“I AM BIPOLAR AND NEED MEDS” I wrote in all caps in my planner’s space of infinite possibility for this week.
See, part of my bipolar disorder is this constant voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m not really sick, and don’t need the medications we are still fine tuning. It’s part of the disorder; read any book on bipolar, and compliance usually has it’s own chapter. Even knowing this, reading it in the numerous books I’ve since borrowed from the library doesn’t help.
The hiccups in treatment and the fuzzy spells they cause? They are great reminders of how much better I am on medication.
I have to take the big scary antipsychotics; and I hate them. They make me numb and oh so very tired. I look forward to bed, that’s the extent of my daily excitement, when on the regular dose. But without them I start to suffer from lack of insight (“lack of insight: In psychiatry, insight means the ability to recognize when your behavior and though patterns are coming from your mental illness as opposed to your regular self” – Welcome to the Jungle by Hilary Smith page 45)… and the rage starts to return in little sparks. These sparks aren’t usually visible to the outside world. Just internal anger aimed at no one but me. And I am damn good at beating myself down when in these moods.
I can’t entertain myself when in these moods. I have too many projects and an inability to sit down and work on any of them. I know I make people nervous.
I’m supposed to work on square breathing when I get here. It works. I just have to figure out how to associate square breathing in my mind with getting so angry at myself, that I do or say something regrettable. I feel like a caged wild animal in my mind. Nothing I think is right or true, and there is no way to return to the healthy thought patterns…
So I have nothing written in my planner to do. I have nothing planned. I just sit and wait the day out. Crying at moments because that’s what the chemicals in my mind think needs to happen. These short circuits are frightening. I don’t know how to stop them. The depressing tears of boringness aren’t working for me. I guess I’ll rearrange the cabinets.
After writing. I have to work on writing. Daily. It’s an assignment from a handful of important people. Especially GG.