Daily Archives: March 27, 2017

Upcoming Week

So we went to the dance competition and the girls did well.   They won a bunch of trophies and plaques and pins so their teachers were happy.  I did go backstage to help Rachel with her hair to change it for the next dance and the dance teacher watched me for a minute and then said, “Just let me do it.”  SO I’m not going backstage again.  I know when I’m not wanted.

Today I have advising with my program director about this summer and next semester.  I’m going to sign up for the long residency this summer and the Forms in Fiction II class this fall.  So that is my plan unless my professor objects to it for some reason.  And I c an’t imagine why he would.

THen I go out to lunch with Bob today and MJ tomorrow.  Rachel was selected for a special trip next summer through the school for going to Washington DC and New York, and we have an informational meeting Tuesday night.  SO I will likely go to that.  Then church on Wednesday and I’m not sure we have anything else planned for the rest of the week.  We will see.

I was really proud that I handled the weekend okay.  I didn’t take Xanax and I didn’t fly off the handle at anybody, even the dance teacher.  I’m learning how to cope better with stress, I suppose. I’m certainly trying to.  Prayer is effective in this as well.  Keeps me from getting too anxious.

Hope everyone has a good week this week.


Equilbrium, shattered.

Yesterday came the splat. Gray damp day. Zero motivation to do any writing. I took my crappy meds toward afternoon and suddenly got so sleepy I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The more I fought to stake awake, the worse my eye strain headache got so I decided to kill the lights and just lay in the dark. But then suddenly I got so cold and began shivering so violently, I went  back to Fort Blankie for the first time in 8 days.

And I nearly nodded off, even though I swear I was still awake because I was aware of my show in the background. Nodding off while kid is home, uncool. Stupid meds, why do they make me sleepy sometimes but not all the time? Then as if my mood wasn’t depressed enough, my dad stopped by. They took Spook out to lunch which was fine by me. I got to nod off without feeling guilty. I slept almost two hours, then got up and tried to shake off the the lethargy.

Epic fail. The only thing I accomplished yesterday was following through with my plans to cook spaghetti.  Not that it tasted all that good. Since quitting the Pristiq NOTHING has a good flavor or texture and I am forever stuck with the proverbial “bad taste” in my mouth. It’s nasty. Nothing I do changes it, I could scrub down to my esophagus with a baby bottle brush and this nasty taste won’t go away.

Since I was feeling defeated and shitty and hadn’t even tried to proof my writing from the prior day…I told R sure, I’ll take some company. I mean, what are bad moods for except for people to hang around. I’ll save my good moods for writing thank you very much.

He gave me his credit card so I  can get some smokes. (I am so sick of asking for loans, March has been endless and I can’t figure out where all the money went except, logically, I can, I just get infuriated thinking I lost seventy bucks a month a child support and  food stamps only increased 8 bucks, what the fuck is that, core math???) In return Spook and I are gonna visit at the shop with him for a bit. Whatever  cos guess what…

It’s fucking gray and pouring rain and chilly today too! See why the mood shifts suck? It’s so tied to the damned weather and until that changes, I am swimming against the tides. Forecast says rain for 5 more days. Seven motherfucking days before my mood may lift?

I hate splat. Fucking hate it. I feared it would come, I just thought I had a few more good days before it did.

The one thing I remember about both my stays in California was….Zero real depressive bouts. Because the weather was static, day in  and out, sunny and warm, cool enough at night without being cold. Had it not been so fucking expensive there I wouldn’t have left either time.

Weather is the bane of my existence. I don’t like sweating my pancreas off but now that I realize how delicately balanced my equilirbium is when the weather is concerned…Yeah, I need a family in California to adopt me and Spook for purposes of my sanity.

I just hate this so much. I could not feel more tired and beaten down today. And I slept the whole night. Splat is a lot like being embalmed while alive.

God,  being trapped in the weather fickle midwest when your mental well being is tied to the weather…I apparently pissed in someone’s Cheerios in a previous life to be reincarnated here this way.

And before any sunshine spewer chimes in about “snapping out of it, don’t let it get you down”…Fuck you. Shaking off depression is like pretending you don’t have the flu. Puke is still gonna fly. Only instead of puke, I have chunks of sanity flying about.

The absolute worst thing about it all is getting several days’ worth of how amazing it feels to be doing well, feeling well, almost start feeling hope again…Only to have it yanked out of from under you and return back to feeling lousy. Sometimes it hurts more to lose something you know than to simply never had had it at all.

