Daily Archives: March 11, 2015

Screaming Inside

6 p.m. The crazy is seeping in. My mood is slipping. My paranoia is skyrocketing. My anxiety is so high I am getting that angry snappish thing. I don’t like getting this way. Enter Xanax.
For all the good that will do against the paranoia. I’m silent but I am screaming like a banshee inside.

I haven’t heard from the doctor’s office. Wednesday is the day the shrinks do their tv screen doctoring. At the very least, I’d have thought the nurse would have called with a med change or something.
So now I have scumbag brain telling me I fucked up by rocking the boat. I fucked up by waiting so long, now it looks like I am just malingering due to the disability review. I know I am a goner.
Then it hits me…What if soc security never got my paperwork? Mail gets lost all the time.

There’s this sickening terror down in my bones telling me I am so fucked.

Good thing I track my mental dysfunction so well. I’ve been flailing since long before that review paperwork came in.
But in light of the confusion over the prozac dosage, I thought I’d wait until my next appointment in April to let things even out.
Now…

Sooo frustrated.
God, this time change makes the days seem to last forever. My brain wants darkness and sleep. Not that I get much of the latter.
I thought by mixing up the routine a bit today I might ward off some of the depression. But it’s not working out that way.
If anything, it seems to have amped up the anxiety and paranoia.
I am trying too hard. It’s always my downfall. I want to be well and I want to wow everyone with not being a mental case anymore so I push myself and I keep pushing…And I get splat.

Oh why won’t scumbag brain shut up.
I had no idea paranoia was part of bipolar. The professionals always make it seem like a personality quirk. Maybe it’s more prevalent with bipolar one so my diagnosis precludes it as a symptom.

Earlier…I was thinking-even though the sun was shining, my kid is healthy, I was out of the house and nothing was going bad…life is fucking futile. I think I’ve served my purpose, I’m done now. I brought a beautiful daughter into the world. It’s her oyster now. I’m just too damned tired of picking myself up, lame as that sounds.
But there’s only so much living for someone else you can do. I’ve had it pounded into my brain enough that “you have to be there for her.”
But I have more days of coming apart than succeeding so…why? Why am I still here?
I mean, she went to school today with her dress inside out. What kind of mother doesn’t catch something like that?
Oh, right, the moron that took an herbal sleep remedy and was half comatose this morning. I won’t get points for getting her to school on time, clean, fed, and prepared. No. It will be all about what I got wrong.
And I’m kind of a world class fuck up (not putting myself down, just admitting, I screw up a lot) so this is all…
Crushing me.

Back in the day (Ya know, like a year or two ago) I could reboot via sleep until the cyclothymia shifted.
These days…Sleep does not come easy nor plentiful. I can’t even get lost there anymore.
Forget reading. Writing. Craft work. All the things I love. And yet, I am getting no enjoyment because I cannot focus or shut out the crazy.
I try. Damn it, I try.

I’m tired of splat being my best friend.
I want a new drug.


Not Just Others.

not just others

Not just others, it is we who have and suffer from mental illnesses. Yes it is more difficult to know what a person with schizophrenia experiences with their illness. The following link to a video shows what a schizophrenic person hears in a psychotic, which means out of touch with reality, phase. And it is literally terrifying. The voices, the words, the tone of voice, how could anyone function like that? They can’t. I have a friend who suffers from schizophrenia and while I did know that neurons in their auditory cortex fire and make these voices, until today I did not know their experience was so horrifying and their mind had turned on them in such a cruel way!  (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qb8wQjwVu2g)

People with BPD 1 (bipolar disorder 1) also can be psychotic, that doesn’t mean they are psychos, again it means someone out of touch with reality. Oh so fortunately, people with BPD 1 do not hear voices. Thank goodness, the only voices I’ve heard are real voices, thank goodness a thousand times for that. People with Schizo-Affective disorder do hear voices, this is a combination of BPD 1 and schizophrenia. Some psychiatrists think this is just plain schizophrenia. So while we people with BPD 1 can get suicidally depressed, insanely manic, we still have the lesser of the two evil diseases.

