I'm about to be fucking honest with myself. No sugar coating my shit, just telling it like it is, right now. I know I say I'm going to do this and that, and then I do diddly shit. Not a damn thing. My ADHD has been fucking with me. I've been so drained with all the projects, and none of them are complete. I'm trying not to be so hard on myself,f but fuck, I hate this. Hate me. Ready to beat the shit out of myself cause I can't understand how or why I am the way I am. I'm definitely at war with myself. Again. Big sigh, small shrug. Back at one. I have highs and lows. Not just like any average person. My highs are like a wired Energizer Bunny that never rests. My lows are so fucking low, it's almost tempting to end it all.
Some days I miss my highs. I get a lot done during my highs and jack shit during my lows. In my highs, I get up, dress up, and fuck shit up. Completing one task after another. The weight just melts right off my body. It's like I want to do everything, experience everything, and go everywhere, meet everyone, and see it all. Of course, without a wink of sleep. Energy for days. My thoughts spin through my mind at a hundred miles an hour, with what feels like a terabyte trying to process at lightning speed. What is, what isn't, what could be, what shouldn't be, past, present, future. It's just a lot. It's almost inspiring because ideas start to flow, and then creativity follows. I get inspired to do more, say more, and accomplish more. It's the best feeling in the world until the mania begins to undo all of me and my progress.
As wonderful as my highs can be, unfortunately, they can trigger my mania, and when that hits, it's like handing out fuck you cards to everyone around me. Everyone can get it. Anyone can catch these strays. Everything in me, all of me, no longer gives a shit about anything or anyone. When I’m manic, I’m enraged with psychotic thoughts roaming my brain. I talk so much shit when I’m manic. I can back it up, too, but don’t tempt me. Don’t try me cause I'm a danger to myself and anyone who provokes me. It's almost as if all I see is red without any reasoning. Turning into a MFn monster. My blood pressure soars to new heights, heated and ready to go to war with anyone and everyone, especially myself. I'm ready to ruin everyone's life, including mine. *tears*
My lows are undoubtedly my worst mood. I’m not sure why, but I turn into the fucking walking dead. I’m sad for no damn apparent reason. My body aches all over for free. I can barely get myself up to shower, let alone brush my teeth. I’m just MEH. During these lows, I can stare at the wall for hours, while my thoughts run in circles. I’m just here, there, alive, breathing, and existing. The weight of it all piles on my body like bricks, and I'm stuck. Stuck in a reality where everyone is living except me. My PTSD comes in heavy, as a massive fear of leaving the house rolls over me. I'm paralyzed by my anxiety. It's melancholy, for me. It drags ass. Almost feels like the longest stage of this entire BiPolar calender. I dread the lows. I cycle through these moods pretty slowly.
If that doesn't already sound inconvenient, there’s the psychosis. Luckily for me, I’ve only fallen into deep psychosis once. However, it lasted an entire week. Yes, a whole ass week. I lost a damn week to this fuckery. A week I’ll never get back. During psychosis, I was in a dreamlike state. TBH, I thought I was a goner. My hallucinations were extreme. I was awake but not alert. My body was present, but my mind was gone. I even thought I was on a good trip until it didn’t end. I was here, yet not here, at the same damn time, if that even makes sense. I can remember experiencing dreams. Dreams of having conversations with loved ones who have already passed on. I remember reminiscing on good times and collecting hidden gems of insightful life lessons. After all, I didn’t know if I was alive or gone. Dream after dream, some comforting, some scary, some reliving the past, others felt like a movie. A movie where I was the main character, because that's how I lived most of my life until my diagnosis of BP1 with PTSD. A film of me trying so desperately to right my wrongs.
My husband's experience of my psychosis was entirely different from mine. He still remembers me having conversations with nobody but the walls and ceilings. He recalls me getting naked every chance I could, while he tried to keep me covered up. All the while, he was fighting to go streaking. Something I'd never do when stable. My poor daughter was creeped out by how she'd wake up in the middle of the night, with me standing on the foot of her bed, dead ass staring her in the face, but blank in my eyes. Just a shell of myself watching her. I remember seeing her during psychosis and feeling like I kept reaching to hug her, and the distance between us would grow. This made me so sad because apart from my husband, she is the most important being in my life. My little lighthouse in my wave of emotions. Unfortunately, her experience felt more like the beginning of the Conjuring series. She really thought I was possessed and went to spend her night with her cousin. My family remembers me making strange messes, breaking things apart to put them back in different pieces, and drawing on anything I could get my hands on. Drawing letters, numbers, and symbols, and making bizarre demands. This is the phase where hospitalization is highly recommended, if not required. My poor husband did not know how to deal with me, but he tried his best. He had HR rush his FMLA papers so he could take the week off to care for me. Why didn't he take me to the hospital? Many have asked, and this is my understanding. He didn't want me to wake up from psychosis, not recognize my surroundings, or feel alone or involuntarily committed. He felt that admitting me was neglecting me to the care of others. He now understands the importance of getting me immediate help in the future.
At this moment, life's been breezy, but not easy. I could say I'm doing great, but I don't want to lie. Some days, like today, feel like I'm shuffling through life with a playlist of hobbies. My ADHD dilemma. I'm bored with everything I'm doing right now. No matter what I do, I can't get rid of the feeling that I should be doing more. I start so many creative projects, but never complete any. I did get some help. Currently, on a cocktail of medications to treat some of these symptoms. I've acquired a license to medicate or indulge in cannabis, legally. I have been prescribed Ketamine for my aggressive behavior an entirely different trip. Are they helping? I think so. Just trying to do everything I can to get back to myself. I miss me. I don’t ever want to visit manic psychosis again, for fear of never returning to myself. I'm wrestling with so much inside of myself. It's like a war between my left and right brain, or between my heart and brain, or even my body vs. my feelings. I want to post, blog, or share my experience to connect with others like me, but I get so distracted with overthinking anything I'm working on.
Sometimes during my severe depressive state, my paranoia turns everything into a consipirancy. The outside is not safe. I have experieced months of Agoraphobia where I'd be so nauseated by the thought of opening our front door to the outside world. I close all blinds so the world can't take a peak at me. I'll lock every door to prevent intruders from taking me or slightly crack one window to ear huslte anyone conspiring against me outside. The battle between what's real an what's not is begins to get intense. I have been prescribed medication I only take when needed to hush the voices that have kept me a prisoner in my home. I have many different scrips to help stabalize me. Treatment cost a bitch an arm and leg. Insurance is a little tricky asshole. Very limited options for mental health care. Aside from my Rheumatoid Arthritis, Hypertension and need for a knee replacement. The healtcare billings are starting to pile up. I feel like some days I'm drowing. Some I"m drained but most I'm just so scared of myself.
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