintain an occasional but warm relationship, I was eager to find a place on my own.  It took me a few moves to find the right place, but it happened, and I was very happy there for four beautiful years.

Then my father’s various disasters started happening with increasing frequency, so I moved yet again, to the other side of the world, to be near him.

Now I live in what is basically a reclaimed barn.  I have running water from a live spring that comes out of one tap.  There is a two-gallon hot water heater–I don’t know whose brilliant idea that was, but I can tell you it’s not enough hot water to do a few dishes, or to wash myself or my hair, which requires heating water in the kettle and using a pitcher to pour it over my head over the sink.  Washing the rest of me is easier, but I won’t go into the details.

Bathroom there is none, as you may have surmised from the above paragraph.  In fine weather the toilet is outside.  When the weather is foul or cold, I have an electric incinerating toilet (a consolation gift from my mother, very unusual).  I am loth to use it, though, because contrary to the blurb on its website, it stinks to high heaven and I am forced to spend a small fortune on incense.

But–I live alone.  I don’t have to put up with anyone else’s habits or eccentricities, arguments over whether it’s pronounced “almonds” or “ah-monds,” or some well-meaning recycling obsessive type who goes through the trash in case I threw out recyclables or compostables (!) each and every time I toss something in the bin.  I can bloody well contribute anything I like to the ever-growing plague of solid waste on the planet.  And I beg the question of whether or not to compost by pointing out the bear tracks near my barn.  I’m certain no compost bin is completely bear-proof, and at the very least it would end up at the bottom of the cliff.  So the small amount of compostable waste I generate goes right in the bin and I feel absolutely no guilt about it.

I don’t have to deal with someone else’s bong filling the air with blue stinking haze.  Now, I should be the last to complain about someone enjoying a little smoke, since I do it myself.  I guess it’s a matter of scale.  I am a lightweight when it comes to intoxicants of all kinds.  I drink, yes: about half an ounce of Scotch or Bourbon will do, and one or two tokes on a small pipe takes care of my ganja needs.  My air is not so thick that you need to part the curtain of thick smoke just to remark to your wrecked roomie that the smoke detector seems to have been deactivated.

All things considered, I am very comfortable in my barn, with no one to bother or to bother me, and no one to ask me questions, or rifle through the trash after me, or argue about the pronunciation of the names of seeds.  My air is clear, my kitchen is Kosher but not overly so, and my view of the river is obstructed only by the leaves of the black birch and beech trees, when they are leafed out.

If the whole thing were lifted up and carried to the other side of the world, my joy would be complete.


Lack of Posts

Sorry everyone!

I have been super busy with my new schedule.

I get up at 5am every day, to drive 1.5 hours up to Bellevue for my new job. I start at 8am, but I have to leave earlier, by 6am, so I can ensure to avoid most of the traffic and be on time for work. Then I work until 4.30pm. I then spend 2 hours or 2.5 hours in traffic on my way back home from Bellevue. So I have a 12 hour day, from 6am leaving to work and getting home at 6pm.

It’s been stressful, but I love my new job. It’s customer service. And I get to use my German-language skills.

One downside is that some things do trigger minor OCD-behaviors in me at work. I try to keep my desk in order, but it’s a bit difficult right now, since I haven’t been moved to my official desk yet. Once I’ve gotten settled in there, I think I’ll be able to be better off on the habits front.

But for right now, I’m trying to make sure that my new coworkers don’t notice too much unusual in what I do. I don’t need to hide it, but it does make it a bit easier if I’m seen as being more “normal”. No one at work knows I’m bipolar, but it has slipped out that I have OCD.

I don’t mind coworkers knowing. That isn’t it at all. I’m far more interested in just getting through the day without people bothering me too much.

I’m going to enjoy this job though.

Once I’m more settled in, I’ll have some more time to blog. I’ll have the time to blog, especially with my new schedule.

Single Mom’s (ok Dad’s too) Summer Survival Guide – Pt 3; Sometimes you just have to wing it

Life is funny sometimes.  Ok a lot of the time.  I have to laugh because there is nothing much else to do when things don’t go as planned, crying is […]