There are a plethora of videos that show people who are manic and depressed. And yes they show how we are acting on the outside, talking 100 miles per minute, jumping from topic to topic, having delusions of grandeur, all in mania; crying, being hopeless, anxious, expressing suicidal ideation, all in depression. They do not show how we are feeling on the inside. Depression is especially painful, it is like someone literally broke your heart into pieces and it hurts. And pure mania is exhilarating and joyful. If your thoughts weren’t so scattered, you might actually come up with some brilliant ideas. Mixed phases aren’t so much fun because anxiety predominates in these. I unfortunately have mostly mixed phases, but that may have been because I was on SSRI’s (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors) and now that I’m off them, hopefully I won’t have mixed phases, my hope and prayer.

Anyway, the point of this post is to of course reiterate that it’s not others who have mental illness and also to give my readers an idea of what it feels like to have these extremely awful diseases. Maybe now people will respect and understand people with mental illness as strong people who are fighting battles daily with their illness and hopefully winning. That is the intent of this post.


Do NOT Smoke!

First of all I hope and pray that I am able to emotionally support my husband as he experiences grief, having lost his oldest brother last week to lung cancer. Grief, anxiety, and the fear of loss is what prompted me to begin writing…

GET.gg Cognitive Behaviour Therapy Self-Help Resources

Awesome CBT Self-Help Resources from GET.gg! Self Help & Therapist Resources Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) has been proven to help mental health problems.  This website offers CBT self-help information, resources and including therapy worksheets on the FREE DOWNLOADS PAGES:  worksheets &…

suicide & manic depression

The trigger warning is (obviously) in the title.

You know how people write posts with admonitions against suicide and lists of resources? Those posts are valuable, but this isn’t one of them. It’s basically just my thoughts about it all in general. You should definitely avoid this post if suicide is a painful trigger, but for the rest of the world, suicide should not be taboo. There’s little hope of preventing it if the reaction to it is fear, anger or evasion. I intend to play devil’s advocate as far as possible.

This isn’t about David Foster Wallace, though all but one of the quotes I’ve used are by or about him. He didn’t write about his own illness, but the words he gave his fictional characters are incredibly expressive.

It’s difficult to explain to a neurotypical person (and I do know that the term is problematic), just how painful the pain is, when it’s invisible pain. The following quote is possibly the most cogent and succint description I’ve read thus far.

A level of psychic pain wholly incompatible with human life as we know it
a double bind in which any/all of the alternatives we associate with human agency — sitting or standing, doing or resting, speaking or keeping silent, living or dying — are not just unpleasant but literally horrible
a nausea of the cells and soul
David Foster Wallace Obituary | Longread article**

Suicide is on my mind today, because a local guy (we’ll call him Leon) attempted suicide last night. I say ‘attempted’, but right now things don’t look good. Leon is bipolar; he was hospitalised fairly recently to sort out his meds. He tried to hang himself in his garage a few years ago. Last night he overdosed, vomited while unconscious and inhaled some of it. He’s in hospital and on a ventilator now. I feel that, although you probably know it, I ought to say that simply taking an overdose of your medication is highly unlikely to kill you outright, but can cause other truly horrible issues. Do not imagine a peaceful and painless journey to oblivion and death.

‘Disorder’ was, of course, not always a medical term. As a noun it means a state of confusion, and as a verb, a disruption of order. The clinical definition is equally logical, it’s an illness that disrupts normal physical or mental functions. Some people think it’s all psychosomatic and that, apparently, is an adequate reason to dismiss it. Either way, whether or not you agree with the semantics, the suffering is real, and as we know, ‘mental’ problems are measured by the suffering they cause.

