Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
It's coming on already. It's not even Labor Day yet, and it's bearing down on me hard.
I've been having a hard time sleeping since I got back from Florida. I had such a fantastic time there with Kitty--despite the fact that it rained pretty much the whole time--that I think the reality of being stuck here alone in this house for another long, lonely fall and winter has hit me hard and ultimately started the inevitable wobble into crazy.
The dysphoric mania is ramping itself up. I haven't been able to do anything productive for 2 days. I didn't get to sleep until 8 am and then was up again by 3 pm. But the thought of doing anything that requires getting out of bed and/or doing something other than playing Neopets or Facebook games seems an obstacle that's absolutely insurmountable. I took my Lamictal hours ago, and my brain hasn't shut up yet. If I don't do something, the depression, caused by the days getting shorter, is sure to follow and stack on top of the mania, and it's back to mixed hell for Teh Bunneh. :(
Goddammit, why do I have to be crazy?
But there's so much that needs doing that I HAVE to pull my shit together tomorrow. But, of course, the demon is trying so hard to break my grip over him that he's telling me that I shouldn't go and take another 25 mg. of Lamictal and a sleeping pill in hopes of breaking this cycle before it gets too out of hand. I know I need to, though. I haven't gone off the deep end yet, and I would like to keep it that way. This is why I would give my right arm for PRN antipsychotics. But, alas, I can't afford a psychiatrist, and my doctor has yet to give them to me.
But lemme tell you a little something, folks: If I don't stop this runaway train soon, I'm going to be in for Fall 2010, redux.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
The Only Place To Say It
Happy Birthday, love.
I wish I could tell you myself, but I know you won't want to hear it from me. So I will say it here, where it will hurt no one, and hope that you are really and truly happy, both today and always.
~B. Rabbit
I wish I could tell you myself, but I know you won't want to hear it from me. So I will say it here, where it will hurt no one, and hope that you are really and truly happy, both today and always.
~B. Rabbit
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Well, Now I've Done It
Well, I've done something that'll probably make me the biggest bitch in history, but I had no choice.
Trying to continue on the way I was going was making me sick. The much-too-short vacation in Destin helped, but let's tell the truth: I am much too broke to go barreling down to the ocean every time I get overwhelmed. I will be lucky to go back next year, so I had to come up with an alternative way of dealing with it, and it was past time for me to do so.
Studies have shown that people with bipolar live, on average, a lot shorter lives than normal people, and that's even when the numbers are adjusted for suicide rates. Different studies come up with different numbers, but the most optimistic ones say that being bipolar knocks about 8 years off your life span. The more pessimistic ones say it's more like 25.
They cite a number of factors, including the shitty lifestyle choices. Most of us are overweight. Many of us are heavy cigarette smokers (not me, thank God). Others are alcoholics and/or drug addicts. Many of us live isolated lives (definitely me) and don't make enough money to provide ourselves a decent standard of living (also me). And then there's the fact that it's rare that bipolar is the *only* thing wrong with the people who suffer from it. We're a lot more likely to suffer from heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and so forth.
In my opinion, there's another factor involved that I suppose there's no real way of measuring. When you spend your whole life fighting the crazy, it wears you out. Your body just craps out on you. Between the crazy and the various things wrong with me which I will not even attempt to catalog here, I cannot remember a time in my life when I was ever NOT tired. Any mental stress I'm under only compounds the problem.
I've been under a goddamn lot of mental stress lately. My body is starting to crack under the pressure. I'm back to having migraines regularly, which is something that hasn't happened since I got off Depo in 2007. My asthma has started flaring up again, which usually doesn't happen until it starts getting colder. My body is reacting to all the stress by making me fucking miserable.
I cannot keep living this way.
I could smell the tang of fall on the wind today, which gave me a brief moment of panic. Usually, it doesn't happen this early. But I know that I always go mixed, at least to some degree, in the fall, and I'm going to do everything I can to fight it off. I can't have another Fall of 2010 happen again.
But I also know that all this shit going on around me will drive me down that hole if I don't do something. It did it last time. There's no reason to think it won't do the same again this time. But I can't have that happen.
So I had to step up and do something I should've done a long goddamn time ago but didn't because I was so conflicted about it. But the truth is, I've spent my whole life bending over backwards to accommodate other people while hardly ever getting anything in return for that. I've lived my whole life in the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" quandary. For the most part, I went with "damned if you don't" because it meant I could avoid confrontation.
But, clearly, "damned if you don't" is getting me nowhere and making me sick in the process. I'm going to die early as it is; I doubt I'll make it into my 50s. No use in driving myself into an even earlier grave.
So let's try "damned if you do" for awhile and see if that works out any better, shall we?
Trying to continue on the way I was going was making me sick. The much-too-short vacation in Destin helped, but let's tell the truth: I am much too broke to go barreling down to the ocean every time I get overwhelmed. I will be lucky to go back next year, so I had to come up with an alternative way of dealing with it, and it was past time for me to do so.
Studies have shown that people with bipolar live, on average, a lot shorter lives than normal people, and that's even when the numbers are adjusted for suicide rates. Different studies come up with different numbers, but the most optimistic ones say that being bipolar knocks about 8 years off your life span. The more pessimistic ones say it's more like 25.
They cite a number of factors, including the shitty lifestyle choices. Most of us are overweight. Many of us are heavy cigarette smokers (not me, thank God). Others are alcoholics and/or drug addicts. Many of us live isolated lives (definitely me) and don't make enough money to provide ourselves a decent standard of living (also me). And then there's the fact that it's rare that bipolar is the *only* thing wrong with the people who suffer from it. We're a lot more likely to suffer from heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and so forth.
