Boarding the Train to Crazytown!

My profuse apologies to everyone who read the partial post that went up last week.  Due to a power surge I lost 80% of the post – but it looked like it was all there when I published.  Ooopsie.  Please bear with me while I figure out this whole technology thing.  The following post isn’t exactly what I had originally written – but it gets the point across.  Thanks!

I’m bipolar.

For the past five years I’ve worked to keep this (some would say “juicy”) tidbit about myself on the down low.  I’ve never really been ashamed about it, but my openness about my mental health “status” caused some problems when I had an issue at work.  (That is yet another post.)  So, in order to combat that happening again I’ve just kept my “secret” to myself.

I’ve been on regular medication management for about 15 years.  About 13 months ago year I was sooo happy to be given the okay by my mental health professional to be without meds.  Yippee!!!!  I went into this little medication vacation with the full understanding that it would likely end in the not too distant future.

I’ve had a normal year with normal life highs and lows.  Things have been manageable.  I’ve stayed off the drugs and enjoyed not having to take a pill when I wake up in the morning and another (or more) before my head hit the pillow.  My mornings are easier now that I’m not pulling myself out of a drug-induced haze.  My digestive system is regular.  Hooray!  I’m no longer eating, eating, eating, eating and watching my pants get shorter as my butt gets bigger and then repeating the process again 10 minutes later since I’m STARVING.  Not dealing with medication side-effects has been fantabulous.

However, over the past few weeks I’ve noticed my mental instability steadily climbing.  Mania anyone?  Anyone?

When some people are manic they get to “party all the time”.  I just get angry.  VERY angry.  Cannot put together a sentence, stand there sputtering, throwing things angry.  I’m sure if I wasn’t ready to rip something apart I’d find it quite funny.  (Seriously, there are reasons they don’t give us crazy folks guns people!  It’s a very good thing.)

Over the last few working days things have started to spiral in a downward direction.  Last Thursday I was in tears by 9:30am in a locked office yelling expletives in frustration at two saintly co-workers who just let me go to town.  They were brave enough to have the door shut behind them – making their escape just THAT much more difficult if I really did lose it completely.  Keep in mind – this was after I had twisted my glasses into a mangled mess of wire and plastic.  The day had just begun and I was already dangerously close to the edge.  After carefully trying to bend my glasses into a useable shape again I worked to complete my workday while dreaming of going home to lay on my couch in the fetal position while watching mindless television.

I got home – and was still unsatisfied.  After trying to explain my craziness/unhappiness my partners and I went from “Hi Honey” to “Merry F*cking CHRISTMAS!” and cabinet kicking in about 10 seconds.  Whoa.  Seems I arrived at Crazytown when I wasn’t paying attention.

So, it has become clear to me that my medication vacation may be nearing it’s finale.  While my goal it to try and stay off the meds all together, I’d like to catch my current batch of crazy before they’re forcing the meds on me in a nicely padded room while I’m on a mandatory 72 hour hold.  (Oh, 5150 – how I haven’t really missed you ALL that much.)

My plan for the next three weeks is this: Routine, Routine, Routine.

1 – Eat three meals a day.  (Right now I’m eating three meals about every four days.  Not the best plan – although it is doing wonders for my waistline.)

2 – Get 7-8 hours of sleep every day.  Not more – not less.  Wake up and go to bed at the same time each day.

3 – Exercise a little each day.  (If I would just take my breaks at work and make a loop of the parking lot that will probably be enough.)

4 – Repeat, Repeat, Repeat.

I’ve found in the past that having a good routine where I take care of my basic needs will combat some of the crazy I’ve got brewing.  However, I fully recognize that if things aren’t more stable (aka, less yelling at inantimate objects and breaking necessary objects) within three weeks, I’ll be back in the shrink’s office getting a bottle of meds to add to my bedside table.  (I’ve had threats of a “She needs here medication” intervention in the past and would like to not have a repeat performance.)  While I’m not looking forward to the morning haze, bloating and fat pants that come with medication – I do realize that they’re worth the end result.

I’ll always be a Crazytown native – I just prefer to keep my visits to a minimum.


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