I’m not incredibly glib, but I’ll tell what I think the Bad Thing is like. . . . Imagine that every single atom in every single cell in your body is sick . . . intolerably sick. And every proton and neutron in every atom . . . swollen and throbbing, off-color, sick, with just no chance of throwing up to relieve the feeling. Every electron is sick, here, twirling offbalance and all erratic in these funhouse orbitals that are just thick and swirling with mottled yellow and purple poison gases, everything off balance and woozy. Quarks and neutrinos out of their minds and bouncing sick all over the place.
David Foster Wallace

Treating manic depression is a nightmare for both doctors and patients; there’s just no formula for it. What is ailing and needs treatment, is the entire spectrum of human moods, plus some extra extremes/intensity. I’m simplifying a lot, but I don’t want the details to detract from the topic at hand. In order to attain the goal of euthymia, both mania and dysthymia need to be treated at various levels of severity, and that requires numerous different drugs, plus proactive lifestyle adjustments and strategies. What works for one person may not work for another; what does work is almost guaranteed to become ineffective at some point. What is certain, is that the meds cause unpleasant side effects that may or may not be bearable. Electro Convulsive Therapy is an option too, but there’s no guarantee there either. Some people are simply treatment resistant.

“It’s like they’re throwing darts at a dartboard,” he complained to them about his doctors. They went with him to an appointment with his psychiatrist; when the doctor suggested a new drjug combination, Wallace rolled his eyes.

Given the facts that bipolar takes an average of 10 years to diagnose, and is a progressive, recurring and chronic condition, if the form of disorder experienced is a severe one, the outlook can be frightening. Potential consequences of brain damage, early onset dementia, increased risk of heart disease from excessive cortisol production are disheartening to. In the USA, the suicide rate of people with bipolar disorder is quadruple that of the national average. No matter which way you look at it, the outlook of serious manic depression is grim.

… he considered suicide “a reasonable if not at this point a desirable option with respect to the whole wretched problem.”
David Foster Wallace

It’s a given that suicide while the mind is disturbed is not based on rationality, but if the mind is seriously disturbed for a long time (years, in some cases), what is the alternative (there are always alternatives)? The alternative is to stay alive without a cure or any definite prospect of remission. If death is not an option, we must logically find better palliative solutions. Waiting for big pharma to produce meds with better results and fewer side effects is highly likely to be a very long process indeed. Natural remedies, yoga, routine, exercise, regular sleep, healthy social interaction, CBT and so forth are helpful, but not helpful enough. New strategies would need to be found there too. And what else is there?

The problem lies in the gray areas, those points between issue and illness, illness and emergency. Here, our “thin red lines” make themselves known. The drinker concerned about his very occasional binge, and now worrying about his possible alcoholism, doesn’t have the support of a recovering addict, but he sure as hell can’t wait two weeks to see a specialist. The bipolar depressive awake for the third night in a row on a manic streak doesn’t have time to reconnect with a distant psychiatrist, but also might not feel their situation warrants an “emergency” call. So what are these fringe cases to do? How do they get the treatment they need on time if they fail to fit neatly into the commonly understood categories?
Darren Colbourne

There is absolutely no doubt that suicide is tragic and causes enormous grief, but without hope, is it really empirically wrong? And if there are no loved ones to be damaged by it, is it wrong then? If it is wrong purely on moral grounds, isn’t it also cruel? If it’s possible to keep fighting, it’s wrong, because hope and determination can carry the day – but not always. Leaving the concept of suicide as wrong is potentially a major extension and intensification of suffering and therefore, the suffering must be alleviated. We are all stakeholders, so what exactly should we be advocating for and researching? We cannot leave it to pharmaceutical companies and academics; they haven’t found a solution in the 5,000 or so years since bipolar was first documented.

Options! Allow suicide, or at least condone it. Legalise assisted suicide. Find a shorter and safer path to remission. Find a cure. Which is the most compassionate solution? How do we best facilitate and support the process we want?

