I had big plans to wake up at 5:00 this morning to finish a few little loose ends for our big Christmas snack day at work and to make breakfast for my hard-working husband. I also had big plans to be out the door a little before 7:30 so I could drop my girl off at school in peace and put on mascara before I got to work and get a Diet Dr. Pepper before the 8:15 rush at my Sonic of choice.
And then I managed to sleep through the SEVEN alarms I set on my phone (5:00, 5:03, 5:05, 5:07, 5:10, 5:12, and 5:15), woke up at 7:05, and said some very loud, very unladylike words before I tripped over the quilt and fell face first out of bed.
I untangled myself from the sheets, let (see also: threw) the dogs out to potty, brushed my teeth (with the wrong toothbrush - GAG), put (see also: threw) the ham and cheese sliders into the oven to bake, set (see also: threw) my girl's clothes out for her, and got (see also: threw) her out of bed. I stumbled into the shower and washed the important stuff (Confession: There were no legs shaved today. AND IT IS DRIVING ME NUTS.) and then got (see also: jumped) out to sprint my towel-clad self through the house to get the sandwiches out of the oven before they burned. My precious husband was headed home from working all night and was undoubtedly so tired he probably couldn't see straight to even drive home. But because he knows that I'm captain of the Struggle Bus these days, he graciously offered to take our girl to school so she wouldn't be counted tardy.
I managed to get myself and the sandwiches out the door only a few minutes late (These days that pretty much counts as early, because THE STRUGGLE.) and was blessed with plenty of red lights on my way to work for the applying of the mascara, because back-alley-hooker-esque (Don't judge me. It's a word.) eye makeup is my best defense against the dark circles under my eyes. Who needs anti-aging products when you've got Sonia Kashuk's black onyx eyeliner and Maybelline chaotic lash mascara?? NOT THIS GIRL.
My husband didn't say anything to me about being a failure as a wife and mother and human being but I feel like I was reading his mind and it said, "YOU ARE A FAILURE AS A WIFE AND MOTHER AND HUMAN BEING BECAUSE WHY CAN YOU NOT GET OUT THE DOOR ON TIME AND WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS IN A RUSH AND WHY CAN YOU NOT STOP BEING SUCH A LOSER WHO SUCKS AT LIFE AND WHY DO I CONSTANTLY HAVE TO PICK UP YOUR SLACK AND WHY CAN YOU NOT JUST GET YOUR SH*T TOGETHER ALREADY?!?!?!?!?!?!?"
That is definitely what he was thinking.
Or maybe he didn't think that at all and my brain cooked up that little rant because I am so chocked full of insecurities and frustration and feelings of failure? I don't know. I don't have time to ponder those kinds of things, because THE STRUGGLE.
So I'm finally at work, and all the things are cramping (Being female is SO SUPER FUN sometimes. Snort.), and my head is spinning in eleventy billion different directions, and I just can't seem to get it together.
I'm also constantly checking the seams of my pants (Just kidding. Let's be real - LEGGINGS.) because I have this irrational paranoia that they're going to split. (Is it still irrational if it's happened before? More than once? Don't answer that.) Because in addition to affecting my liver function and my ability to drink even a single glass of wine and making my hair thinner, my meds also MAKE ME FATTER. For serious. All four (FOUR!) of the drugs I take are linked to weight gain. Just like I didn't have time to ponder whether or not my husband was really doubting my ability to be a functional wife/mother/human being, I don't have time to ponder whether or the entirety of the weight is all from the meds or if it's from the carbs/butter/sugar/chips/salsa/queso/nachos/pizza/cookies/cake/Christmas candy that goes into my mouth, because THE STRUGGLE.
I've made my list and checked it twice, but I still feel like there's something falling through the cracks. OH THAT'S RIGHT - I DIDN'T TAKE MY MEDS. AGAIN. It seems as though in addition to being incapable of obeying my alarm clock, I am also incapable of remembering to take my meds. There is a slight (see also: ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND PERCENT) chance that this memory malfunction has significantly contributed to my heightened state of panic or mania or anxiety or whatever breed of crazy this is.
I am feeling so very bipolar this morning, and I may or may not be able to keep it under wraps long enough to make it through the day. If you happen to find me in a bathroom stall or my car or a corner of Target crying like a freak, you'll know which way it went.
There is such a temptation to fall down the rabbit hole with this and to convince myself I'm a total failure and that I shouldn't even wake up tomorrow. It makes me sad that I can even fathom having those thoughts, but lying to myself - or to you - about it won't do any good. Even with all of the progress and positive steps I've made, the demons are still there and still so close to the surface. I get so angry with myself over thinking that way that I end up thinking it even more. Did you catch that? I get so mad at myself for wanting to give up and die that it makes me want to give up and die.
