April 28, 2013

Last week I ran my roommate to the ER and we ended up staying there for just under 24 hours. It was very emotional, very trying, very I-don’t-ever-want-to-do-this-again-dear-god. I took the rest of the week off to take care of my friend and I haven’t left her side unless it was to run important errands for us. I paid bills, I talked to Human Resources people, I called her family doctor and made her an appointment, I yelled at my manager for telling me she wasn’t my kin why should it matter, I brought her water and food and got her caffeine at 1 AM from the soda machine that stands outside of the tiny trackside mart down the street. I helped her from place to place, I got her clean clothes and towels and tucked her into bed every time she got up, I brought her orange juice and kept her water bottle filled and brought her entertainment and kept her from being bored. My friend needed my help this week, and I was there to give it.

Damn it.

My tax check came in during all of this, thank goodness, because my paycheck will be utter shit now. And after all of that, after picking up cigarettes and putting them back down again (I’m on day two without smokes, go me) and after missing important doses of my medication and bla bla bla bla, I spent $100 on a big bag of funky green reefer, damn it.

Everything is real cool. I am so chill. 

Things are smooth now. No hurts, no sores, no imperfections in two CAT scans and a lot of bloodwork and 24 hour hospital observation. We’re just recovering now. Whew.



March 3, 2013

Yesterday, I had a full-blown manic phase happen, which I am still experiencing. I was going to write “fighting” or maybe “getting over” but I do neither of those things when I’m in a manic phase. I don’t fight it, I let it happen, and I don’t get over it. I’ll never just “get over it”.

I speak dramatically in order to emphasize importance; not to emphasize drama. Bipolar people have the unlucky disadvantage in that they’re so very…interestingly behaved that they’re mistaken often for being badly behaved, or overly-dramatic, attention-seeking, etc. This is quite unfair. The stigma attached to mental illness is something that will have to be continuously overcome; but through calm explanations, I’m sure we might be able to handle it confidently.

Mania comes in many different forms. I’d been feeling this mania creeping up on me for some time now–that’s the thing with my meds, see, I am afforded an objective look at my mood swings, and they creep up much more slowly, with less explosive impact. However, what I can’t help, I can’t help! Mania happens and I have to let it go, because I don’t have any choice in the matter.

Yesterday I worked out some of the signs of my mania with my best friend, whom I live with. Over our weekly treat of Mexican food, I had several tics. I fidgeted terribly. I knew I was and in some cases, like when I was eating, I tried to make the fidgeting into a flow, wherein I didn’t stop moving, but I moved without needing to pick at things like the table or my bottom lip or my fingernails or wring my hands or the napkin or look around and shake or jiggle my legs. I have a hard time keeping eye contact, or staring at other people in general–not that they’re scary, I just don’t know them, and I don’t want to know them, and maybe my friend knows them and that means I’ll have to get to know them, and that in itself is scary. I stuttered a little bit in the car.

That night after I got home from work (where I never stopped moving–work is fast-paced, which is good) my friend was listening to Vocaloids, one of her favorite bands. She promised me it was a short playlist, so I agreed to listen to it. I don’t like the Vocaloids. I don’t like the music at all. It doesn’t flow. It has no logical melody except in one or two songs and the beat drives me insane. Unhelpfully, I become a music Nazi when I have episodes like this. Also unhelpfully, I have zero concept of time. After three songs I thought, we have to be completely through the playlist by now, and I asked my friend if we could listen to something else.

Apparently I looked wild-eyed and begging, as if her music were the worst thing in the world, because we immediately had a little fight about it. We don’t have big fights, not anymore. I like to think we’re past that point, or hope we are. Little fights happen now, and it’s mostly over when I need to step back and realize that I’m being bipolar; sometimes it’s when she needs to step back and be tolerant of my being bipolar. Either way, we always manage to work it out and hug afterward, and compromise. We compromised by listening to something we both liked, which was the amazing Koji Kondo and the Hyrule Symphony Orchestra. I desperately needed something orchestral, anything at all would do.

I obsessed consistently over a Facebook comment. I just had to go back and check and see if there were any more comments. There were. Excellent, I hate wasting my time, even seconds of it, when I am manic.

Hmm, what else. Ah yes–I am also pushy. So pushy. We had to watch or do things that I was going to be okay with. I hate that, I think it makes me sound horrible and makes me horrible to be with, but the important thing during this time is to make compromises, I’ve learned. However hard it is to do so.

A lot of the time I feel so much like a child. I have to keep remembering that there is a great deal of miscommunication between my amygdala and the rest of my brain; my friend has to remember it, too, and though she’s worn thin by stress from work, oh my GOD TIME WARP JUST CAME ON THE IPOD, DANCE PARTY, she never fails to be supportive and tolerant. Bless her bones.




God I love this song. The euphoria it induces is ridiculous, like a drug. I love dancing to it, I love freaking out to it, I love singing to it, and I love air-guitaring to it.

I’m going to listen to this again and dance with a cat.

Oh right, I should probably bring medical cannabis into this at some point. I guess I can describe it like riding passenger in a Formula 1 race but being in complete control of the car. Without cannabis, I am not in control of the car, just the passenger. With cannabis, I can direct the vehicle while it is at top fucking speed.

And it’s kind of awesome.