So, my negativity stole my soul. Then, I got sick and decided to stop two of my meds just because I really wanted grapefruit and was tired of feeling blah. I also felt that I could handle it.
Six days later: my hand is throbbing from 10 hours of crochet in one day, my room is reorganized to the max, my closet is reorganized, I’ve developed a new recipe for a fruit and nut based dessert, and have had very little sleep. Let’s also add my penchant for just seeing what will happen and trying to make money by completing surveys.
I conceded that I was manic and while my brain and whole self argued that this is the best I have felt in about 6 years and the most intelligent I have felt since undergraduate college; however, I do not have the skills to bring it under control. So, I called the docs for meds and help in bringing myself down.
It sucked. It still sucks.
One of my biggest frustrations about meds is that they slow me down. While this keeps me from spending money, having sex with random strangers, engaging in business ventures, and deciding to completely change my life… It also limits my creativity and ability to function at such high levels. I read some books about it and many suffer, but use the highs to get things done and still have the capacity to maintain their lives. Okay. I know Fitzgerald drank himself to death, Plath and Sexton committed suicide, Van Gogh cut off his ear… And many more were institutionalized for long periods. I don’t want any of that, but I miss the capacity of keeping going.
When I was in college, I could write a story in a day, a report in an afternoon, I had my life scheduled in 15-minute increments and got so much accomplished. I worked two jobs, went to school, volunteered, and was involved with multiple groups on campus. I was awesome. Then depression struck and I was powerless and the meds that tampered my depression, also tampered my energy and that was the end.
I know things will get better, but people really don’t know what it is like. I was on top. Now, I am struggling to just keep going. Discovering and admitting that I am manic always sends me crashing and it is a feeling of compacted despair.