Footnotey type things:
* I may have invented the bipolar brigade, idk. I did it for the alliteration. Spose I’ll be up all night sewing uniforms for them now :/
** The longread about DFW is a very, very worthwhile read. I can’t stress that enough … I hope you read it.

suicide & manic depression

The trigger warning is (obviously) in the title.

You know how people write posts with admonitions against suicide and lists of resources? Those posts are valuable, but this isn’t one of them. It’s basically just my thoughts about it all in general. You should definitely avoid this post if suicide is a painful trigger, but for the rest of the world, suicide should not be taboo. There’s little hope of preventing it if the reaction to it is fear, anger or evasion. I intend to play devil’s advocate as far as possible.

This isn’t about David Foster Wallace, though all but one of the quotes I’ve used are by or about him. He didn’t write about his own illness, but the words he gave his fictional characters are incredibly expressive.

It’s difficult to explain to a neurotypical person (and I do know that the term is problematic), just how painful the pain is, when it’s invisible pain. The following quote is possibly the most cogent and succint description I’ve read thus far.

A level of psychic pain wholly incompatible with human life as we know it
a double bind in which any/all of the alternatives we associate with human agency — sitting or standing, doing or resting, speaking or keeping silent, living or dying — are not just unpleasant but literally horrible
a nausea of the cells and soul
David Foster Wallace Obituary | Longread article**

Suicide is on my mind today, because a local guy (we’ll call him Leon) attempted suicide last night. I say ‘attempted’, but right now things don’t look good. Leon is bipolar; he was hospitalised fairly recently to sort out his meds. He tried to hang himself in his garage a few years ago. Last night he overdosed, vomited while unconscious and inhaled some of it. He’s in hospital and on a ventilator now. I feel that, although you probably know it, I ought to say that simply taking an overdose of your medication is highly unlikely to kill you outright, but can cause other truly horrible issues. Do not imagine a peaceful and painless journey to oblivion and death.

‘Disorder’ was, of course, not always a medical term. As a noun it means a state of confusion, and as a verb, a disruption of order. The clinical definition is equally logical, it’s an illness that disrupts normal physical or mental functions. Some people think it’s all psychosomatic and that, apparently, is an adequate reason to dismiss it. Either way, whether or not you agree with the semantics, the suffering is real, and as we know, ‘mental’ problems are measured by the suffering they cause.

I’m not incredibly glib, but I’ll tell what I think the Bad Thing is like. . . . Imagine that every single atom in every single cell in your body is sick . . . intolerably sick. And every proton and neutron in every atom . . . swollen and throbbing, off-color, sick, with just no chance of throwing up to relieve the feeling. Every electron is sick, here, twirling offbalance and all erratic in these funhouse orbitals that are just thick and swirling with mottled yellow and purple poison gases, everything off balance and woozy. Quarks and neutrinos out of their minds and bouncing sick all over the place.
David Foster Wallace

Treating manic depression is a nightmare for both doctors and patients; there’s just no formula for it. What is ailing and needs treatment, is the entire spectrum of human moods, plus some extra extremes/intensity. I’m simplifying a lot, but I don’t want the details to detract from the topic at hand. In order to attain the goal of euthymia, both mania and dysthymia need to be treated at various levels of severity, and that requires numerous different drugs, plus proactive lifestyle adjustments and strategies. What works for one person may not work for another; what does work is almost guaranteed to become ineffective at some point. What is certain, is that the meds cause unpleasant side effects that may or may not be bearable. Electro Convulsive Therapy is an option too, but there’s no guarantee there either. Some people are simply treatment resistant.

“It’s like they’re throwing darts at a dartboard,” he complained to them about his doctors. They went with him to an appointment with his psychiatrist; when the doctor suggested a new drjug combination, Wallace rolled his eyes.

Given the facts that bipolar takes an average of 10 years to diagnose, and is a progressive, recurring and chronic condition, if the form of disorder experienced is a severe one, the outlook can be frightening. Potential consequences of brain damage, early onset dementia, increased risk of heart disease from excessive cortisol production are disheartening to. In the USA, the suicide rate of people with bipolar disorder is quadruple that of the national average. No matter which way you look at it, the outlook of serious manic depression is grim.

