You know that sound they make? That incessant buzzing?
That’s what I feel like.
And in perpetual motion.
I don’t know who I think I am fooling when I sneakily “forget” to take the Risperdal. Up for 25 hours, trying to sleep periodically and feeling like I am electrically charged, getting back up again a few minutes later.
I’m somewhat productive, writing posts for work and here, organizing my Kindle music library, pulling things out of drawers and stuffing them into garbage bags, but I feel sad all at the same time. Not that wonderful, blissful feeling of the last few weeks. My therapist, just like my Psychiatrist, reminded me that it was not all that “blissful” and my mind is playing games with me.
TAKE THE FREAKIN’ RISPERDAL.
I hadn’t been to therapy in a couple three weeks because I was working with the doctor instead. It’s almost an hour to get there and the prospect of taking that trek twice in one day was too daunting. I did it today, but probably shouldn’t have.
I barely remember anything we talked about, knowing I wouldn’t even as my lips were moving. The whirring so loud in my head and coursing through my body.
What I remember is that I need to honor my Self and take my meds every day and on time.
I am sleeping 12-15 hours a day. Deep, deep sleep that leaves me groggy. I have not taken a Trazodone to sleep for 4 days now, just the Risperdal. I also re-added the Cymbalta and Wellbutrin (that was in the plan) to see if that would help me be more awake.
While I don’t feel like I have fallen into a depression, per se, I feel like this drawing… somewhat submerged… when, a few days ago, I was a colorful bird zipping and zooming over the meadow.
My body hurts so bad again. It was glorious to not feel pain for a few weeks. I am back to my plodding productivity cycle.
It feels like I am waving good-bye to a beloved friend who doesn’t have the Internet with which to keep in touch.
Intellectually, I know it is right to send the Mania on its way… all I have to do is read the past posts to see how terrifying the hallucinations were… which do remain, but on a physically smaller scale.
I am left with needing to sleep many hours a day, not being productive, in pain, have zero desire for sex and still having a completely scrambled brain that makes work almost impossible.
I, on the other hand, have been an up-down-up-down-sideways crazy person.
For fuck’s sake already.
I am really trying to be patient waiting for the meds and Manic cycle to even out, but in the meantime, my poor friends. Gads. They are bearing the brunt of my bizarre behavior. Giddy happy (said in a sing-song voice) one minute, then dark and brooding the next ( almost whispered in ominous bass tones). How they cope with my craziness is beyond me, but goddess love them, they are still hanging around. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they just skittered away, blocking me from their lives forevermore. Yet, they remain.
I have been up and down (har) with sleep. I will be awake for 23 hours, then sleep for 5. I took a 2-hour nap yesterday, without meds, and then was up another 20 hours, taking meds to get myself to sleep at 5am this morning. I was back up at 8am. Probably not enough sleep, but I am completely energized. (Or manic, however you want to say it.)
I’ve considered writing out a schedule, but now I think I am teetering on that Hypomanic State where it feels “normal”… not psychotic UP and not burying your soul down. I am in that so so good, without nasty hallucinations, pero conbastante energía… place.
I know some believe (and it is confirmed by Dr. Google) that Hypomania only occurs with Bipolar 2, but I will beg to differ. Over the years, I’ve had several episodes of Hypomania that created reams of articles and posts.
Where I am at the moment is a-WAKE, feeling positive. The hallucinations are on the periphery (not literally)… not terrifying, but not flowery, either. I can pretty much brush anything I see or feel aside… inconsequential gnats.
My written words are flowing easily. I am not spending money I don’t have (an enormous shift from the past 2 months). I have 18 half-finished posts calling my name; I want to do all of them at once.
And then there is talking to clients. I am still too speedy with them, talking over them, a huge no-no in phone sex work. My kids could even hear the difference when they called last night before the hurricane.
Talking to my kids and former partner Zack, I sobbed through the calls, acting like the hurricane was a freakin’ tornado about to take me from all of them. The tears come and go randomly. Have for 4 days now.
I know the goal is balance and that will probably come with a more regulated schedule.
I am just not ready yet. I don’t want to slow things down. Not yet. I feel too good.
I cannot remember the last time I slept 7 hours in a row. Well, I am on Lasix for the swelling from the Risperdal, so had to pee twice (and almost didn’t make it to the toilet I was so deep in sleep!), but fell right to sleep again, which is also weird for me.
I’ve been up since 4am and no hallucinations so far. Very odd. Nice, but odd.
As I have said several times, I have not researched the Mania stuff because I want to experience it instead of anticipating what might come next. But the bizarre nature of the two hallucinations where I was kicked & grabbed scared me so much I had to ask the Psych where the heck those came from. (I still have not researched, not sure I want to yet.)
He explained that the mind in Mania is like a record on 78 (fast, for you youngsters). Skipping grooves randomly. The grooves being fears & memories. Usually scary memories.
How the brain knows to tap only into the shit thoughts is beyond me, but it seems to do that.
My Hallucinations’ Origins
My Fears: Rats & roaches. HATE them both. Intensely. I sat on a rat and killed it once. (Through a couch cushion, but still.) And roaches are fucking everywhere in Florida. It was delightful to not have them in San Diego, but gads, trying to avoid them here is amazingly difficult. (I am meticulous in my room, so if there is even one crawling under the door… it is DEAD.)
