Being a grown-up or something

I went from temp for a year to perm. I work in MC still because I like it; in the Business & Economics Department, which I know nothing about; as an Administrative Aide II, "running the show" (apparently [which makes sense, seeing that I'm the only one here at all times]).
I have my own office, with a half-wall that divides mine with a part-time assistant's office. I have two large windows, a big desk, two bulletin boards. The windows are crucial. 3 weeks on the job. I'm very happy so far.
The AC is strong, so it's always cold in here; a perfect excuse for me to bring my contigo thermos and drink all of my random teas that have been lying around forever.

I drink caffeine now. Mostly aforementioned tea. I love coffee but it makes me jittery and ADHD as of now. I've never been a regular caffeine-imbiber in my life before now.

Can't. stop. ordering. dresses. Ugh, Modcloth. You will be the end of me. Give me gift certificates?

Probs eating too many sweets. Whatev, idc.

Started drinking regularly. Ha. My job in the guv'mint drove me to it (no, seriously.) and now I'm a regular connoisseur. Also (DRY) hard cider. Ugh again. Discovered local gin distillers! Bought George Clooney's tequila! Smuggled gin home from Colorado!
Subsequently decided to drink only on weekends. $$$$.

Sam and I got into bingeing on shows. The Wire, The Tudors, Breaking Bad, Twin Peaks, Boardwalk Empire, Mad Men, Adventure Time, etc. It's beautifully unproductive and sometimes inebriated.

Started seeing a psychiatrist forreal. Added Lamotrigine and Propranolol, and then hiked everything. It's been a month now on this combination/dosage, and I feel pretty good. A lot better.

Went to an AFP party. Cool stuff. Conflicting feelings about her but I like her.

And oh yeah, completely and wholly in love with my Sam.

Quick update:

• Painted my nails for the first time since middle school or something
• Finally cleaned my room mostly. I need a larger dresser.
• WE GOT A KITTEN HER NAME IS PHEBE.

• I got some medication. Lithium Carbonate 300mg 2x/day and Sertraline 50mg 1x/day. Standard medications for Bipolar II. This is from my GP. Long story short, my insurance has changed and I'm still not sure if I have mental health insurance right now. I hope my GP doesn't get sick of me asking for more refills on prescriptions they granted me based on the assumption that I'd be visiting a psych in the near future. That was 3 months ago...
• Despite the fact that it doesn't feel like my meds are working, I think they are. I've had a better quality of life, I guess.
• I will likely become a permanent employee relatively soon and I'm actually pretty happy about it
• Family stuff sucks and, emotionally speaking, I've kinda been all over the place
• But I think everything else has been better?
• Sam is my warm blanket, my worn record, my found heirloom, my old photograph, my kite in flight, my gin & tonic, my dog-eared book, my--HE'S THE FUCKING LOVE OF MY LIFE

Oscillating

I think, overall, things are looking up for me, emotionally. I'm learning how to communicate better what I am feeling, and what I need. It's frustrating sometimes that I have to be so blatant about things but I realize that if I can barely deal with myself, how can I expect someone else to just know how to handle me. There's only so far intuition can go with mental disorder, you know?

I'm in an in-between place. I can keep myself relatively stable and good, but when something does get me down, I explode, or implode. I either yell and cuss (I never really cussed before Sam. It's still weird to me. What a squaaare.) or I fold in on myself and it takes the greatest effort to speak at all. But it takes a little more to get me there. The real triumph is that I don't crumble into a pile of self-loathing nearly as easily. Which means I'm actually being more understanding and less selfish and definitely better able to be there.

I wish I didn't get to the point of like...agitation saturation. Critical mass.

I am bad at doing adult things so I didn't look for a psychiatrist for a long time. But I'm a doof because I realized the other day that my urgent care center treats depressive illnesses. I'm not sure if this includes Bipolar, and I'm eagerly awaiting an answer to my inquiry. Hoping!

A lot of good things are happening right now. I'm leaving for New Mexico this weekend. I'll be there for 10 days, and I'm psyched. I started a new job at Montgomery College in Germantown and just started full-time again. So I can pay down my credit card, thank goodness. Paying the minimum was making me anxious.

Sam wrote a song about me, and it makes me good-cry. For various reasons (probably mostly biased), it might be my favorite song of his. I could write forever about how amazed I am at our love. Even when I feel at the point of destruction, I know this is an intensely, heart-spillingly wonderful relationship. Today, the first lucid words out of his mouth as I woke him up before I left for work: "you're so pretty." N'aw.

Between a rock and a crazy place.

I'm in a high right now. Which means that I feel awesome about myself, quick to spring back, cheerful, and energetic.

It also means I can get into full-blown mania. In which I'm quick to anger, can't control what I feel, get stuck in cyclical thoughts of self-hatred and annoyance and self-awareness ("I know I shouldn't feel like this, I hate myself for feeling it, is it worth saying just because I feel it even though it will bring everything down or should I shut up and try ineffectually to feel better on my own..."), feel sensitive to the point of rawness about a lot of things that I normally would be able to brush off and/or rationalize and move on from.

I had a really crazy episode earlier this week, and it came right after two weeks of almost constant awesome feeling. I fell from a high place and crashed hard. I thought, well that was a good run. I guess I'm grateful for the only two weeks in the past two years that I've felt really me.

One part of my mental illness is the powerlessness of spontaneously forgetting things when they upset me. Oh, it's even shittier than it sounds. In the middle of an argument, I'll forget what I/Sam has just said. Literally JUST said. I'll forget previous arguments, I'll blank in the middle of a sentence. Right now, I cannot even recall what I got upset about the other day. This might seem like a blessing sometimes. It's not.