I'm not suicidal today, and I'm not a danger to myself, (Well - I'm not anymore of a danger to myself than I am on the regular. Falling out of bed, face planting the side of the car, scalding my lap with hot coffee, and gouging out my eye with a mascara wand don't count as suicide attempts. That's just a day in the life of me.) but it isn't so far-fetched that I can't picture it coming to that. These are the days that I really have to buckle down and use my coping mechanisms (and maybe my anxiety meds if it gets that serious) and talk myself out of the downward spiral that feels so near. These are the days that are hard to explain to anyone.
There is absolutely nothing wrong other than the storm raging inside my head. I ran a little late today and didn't get everything done that I wanted to get done before work. That is a totally typical day for most of us, especially when small children are involved. My husband had to pick up a little slack for me, and that's totally typical too. Picking up slack is what husbands and wives do. My rational self knows that and realizes that there are just as many times that I've picked up some slack for him, but my bipolar self can't see past what feels like a monumental failure punishable only by death. And I'm serious.
I'm currently resisting the urge to text bomb Husband and ask him why he's so mad at me and why he thinks I'm such a failure EXCEPT HE DID NOT SAY THOSE THINGS. It's days like today that he really deserves a medal, because I would bet money that before the day is up I won't be able to stop myself from badgering him about what a loser I think he thinks I am. I won't be able to stop all of the negative, self-loathing crap (Just being honest. That's totally what it is. Now why can't I stop it?) that pours out when I feel like I've let him down. And just like the patient, kind, compassionate (and did I mention PATIENT?!?) man he is, he'll tell me it's okay and that he doesn't even remotely feel that way. Then I'll probably continue to beat that dead horse until the poor thing isn't only dead but is instead mangled to bits (see also: Did anyone see the video on Facebook of the exploding whale? IT IS JUST LIKE THAT.) and keep peppering him with questions and barbs directed at myself until it's out of my system. Like I said - I've made a LOT of forward progress, but the demons are still there. I can't decide if it's worse to feel like it grabs me out of nowhere or to know it's coming and feel helpless to stop it.
Forgive how this may sound (Or don't forgive it. I'm not here to be polite.), but please spare me the judgment dressed in encouraging words. I realize that the rational thing to do is to "chill out" or "let it go" or "not sweat the small stuff" or "focus on what's really important" or "not make a mountain out of a mole hill." I realize how easy it must look to just stop, calm down, and choose a different track for today. I just hope you realize how much easier all of that is to say than do.
xo.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
the one where i didn't take my meds.
Well we survived the big move.
Our house is going to be absolutely precious when we finally get it put together. For now, though, it's a gigantic mess. I've done my best to be calm, cool, and collected throughout the entire fiasco, and I haven't done a bad job.
The proverbial wheels fell off the proverbial bus more than a couple of times (It would be more accurate to say that the proverbial bus drove off a proverbial cliff and burst into proverbial flames while hurtling down into a proverbial ravine. But I digress.), and I was more than a little shocked each time that I kept it together.
The refrigerator was supposed to stay with the house but the seller took it and we had no fridge and only found out after closing and my husband had been awake for 26 hours and was approaching homicidal maniac status and I could literally see him about to pop a blood vessel? No big deal. I handled it.
We found an entire wall full of water damage and rotted baseboards behind where the washer and dryer went and had to pay a plumber multiple hundreds of dollars to cut a hole in our garage wall and rip out the old plumbing and replace it with new plumbing just so we could hook up our washer and dryer? No big deal. I handled it.
We went to storage to get our bed only to realize that we had given it away when we sold our old house and then both forgot about it which meant we had no bed and would have to buy a mattress and box spring and frame before we could sleep in our new house? No big deal. I handled it.
The antique buffet belonging to my great-grandmother fell over on the trailer while we were moving it in the rain and nearly smashed the whole thing to toothpicks? No big deal. I handled it.
All of the furniture I ordered ended up being the wrong size and had to be returned and re-ordered and it took four trips to Target on the same day to get it all straight and I ended up crying in the customer service line because THE STRUGGLE IS SO VERY REAL and I won't have much in the house for weeks and I had my heart set on having it all done this week and patience is something I lack in a major way? No big deal. I handled it.
Pinocchio the elf came back from the North Pole and then I forgot TWICE to move him after the very first day and destroyed my perfect elf-moving record? No big deal. I handled it.