Memories: I am open about having been raped (at 18) and molested as a child. When I told the doc about the aggressive hallucinations, he asked me what I had been discussing in therapy lately. I had no idea why he was asking, but told him we were working on trans issues with my former partner Zack… and we’d talked about when I had a pretty long discussion about rape one night with someone else recently. He said, “That would be it.” I was confused and he said the mind grabs those scary thoughts and memories and “acts them out.” I was pretty floored and have thought about it a lot since yesterday.
Where to Go From Here
I am tempted to look the mechanism up, but am still wanting to just stay in the moment until the whole episode is past.
Hurricane Matthew is on its way, so I am out to Costco this morning, then back to work (been on since 4am; no calls yet) afterwards. Hope I get lots of calls today.
My psychiatrist, whom I adore, was great, totally understanding where I have been. I did tell him about the suicidal thoughts, said the standard line “I do not have a plan to kill myself and promise I will not” to quell any concerns he might have.
I forgot to mention in the last post that all my hallucinations have vanished. ALL of them. I cannot remember a time in 2 decades that I have not had at least one hallucination going on, usually olfactory. My world has quieted… and it is disconcertingly odd.
I was prescribed Paxil, 20 mg a day and see the doc again in 2 weeks to see if we up it or not. I also lowered the Cymbalta from 90 mg a day to 60 mg a day for a week, then down to 30 mg after that. Interestingly, I have never taken Paxil in all these decades with Depression and Bipolar Disorder.
Dr. Google revealed that Paxil can bring on hypomania, mania, insomnia, agitation and more. I read those side effects and thought, “Bring it on!”
It takes 2-3 weeks to really begin working in earnest and then another few weeks to settle into the system. Crossing my fingers things get better fast. I miss writing!
The last 2 weeks have sucked even worse than when I wrote on July 13, 2017. Tears. Tears. Never-ending tears. The suicidal ideation is coming more often and is more vivid than when I started the Paxil. And the damn hallucinations are back.
Almost all of my time is in bed, either curled in pain (another post), staring at the ceiling or sleeping. I leave I Love Lucy on in the background. Sometimes Friends. I’m listening to Mists of Avalon (a book I love), but when I listen in bed, I fall right to sleep. I’ve replayed Chapter 6 four times already.
An Odd Sorta Depression
When looking for images about depression lying, I came across several pieces like this one below:
Not sure if I’m just more familiar with my depression than when I was younger or if it has really shifted, but I do not hear the lies the girl in the image does… nothing negative about my body, how alone I am in the world, how fat/ugly/sick I am. I did when I was younger, but not anymore.
I just feel sad. An overwhelming sadness. A pall of melancholia that separates me from the rest of you. I cannot even touch what I am sad about except for the endless distress I have about our country because of 45. But this joylessness is deeper than the fear-for-our-lives kind. I feel like I’m under the thick glass of my Nana’s cake pedestal, so close to others, but unable to penetrate the barrier of dreariness to make a connection.
The psych doc upped the Paxil to 30mg after 2 weeks on 20mg. He said he still might have to increase it when I see him in 2 weeks. For fuck’s sake, can’t this stuff take effect already? I hate this waiting part.
I have weaned off the Cymbalta. Is that the reason for this huge dip? Who knows anymore. He wanted to increase my Risperdal, but I refused; the eating is out of control with more Risperdal… can’t abide by that.
An aside: I despise the new packaging that seems to be taking over the medication world. I am not stupid, can follow directions, but they are incredibly difficult for me to get into. I’ve asked the Pharmacy to open them for me and then I rip the inner blister pack out, throwing the outer box away. If you haven’t see them, let me introduce you.
I’ve had lots of suicidal thoughts. A friend stayed with me one night when they were especially bad, reminding me every few minutes that Depression is a Liar. Hearing that, knowing it for certain, is what kept (keeps) me going. Hearing that so-and-so loves me doesn’t do much for my mindset because I rationalize that away easily. Depression Lies, however, works wonders.
The thoughts of suicide are so enticing. They call to me seductively as if they were sirens on the ocean’s rocks.
“A suicidal person may not ask for help, but that doesn’t mean that help isn’t wanted. People who take their lives don’t want to die—they just want to stop hurting.”
When I had my first serious clinical depression in my late teens, I didn’t understand the “wanting the pain to stop” aspect and teetered really close to the edge of death.
As I got older and had some decent therapy, I was able to verbalize the inner turmoil and excruciating emotional pain that was drawing me towards dying. Understanding that I didn’t really want to die, but just to stop hurting… a pain that went so deep as to injure my soul… I was able to cling to those brief seconds of “medication will help remove the pain… hang on a little bit longer.”
Medication and therapy have not failed me yet.
Work has been nearly impossible the way I feel. I can do one call, then need 2 hours off to regroup. The calls are easy, mostly with regulars, but the energy expenditure exhausts me. Even writing this post has taken 4 days so far. Ugh. I need to be able to work!
Okay, I need to get this out to you all. It is not a cry for help, I promise. I will not hurt myself, have no plans to. It’s just those random thoughts that flow through my mind… sometimes like heavy cinder blocks and others like wafting vapors. As long as they continue moving on the conveyor belt, I think I’m okay and headed towards healing.