In my opinion, there's another factor involved that I suppose there's no real way of measuring. When you spend your whole life fighting the crazy, it wears you out. Your body just craps out on you. Between the crazy and the various things wrong with me which I will not even attempt to catalog here, I cannot remember a time in my life when I was ever NOT tired. Any mental stress I'm under only compounds the problem.
I've been under a goddamn lot of mental stress lately. My body is starting to crack under the pressure. I'm back to having migraines regularly, which is something that hasn't happened since I got off Depo in 2007. My asthma has started flaring up again, which usually doesn't happen until it starts getting colder. My body is reacting to all the stress by making me fucking miserable.
I cannot keep living this way.
I could smell the tang of fall on the wind today, which gave me a brief moment of panic. Usually, it doesn't happen this early. But I know that I always go mixed, at least to some degree, in the fall, and I'm going to do everything I can to fight it off. I can't have another Fall of 2010 happen again.
But I also know that all this shit going on around me will drive me down that hole if I don't do something. It did it last time. There's no reason to think it won't do the same again this time. But I can't have that happen.
So I had to step up and do something I should've done a long goddamn time ago but didn't because I was so conflicted about it. But the truth is, I've spent my whole life bending over backwards to accommodate other people while hardly ever getting anything in return for that. I've lived my whole life in the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" quandary. For the most part, I went with "damned if you don't" because it meant I could avoid confrontation.
But, clearly, "damned if you don't" is getting me nowhere and making me sick in the process. I'm going to die early as it is; I doubt I'll make it into my 50s. No use in driving myself into an even earlier grave.
So let's try "damned if you do" for awhile and see if that works out any better, shall we?
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Love's Awakening
A few days ago, I said I'd had an epiphany but hadn't had time to post it yet. I'm taking time now.
****Disclaimer****
I have just taken a sleeping pill. If this gets more incoherent as it goes on, that's why.
Several days ago, when I heard the news, all I could think about was how I wanted to die. I even sent Kitty some messages that she must've thought were strange, coming out of the blue like that. But even though I hadn't decided how I was going to do it yet, I was ready and willing to kill myself to keep from having to deal with the pain, and the messages were a way of wrapping up loose ends, so to speak.
But I am still here. I don't know why entirely. But I am. I won't bore you with the details.
The next day, the day after I heard the news, there was a profound change that came over me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that, even if I were given the opportunity, I would not trade places with any of them. This has not always been the case.
At one time, I would've. Even knowing that it would hurt at least one of them--probably more than just one--I would have done it, anyway, claiming that I'd been through enough hurt for one lifetime, so it was time for them to experience some of it for awhile. But now? No. Not even if a genie came to sit at the foot of my bed and asked me what my three wishes were.
Why? Because barring some sort of unforeseen "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" kind of deal, my doing that would hurt them. Casting one of them out in favor of myself would bring on all kinds of pain and misery, and I can't bear the thought of the people I love hurting, especially not on account of me.
So if someone has to suffer so that the others don't have to, then let it be me. I've had a lifetime of pain, so I'm probably better equipped to deal with it, brain crazies not withstanding. If I have to spend the rest of my life alone and broken-hearted so that they can be happy, I will do it without question.
I love them. I want them to be happy. If it takes my absence in order to accomplish that, so be it. I will bear my pain in (relative) silence and be glad that they are not the ones in my shoes.
If I ever had any doubts whether or not my love for them--all of them--is real or just a crazy person's obsessive inability to let go of the past, then those doubts are gone. It is most assuredly the former, and even if I do suffer for it the rest of my life....Well, if I'm not quite at peace with it, I have at least accepted my lot.
Be happy, my loves. I'll stand in the back and hope that I'm doing the right thing for once.
****Disclaimer****
I have just taken a sleeping pill. If this gets more incoherent as it goes on, that's why.
Several days ago, when I heard the news, all I could think about was how I wanted to die. I even sent Kitty some messages that she must've thought were strange, coming out of the blue like that. But even though I hadn't decided how I was going to do it yet, I was ready and willing to kill myself to keep from having to deal with the pain, and the messages were a way of wrapping up loose ends, so to speak.
But I am still here. I don't know why entirely. But I am. I won't bore you with the details.
The next day, the day after I heard the news, there was a profound change that came over me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that, even if I were given the opportunity, I would not trade places with any of them. This has not always been the case.
At one time, I would've. Even knowing that it would hurt at least one of them--probably more than just one--I would have done it, anyway, claiming that I'd been through enough hurt for one lifetime, so it was time for them to experience some of it for awhile. But now? No. Not even if a genie came to sit at the foot of my bed and asked me what my three wishes were.
Why? Because barring some sort of unforeseen "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" kind of deal, my doing that would hurt them. Casting one of them out in favor of myself would bring on all kinds of pain and misery, and I can't bear the thought of the people I love hurting, especially not on account of me.
So if someone has to suffer so that the others don't have to, then let it be me. I've had a lifetime of pain, so I'm probably better equipped to deal with it, brain crazies not withstanding. If I have to spend the rest of my life alone and broken-hearted so that they can be happy, I will do it without question.
I love them. I want them to be happy. If it takes my absence in order to accomplish that, so be it. I will bear my pain in (relative) silence and be glad that they are not the ones in my shoes.
If I ever had any doubts whether or not my love for them--all of them--is real or just a crazy person's obsessive inability to let go of the past, then those doubts are gone. It is most assuredly the former, and even if I do suffer for it the rest of my life....Well, if I'm not quite at peace with it, I have at least accepted my lot.
Be happy, my loves. I'll stand in the back and hope that I'm doing the right thing for once.
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