I was so tired on the first day after the holiday break that I drove all the way to where I used to work before I realized I DO NOT WORK THERE ANYMORE and turned around and drove to my actual job? No big deal. I handled it. (Read: I got Starbucks with a double shot for lunch. My brain and body and everything else are a million kinds of tired. Moving is for young people, and I'm not one of those people anymore.)
The Christmas tree didn't go up until Thanksgiving night and didn't get lights until last night and won't get ornaments until tonight when I let my girl loose with the decorating and try to not be so neurotic about the whole thing that I ruin the magic of Christmas and cause her to need additional therapy in addition to the damage I've already caused since I've realized that I can't do every single thing in a single day no matter how hard I try? No big deal. I'm handling it. (But know this - our Christmas tree will be up until at least February. Believe it.)
So as I was getting dressed for work yesterday (and by dressed I mean packing on the mascara and black eyeliner until you can no longer tell where the makeup ends and the dark circles begin) I was talking to my husband (and by talking I mean whining and bitching) about how I just didn't feel good and couldn't get over being so exhausted and was worried I had the flu and how do people move like this and not need a week in the hospital to recover when I had a horrible realization:
I COULD NOT REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I TOOK MY MEDS.
In my infinite wisdom (and by wisdom I mean lunacy) I apparently stashed all my meds somewhere SO I WOULD NOT LOSE THEM during the move and for the love of all things Target NOW THEY ARE LOST.
Not only did I not have a clue when I had last taken them, but NOW THEY ARE LOST.
Many tears and cuss words later, I called the pharmacy and was able to get refills for everything. Thankfully the universe took pity on me (and my poor husband) and I was due for refills anyway, so I didn't have to beg or yell or cuss to get the replacements. I finally got back on track and took everything last night, and with any luck I'll be human again in a day or two. The headaches and extreme tiredness and the apparent hole in my brain all make sense now. I was going through withdrawals! The big-mama-sized doses that I take of everything make it extremely ill-advised (and probably downright harmful) to just stop cold-turkey, but I don't think any permanent damage has been done.
And I didn't murder anyone, so that's a plus.
I was already more than a little impressed with myself for how well I handled all the bumps we encountered during the move, but now knowing that I handled it all WHILE OFF MY MEDS, I feel like I deserve a medal. Or the monogrammed wallet from Madewell that has had me drooling for a couple of months. (It'll be here in a week!) Then I realize how irresponsible - and dangerous - it was to lose track of taking my meds. Maybe I don't deserve that wallet after all. (Oops. Maybe I'll make myself wait a while before using it. Probably not, but it sounds good in theory.)
The thought that I managed as well as I did and maybe it was a clue I didn't need the meds anymore crossed my mind for about four seconds before I snapped back to my senses. I got lucky and didn't have a total meltdown, but it could have been so bad, y'all. I'm so grateful that it didn't go that way and that I've lived to tell the tale here instead of punching my ticket for another trip to the land of stick-less corn dogs and zip-tied tennis shoes.
In the grand scheme of things I think this hiccup can be filed under No Harm, No Foul (or Moving Sucks And Will Make You Lose The Marbles You Have Worked So Hard To Find). But the moral of the story is this: Don't be like me. Don't risk it. Don't lose track of something so vital to your sanity (or in my case, the lack thereof). I've gone back to my trusty phone alarm to remind me to take my meds every night at least until I get back into a routine.
One of the most dangerous tricks a bipolar mind can play is to make you think that you're doing so well that you don't need the meds anymore. Back in the days of shame and embarrassment I loved to daydream about the day that I would wake up and not need my meds anymore (You know - when I wasn't daydreaming about the day I wouldn't wake up at all.). I was delusional. I'll always need my meds, and the combination that's working so well for me right now probably won't work forever. That's just my reality. This roller coaster isn't one that has a stopping point, and I'm still learning to live with that realization every day. The anxiety that accompanies that thought is something I still struggle with on the regular, and that's okay. It's allowed. Navigating life with a mental illness is a lot of trial and error (which is really true for anyone if you stop to think about it), and that's okay too. I'll keep going for now with what works, and when it doesn't work anymore we'll recalibrate and move right along.
xo.
Our house is going to be absolutely precious when we finally get it put together. For now, though, it's a gigantic mess. I've done my best to be calm, cool, and collected throughout the entire fiasco, and I haven't done a bad job.
The proverbial wheels fell off the proverbial bus more than a couple of times (It would be more accurate to say that the proverbial bus drove off a proverbial cliff and burst into proverbial flames while hurtling down into a proverbial ravine. But I digress.), and I was more than a little shocked each time that I kept it together.