Because now I just remember silently sobbing myself to sleep, hardly staying that way, hating myself from the moment I awakened. Thinking about wanting to just die, to just not be alive, that Sam would be so much better off, that I add nothing, that I'm just an overly-sensitive terrible person. That I'm annoying, that I'm whiny and self-righteous and WAY TOO FUCKING HIGH-MAINTENANCE, and I resent myself for that (what the fuck?).



Or, tl;dr: Mania = too much. Too much of myself, too many feelings, too polar.


This is what I said to Sam the next day:

"I just hope you understand that when this is going on, it's not my choice

• I don't choose to feel as full of rage and self-hate and anguish
• there's a catalyst - in this case, not being able to get to sleep and being awakened rudely - but it is never just about that
• my brain just explodes all over itself
• I'm sorry if I make it harder for you to be sympathetic
• I just know that I have to at least try to just allow myself to feel some rage and upset and yell a little (even on the internet) and fume and feel debilitated like I can't get out of bed

because I know - only from experience and habit, certainly not from faith in the moment - that it will pass. If it gets that bad, it's my disorder, and I need to let it pass."

The "even on the internet" part was referring to some self-conscious microblogging I did on Tumblr that day. I just wanted to yell where people could, possibly, see me. I don't know why. I wouldn't call it "reaching out;" more like being more honest and uncloseted with people about my fucking insane self. I guess I wanted a response, like an "I feel that way too!" or something, but that wasn't my motivation. I feel pretty good about doing that, actually. I'm fucked up. I hope I come across as sincere and honest, as opposed to whiny and self-righteous, but I'm fucked up and high-maintenance sometimes and I'm doing what I can to grow some self-acceptance.

I'm not quite at the same high point as before this episode, and it'd probably be stupidly nostalgic to wish for that. I do feel good, though.

- I bought a bathing suit and I feel awesome in it. Why did I not embrace the high waist earlier in my life?
- I'm looking for jobs, and trying to figure out what I really, seriously want to do, while I'm still young and privileged and still have few enough responsibilities that I can take stupid risks.
- My psychiatrist opportunity fell through (the search said she was a psychiatrist but she was actually a psychologist -- meaning no meds. Uh, no. I need them pillz, thx). So I'm getting up the gumption to follow through with that again.
- I'm about 99% certain I will not be continuing to work at the DOT, for the following reasons:

• I would need to pay $4-5 THOUSAND dollars to take one [1!] full-time class that spans at least a year and leads me to a certification in something I don't actually want
• I don't have that money just lying around, WTF
• I have the option of getting the money directly from them. On the condition (of course) that it is a 3:1 relationship. I.e.: I commit to 1 year of this course, free of charge, and then I commit to 3 years of work with them. Hell no I don't want to work there for three years.
• I'd be working in MARAD. Which, as I've recently found out, is a goddamned war machine. Not exactly fitting with my ethics, and I wouldn't call myself a pacifist, but fuck falsely righteous slaughter/ethnocide/genocide and the stuff that fuels them.

That is my life update.

Now I lust after Rehoboth Beach and being self-employed.

Bipolar II Rant

I JUST FUCKING WANT TO BE HAPPY.

I just want to be normal and happy, no poles. No highs no lows. No disorder, just happy.

Self-pity FTL.

Sometimes I just want to rail at it. I want to kick and scream and pound my fists on the floor until I get my way. I want to tear at it with my teeth and nails until my disorder is nothing but shreds and through this beaten blockade I can see myself again.

As though it's something outside of me. Separate.

But this is wrong. It's stupid. I am Bipolar II, as much as I am a woman, American, queer, white, vegetarian, liberal. There's no getting rid of it. I have positive identities and I have negative ones, and this is, to me, my worst.

I get so hateful of myself. I don't know why, I just hate who I am; everything. I mean I don't, not really, but that's how I feel at the time and that makes it no less true...if that makes any sense at all. It probably doesn't; it's no less real. I hate being me. I hate my body. I hate my doubt. I hate my hate, my anger, my sadness. The fact that I can't control myself. I get so out of control. I don't do anything physical...or at least I haven't yet. Not since high school. Sometimes I want to and it scares me. It's the impulses I used to get. To break a window, to jump out of the car, to fly off a bridge, off the railing on the 9th floor in this building. To crash my car into someone, to punch, to throw things and want them to cause destruction. To hurt other people, for no reason other than impulse. I want to destroy my surroundings so it can be in perfect, hateful harmony with what's inside me. This confusion, this hysteria, this self-awareness-gone-haywire.

I hate myself and almost want everyone else to, too. Just so it matches. So I don't feel alone in it; I guess that's worse, the isolation. It's so backwards. Sometimes I almost want Sam to just stop loving me, to find someone better, to "realize" that I'm just dragging him down to my terrible depths, making him worse, making everything about his life worse. That I'll never be a chance for lasting happiness. And I quit my job and go live with my family. The fucked up mess they are right now, I've always fit right in. I don't have to try, I can just listen and be. I'm so selfish. I feel like the worst person. That's my weakness.

The highs are lower than the lows. I hate my anger; does that sound stupid? It is. It's worse than being debilitatingly sad. Sad can at least hold a sort of contentedness, a familiarity. I can be okay when I'm depressed. I am instead, right now, in a constant state of either not-okay, or just-on-the-verge. Constant. I am so fucking edgy. Everything startles me. Perpetual emotional exhaustion, trying to keep it all in. Shove it all up and shut the door quickly, but the slightest-- slightest of slight -- one self-deprecating thought -- one confused tone of voice -- will burst open the dam, send it tumbling back out to supersaturate my consciousness.


I feel a little better.