Reblog – Monday Magic

Originally posted on Pain Pals:
Morning!  Having introduced you to the Chronic Illness Bloggers recently, I thought I would try something new and introduce a regular slot each week highlighting new posts from some of my pals over at CIB.…

Humbled by Dysphoric Mania

Dysphoric mania landed me in the back of a police car pleading not to be 5150’d. It was a helluva day on Tuesday. Come Wednesday morning I was shuffling in the halls of the psych hospital. I was full of shame and tears fell on their own accord. Here’s the story….
I’m not exactly sure when it started. Three or four nights of intense agitation that had me yelling at my husband, criticizing him for anything and everything. Then only moments later literally laying on the floor in complete despair. Moments later running around the house not able to figure out what to do w myself. I was supposed to go to Outpatient on Monday but couldn’t get out of bed.
Tuesday played out like a horrible nightmare. I got up begrudgingly around 8am. I was back in bed by 10:30am. I’m not sure if I slept or not, but emerged again at 12:30. I was feeling guilty about how unproductive I was. I remembered my husband’s request I move my clothes from one closet to another. So I launched in to this project. Somewhere in the midst of walking my clothes from one room to another, I got the brilliant idea to go to the beach. I don’t mean for an afternoon. I mean for a few days. My memory is quite fuzzy. I can only tell you what I think happened. I ran around the house filling a bag with necessities. I brought some meds, but not all. Forgot my birth control pills. Didn’t pack a jacket. Honestly I don’t know what I did remember to bring. I guess I left a window open at the house and our cat outside.
On the road within minutes of my brilliant decision. I think I was headed for Seaside, about 2.5 hours away. However, the freeway I actually landed on would not be how I normally go. I’m about 1.5 hours down the road and it dawns on me I don’t have a phone cord. I also forgot my wallet. My gas tank was getting low. I pull over in a restaurant parking lot that overlooks the bay. Moments upon exiting the car I proceed to crawl down the rocks that line the banks of San Francisco Bay. My shoes are in the water.
What I did next, I can only recall bits and pieces. I called a friend and yelled into the phone something along the lines of…I’m here at the banks of the bay. I’m sorry I’m not a better friend. Goodbye! I then hung up. I called my therapist, thanked her for trying to help me. Said Goodbye! Hung up the phone. Then called my husband. I told him it was meant to be that I am sitting on the banks of the bay. I loved him, but it was time to go. Hung up. I think I texted some people too.
What’s important here is that whenever I have a meltdown/breakdown I keep it a secret. Usually my husband is the only one who is privy to my falling apart. I will be hospitalized and not tell anyone. So, to be reaching out like this was certainly a sign something was very wrong.
Little did I know my husband had called the police. So had my friend. I had no choice but to return home as I had no money. Soon my cellphone would be dead. I raced home. I was convinced a white Chrysler 300 was following me despite the fact I was the only one changing lanes. I drove recklessly and too fast.
As I approached home, about 20 min out, I called my husband. I could tell by the way he was talking to me something was up. I just knew the police were at my house and there was going to be some kind of standoff. I accused him of conspiring against me. I refused to tell him where I was and hung up. For whatever reason I decided to pull over, maybe to figure out my next move. I don’t even think I was sitting in my car for 5 minutes when 2 police cars rolled up on me.
They asked me to get out of my car and I said I didn’t do anything wrong. They politely asked me again. As they put me in the back of the car my husband appeared. The police officer at our home drove him to get my car. I was crying hysterically and apologizing to the officer for wasting his time. They took me to the crisis clinic.
At the crisis clinic I became very agitated. I was yelling and making demands. I was insulting people. The crisis counselor said she did not feel comfortable releasing me. I told her she didn’t even know me. My husband agreed with her and said the way I was acting was not me. He was also concerned. There you have it. The 72 hour hold started.
It wasn’t until the next day, talking to my husband on the phone at the hospital did I learn of what I did. Who I called. What I said. I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t believe I reached out to all those people. I don’t reach out. I keep my bipolar disorder pretty private. I felt like I had created wreckage from my manic episode. I felt so guilty I put people in the position of needing to call the police.
When I left the house, I had no intention of hurting myself. Had I remembered my wallet I could have bought a new phone cord. I could have made it to the beach. Had I taken my IPad, my husband would not have been able to locate me. Its such a strange day when I look back on it.
I am constantly humbled by bipolar disorder. In the past, I have known myself when it’s time to seek out the hospital. On this day, I truly didn’t know. Being driven away in the back of a police car, not even sure why. It was very scary. Its still scary when I think about it.