… he considered suicide “a reasonable if not at this point a desirable option with respect to the whole wretched problem.”
David Foster Wallace

It’s a given that suicide while the mind is disturbed is not based on rationality, but if the mind is seriously disturbed for a long time (years, in some cases), what is the alternative (there are always alternatives)? The alternative is to stay alive without a cure or any definite prospect of remission. If death is not an option, we must logically find better palliative solutions. Waiting for big pharma to produce meds with better results and fewer side effects is highly likely to be a very long process indeed. Natural remedies, yoga, routine, exercise, regular sleep, healthy social interaction, CBT and so forth are helpful, but not helpful enough. New strategies would need to be found there too. And what else is there?

The problem lies in the gray areas, those points between issue and illness, illness and emergency. Here, our “thin red lines” make themselves known. The drinker concerned about his very occasional binge, and now worrying about his possible alcoholism, doesn’t have the support of a recovering addict, but he sure as hell can’t wait two weeks to see a specialist. The bipolar depressive awake for the third night in a row on a manic streak doesn’t have time to reconnect with a distant psychiatrist, but also might not feel their situation warrants an “emergency” call. So what are these fringe cases to do? How do they get the treatment they need on time if they fail to fit neatly into the commonly understood categories?
Darren Colbourne

There is absolutely no doubt that suicide is tragic and causes enormous grief, but without hope, is it really empirically wrong? And if there are no loved ones to be damaged by it, is it wrong then? If it is wrong purely on moral grounds, isn’t it also cruel? If it’s possible to keep fighting, it’s wrong, because hope and determination can carry the day – but not always. Leaving the concept of suicide as wrong is potentially a major extension and intensification of suffering and therefore, the suffering must be alleviated. We are all stakeholders, so what exactly should we be advocating for and researching? We cannot leave it to pharmaceutical companies and academics; they haven’t found a solution in the 5,000 or so years since bipolar was first documented.

Options! Allow suicide, or at least condone it. Legalise assisted suicide. Find a shorter and safer path to remission. Find a cure. Which is the most compassionate solution? How do we best facilitate and support the process we want?

Footnotey type things:
* I may have invented the bipolar brigade, idk. I did it for the alliteration. Spose I’ll be up all night sewing uniforms for them now :/
** The longread about DFW is a very, very worthwhile read. I can’t stress that enough … I hope you read it.

Nothing, More Nothing, Bathroom Break, Nothing

I tried a new migraine medicine last night ’cause I could feel a migraine brewing and I didn’t want it to last all through today, which is a thing that happens to me sometimes because 1 day of pain, nausea and sensory overload isn’t enough, clearly. I tried Axert. It’s in a class of drugs called triptans, of which I’ve tried 5 others: Zomig, Maxalt, Relpax, Frova and Treximent/Imitrex. Triptans work by shrinking the bloated blood vessels in your head that are causing the migraine. They also have like the worst motherfucking side effects of pretty much any drug I’ve ever taken (with the exception of that time I had an ear infection when I was 4 and my doctor prescribed the wrong dose of antibiotics and then we went to Virginia for Thanksgiving and I had diarrhea all over one of the dining room chairs and a few hours later was rushed to the hospital because I was screaming in pain and my mom said my distended belly looked like I swallowed a basketball. That was most certainly worse).

But triptans give me joint pain, a constricted feeling in my chest, a tingly and sensitive scalp, mild nausea depending on the drug, severe lethargy, feelings of sadness, loss of appetite, difficulty concentrating, irritability, and sensitivity to heat and cold. Also (fun) if I take one before I go to bed so I can sleep through the side effects, I get stress dreams. Good stuff.

