R called last night and suggested I take a day off.
Not once in 18 months has he ever done that.
Now I’d love to think he’s simply being nice and thoughtful.
But after our prior conversations in which he basically said I was overreacting and distracted and not my normal self…
I think this is the beginning of a process that has been a constant in my life.
I do well for awhile. I struggle. I bounce back.
But eventually the stress takes a toll and I start to unravel. People begin to notice. My productivity is down. My focus is nil. My moods are so up and down and my anger so prevalent, I am no longer pleasant to be around…
And it comes down to “take a few days off, rest up” because yeah, that’s gonna cure mental illness…OR the ultimatum, “Get your shit together and be professional, you can’t act like this.”
Oh Niki’s greatest hits collection grows bigger.
Am I being pessimistic and paranoid? Perhaps. I doubt it. I have learned my lessons the hard way on what being naive costs me. I mean, I had that near fatal reaction to Topamax a few months back, could barely walk and function, and he had NO problem with me not feeling well then, I was still supposed to be there.
But my moods become unpleasant, even if I am being quiet and trying to keep them to myself…Well NOW I need a break. Or does he need the break because I am no longer a coddling adoring little helper monkey?
Yesterday was hell on Earth. I had a draft written but it vanished. It’s okay, though, since it was written mid melt down and was likely just redundant mood swinging bullshit. In spite of it all, I let Spook have company last night and while it was stressful because the kids were screeching and wrestling…It was also fun not to think of my own shit for awhile. I played with the kids and for a moment, it felt like, yeah, this is who I am.
Then came the “take the day off” call and it hit me that my past is repeating itself because while I can maintain certain amounts of stability and functionality for brief stretches…Eventually the stress gets to me and things start to come undone. This was why they fought to put me on disability in the first place because it had happened over and over and over and no one can support themselves if they are functional five months out of 12. I thought maybe things had changed, maybe I had improved.
It’s not looking that way.
Of course, today my mood is damn near hypomanic.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
On the plus side, I took a Trazadone last night and got a decent night’s sleep. If you discount the bizarre Trazzy D induced dreams. Those freak me out.
Now…what to do with myself today. I am a little nervous as my brother goes to court today on that stalking thing and I am scared of what is going to happen. His emotional maturity is around age 12 but legally, he turns 18 in July. It could go in a bad way for him and while I spend my life in a cocoon of apathy if it doesn’t directly impact me (survival method), I do love my brother and I’d hate to see this charge stick on his record when his life is just starting. It bothers me.
Not sure what to do with myself now. Funny how that works. The days I am low and want to stay home and piddle, I can’t. The days I am brimming with manic energy, I am at a loss on what to do with it. Could I be more of a clusterfuck?
I had an epiphany yesterday.
My brain is sort of like the processor and graphics card out of a computer made in 2002. It functions, but technology has become so advanced, it can no longer keep up with the pages of flash ads and it crashes often. (Maybe because this is how the shop computer is.) I need an upgrade. Last night I started wondering if I need electroshock therapy. Getting desperate here.
But bipolar is a disorder, lifelong, and it cannot be reformatted or upgraded. It is what it is.
And I am what I am.
A beautiful mess.