Home from the Hospital

Having bipolar disorder was unexpected and not in the plan. Having an eating disorder nearly kill me was not in the plan. Having trauma was most definitely not in the plan. It is so surprising how much these can change you.

So, I went manic and mixed and… Well, I made my way to the hospital to be safe.

Med changes and discovering things I didn’t want to know. Let me elucidate you: my antipsychotic caused weight gain and the lactation. The lactation is an unknown side effect, but stopped shortly after I quit taking it. I took myself off two meds and they took me off another (caused weight gain and freaked me out). I am now just on an antianxiety, an (different) antipsychotic, and a mood stabilizer. I also take some medicine to help with the PTSD. It is still a lot of meds, but I am taking fewer overall and feel better about myself.

I am going on vacation on Saturday; I will be away from home for about a week. This is my first vacation in years (since 2006) and I am hoping it goes well. I have been advised that it could be a bad decision to go, especially given the latest issues. However, I am truly tired of my diseases ruling my life. So, I am going.

If I were to be honest, the hospital was not a terrible decision. No, it was just frustrating to be there. I was bored most of the time; my ability to read and write was compromised by the mania. As my stay came to an end, I was able to think more clearly and felt more like myself. That is the oddest thing: I feel like myself. It worries me, in some ways, to have this much energy and to feel so much like my old self, but it also makes me smile. I have talked quite a bit over the past few days to my family, more than I have in months. This is all a good thing.

While I know this will not last, I embrace this feeling for now. I hate to not live my life to the fullest. I know already that my life is not what I want. I did not imagine this for myself. When I was a child, I wanted to be a marine biologist, an author, a minister, a missionary, and the list went on…

Having bipolar disorder was unexpected and not in the plan. Having an eating disorder nearly kill me was not in the plan. Having trauma was most definitely not in the plan. It is so surprising how much these can change you. While I feel like me for now, I recognize that it can change. In the meantime, I shall embrace this feeling of my normal and enjoy coffee and my life.

Bipolar Mania Relapse

Bipolar I strikes again and the joy comes crashing down.

 

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.