There’s a supposed link between migraines and mental illness. I would actually go like look up some hard facts for you because this stuff is pretty interesting, but I’m so goddamned tired and I super don’t feel like it, so go do it yourself. Or don’t. But, migraines tend to afflict people with mental health issues more than the general population because LIFE IS TOTALLY FUCKING FAIR. When I was in the hospital a few years ago for bipolar shit, most of the professionals I talked to were really interested in my migraines and I didn’t know why until a while after I got out. But I had to give my medical history to like 2 or 3 different people every day and when they asked about other maladies I have (see LBD: comorbidity) I’d say “migraines” and they’d “ahh!” with a knowing nod and then not tell me shit about why my answer made them react. Hospital people tend to assume you’re an idiot.

I’ve been getting migraines since I was 9 which was roughly when I hit puberty (like I started growing pre-boobs and leg hair around then which seems early, but really isn’t, or so I’m told, because of dairy or chicken or whatever people feed children that has too much or too little of something in it, I don’t know, I don’t have kids and I’m rarely tasked with feeding them so I’m the wrong person to ask about the hormones in your kid’s poultry). I wasn’t treated for migraines until I was 15 because my dumbass pediatrician diagnosed me with “allergy headaches” despite the facts that a) I’m demonstrably not allergic to anything but bee stings and b) my migraines are so completely textbook, I can’t believe that dude has an actual job as an actual doctor for actual kids. He prescribed me an ineffectual plethora of allergy medications (most of which are now over-the-counter because this was 18 years ago) and most of which listed “headache” as a side effect, so I spent 6 years medicating my migraines with medication that made my migraines worse until my parents took me to a headache specialist when I was 15. It took my migraine doctor – who I still see like 3 times a year – about 40 seconds to diagnose me with what were VERY OBVIOUSLY GARDEN VARIETY MIGRAINES.

So he gave me Zomig and Zomig aborted my migraines when I needed it to. But after 3 or 4 years of crappy side-effects coupled with grueling prep school and topped with inadequate sleep and respite, I ditched the Zomig and – honestly, to this day, I don’t know how – I powered through ~6 years of migraines with coffee and ibuprofen and naps. I hate naps. I fucking hate naps. Naps are traps. So, fed up, I started shuffling through all these migraine pills trying to find the one that would be maximally effective and minimally uncomfortable to use. Fun thing: the meds that work the best for me (Zomig, Relpax, Treximet/Imitrex) give me the worst side effects. The drugs that are less effective (Maxalt, Frova) are easier to tolerate re: side effects. At the end of the day, I’m gonna feel like shit no matter what I do. Most people don’t have this problem as severely as I do and can take their migraine medicine and still function. I seem to be particularly sensitive to medication side effects, as was my dad (thanks, Dad) so that’s the reason I’ve been on the medication carrousel with these drugs for so long.

Last night, I just thought, what the hell, I’ll try the Axert and smoke some weed to dull the aches and hopefully I won’t have a migraine tomorrow. It’s tomorrow and I don’t have a migraine, but I still feel the Axert. I feel like crap. I’m exhausted – either from Axert induced lethargy or from 9 hours of the frantic-ass stress dreams I got instead of quality sleep last night – and I’m having mild pain in my joints and muscles. I’m also itchy. That one’s new. But the worst of it is twofold: I can’t think straight and I feel bummed out. How I managed 900 words so far is a little beyond me because my brain feels like gutter slush and I keep stopping what I’m doing to stare at nothing for like 15 seconds at a time. Also, I’m sad. Not genuinely sad, more just listless and bummed. I don’t wanna do anything, which is Ok because I have nothing I absolutely need to do today (but I have plenty of stuff I’d like to do today), BUT this brings me, at long last, to my dilemma:

Do I have a shower and some coffee and try to power through the discomfort and do something useful or do I throw in the towel, have a cup of THC laced hot cocoa and spend the day in bed watching Hoarders on my laptop?

I could go either way, really. I feel like there’s a “should” implied here, but it’s not a very convincing one because, seriously, there are like zero negative consequences to me accomplishing a heaping pile of nothing today. I have the option of accompanying my husband on the drive downtown to pick up his newly fixed up bass. If I did that, I’d get to chat with a friend of ours who works at the shop where Nameless Bass (my husband doesn’t name his instruments like I do) is being restored. But I don’t have a lot to say, ’cause, like I mentioned, my mind is running at a snail’s pace today and I’d be like, “Hi, Friend. How’s things? Good? Good. Me too. Kinda. Yeah. How’s your girlfriend? Any headway on those Grateful Dead 50th anniversary tix yet? That’s gonna be a shitshow. My sister’s gonna move Heaven and Earth to be there, she’s really persistent…” And then I’d be talking about the Grateful Dead which is basically the same thing as talking about nothing and the whole while I’d be like mining the sloppiest tar pits of my brain trying to string together the words to form a cogent sentence, which would invariably result in many pregnant pauses and OH MY GOD I DON’T FEEL LIKE IT. And seriously, why am I so itchy??

So that zero negative consequences thing isn’t 100% true because when I do nothing all day, I feel shitty about myself and I don’t wanna pile more shitty on top of the the shitty I already feel due to the meds. But I’m pretty sure I could forgive myself for one wasted day – after I got done berating myself for having wasted a whole day. Damned if I anything. Good for me.

Even after all this writing, I don’t feel much closer to a decision. My husband is making lunch downstairs and I can smell it and I totally don’t wanna eat it. It smells salty. I want ice cream. We don’t have any. Why don’t we have any? I think this post is devolving into unbridled whining. Whatever. I did a lot yesterday. Let’s go with cocoa and Hoarders.

-LB

Tagged: bipolar disorder, depression, diagnosis, dilemma, energy, lethargy, meds, migraines, mood, motivation, poop, side effects

Yesterday Was My Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday so I didn’t post.

Honestly I had a lot to do. Nothing celebratory but I had to wash a lot of laundry and go shopping to fill my freezer and fridge.

Hubby and I really didn’t celebrate this year because of buying the house the day before his birthday and the appliances coming on mine. I did have my last piece of cake though!

I only bought low carb/high protein foods and we didn’t buy any junk. We are going to try and eat better and now that we don’t need to eat take out anymore it should be a lot easier.

My shrink appt went well. I did the spit dna test that determines which meds should be best for you. She upped my wellbutrin to 300mg a day since it was actually getting me out of bed and left the rest of my meds as is.

She said the goal is to get me out of bed and me enjoy being out of bed.

I still have tons of laundry to do today so I am going to stop writing. I own way too many clothes from depression/mania shopping but I can’t pair down just yet.


Get creative!

blahpolar:

Yessssss FUN! If I can get my arse into gear, I will do this. Kinda like infographic postsecrets for the mentally ill and neurobiologically ill.

Originally posted on The bipolar codex:

What’s in my head is a Bath Mind exhibition for the Fringe Arts Bath Festival, in the UK this May. We’re looking for people to adapt a picture of an outline of a head with the thoughts that they normally wouldn’t share with others!
You can download the application form and head picture here: http://tinyurl.com/krheca2

You don’t have to be in the UK to enter, and you can do so anonymously if you wish. Closing date for entries is 17th April.

I’m looking forward to seeing your entry!

What's in my head

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Wednesday

My oldest is packing to head back to college; her and some friends are getting together for a movie marathon the rest of the week–all Harry Potter movies and all the Star Wars movies.  They should have fun.  I miss college–I enjoyed my time there a great deal and am glad she’s so far enjoying hers.

We’re packing to go to the dance competition and I’m getting more stressed about it by the day.  I hate dance competitions, and this one is the first major one we’ve attended.  Groups from all over will be there, and I don’t think our little groups stand a chance.  I’ve never wanted my kids this deeply involved in dance, where we’re running all over the country to compete.  But my youngest wanted to try it so here we are.  I just don’t want to lose my peace and temper over it, but I’m afraid I’ve already lost the first.  I just hope I don’t lose the second.