The refrigerator was supposed to stay with the house but the seller took it and we had no fridge and only found out after closing and my husband had been awake for 26 hours and was approaching homicidal maniac status and I could literally see him about to pop a blood vessel? No big deal. I handled it.
We found an entire wall full of water damage and rotted baseboards behind where the washer and dryer went and had to pay a plumber multiple hundreds of dollars to cut a hole in our garage wall and rip out the old plumbing and replace it with new plumbing just so we could hook up our washer and dryer? No big deal. I handled it.
We went to storage to get our bed only to realize that we had given it away when we sold our old house and then both forgot about it which meant we had no bed and would have to buy a mattress and box spring and frame before we could sleep in our new house? No big deal. I handled it.
The antique buffet belonging to my great-grandmother fell over on the trailer while we were moving it in the rain and nearly smashed the whole thing to toothpicks? No big deal. I handled it.
All of the furniture I ordered ended up being the wrong size and had to be returned and re-ordered and it took four trips to Target on the same day to get it all straight and I ended up crying in the customer service line because THE STRUGGLE IS SO VERY REAL and I won't have much in the house for weeks and I had my heart set on having it all done this week and patience is something I lack in a major way? No big deal. I handled it.
Pinocchio the elf came back from the North Pole and then I forgot TWICE to move him after the very first day and destroyed my perfect elf-moving record? No big deal. I handled it.
I was so tired on the first day after the holiday break that I drove all the way to where I used to work before I realized I DO NOT WORK THERE ANYMORE and turned around and drove to my actual job? No big deal. I handled it. (Read: I got Starbucks with a double shot for lunch. My brain and body and everything else are a million kinds of tired. Moving is for young people, and I'm not one of those people anymore.)
The Christmas tree didn't go up until Thanksgiving night and didn't get lights until last night and won't get ornaments until tonight when I let my girl loose with the decorating and try to not be so neurotic about the whole thing that I ruin the magic of Christmas and cause her to need additional therapy in addition to the damage I've already caused since I've realized that I can't do every single thing in a single day no matter how hard I try? No big deal. I'm handling it. (But know this - our Christmas tree will be up until at least February. Believe it.)
So as I was getting dressed for work yesterday (and by dressed I mean packing on the mascara and black eyeliner until you can no longer tell where the makeup ends and the dark circles begin) I was talking to my husband (and by talking I mean whining and bitching) about how I just didn't feel good and couldn't get over being so exhausted and was worried I had the flu and how do people move like this and not need a week in the hospital to recover when I had a horrible realization:
I COULD NOT REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I TOOK MY MEDS.
In my infinite wisdom (and by wisdom I mean lunacy) I apparently stashed all my meds somewhere SO I WOULD NOT LOSE THEM during the move and for the love of all things Target NOW THEY ARE LOST.
Not only did I not have a clue when I had last taken them, but NOW THEY ARE LOST.
Many tears and cuss words later, I called the pharmacy and was able to get refills for everything. Thankfully the universe took pity on me (and my poor husband) and I was due for refills anyway, so I didn't have to beg or yell or cuss to get the replacements. I finally got back on track and took everything last night, and with any luck I'll be human again in a day or two. The headaches and extreme tiredness and the apparent hole in my brain all make sense now. I was going through withdrawals! The big-mama-sized doses that I take of everything make it extremely ill-advised (and probably downright harmful) to just stop cold-turkey, but I don't think any permanent damage has been done.
And I didn't murder anyone, so that's a plus.
I was already more than a little impressed with myself for how well I handled all the bumps we encountered during the move, but now knowing that I handled it all WHILE OFF MY MEDS, I feel like I deserve a medal. Or the monogrammed wallet from Madewell that has had me drooling for a couple of months. (It'll be here in a week!) Then I realize how irresponsible - and dangerous - it was to lose track of taking my meds. Maybe I don't deserve that wallet after all. (Oops. Maybe I'll make myself wait a while before using it. Probably not, but it sounds good in theory.)
The thought that I managed as well as I did and maybe it was a clue I didn't need the meds anymore crossed my mind for about four seconds before I snapped back to my senses. I got lucky and didn't have a total meltdown, but it could have been so bad, y'all. I'm so grateful that it didn't go that way and that I've lived to tell the tale here instead of punching my ticket for another trip to the land of stick-less corn dogs and zip-tied tennis shoes.
In the grand scheme of things I think this hiccup can be filed under No Harm, No Foul (or Moving Sucks And Will Make You Lose The Marbles You Have Worked So Hard To Find). But the moral of the story is this: Don't be like me. Don't risk it. Don't lose track of something so vital to your sanity (or in my case, the lack thereof). I've gone back to my trusty phone alarm to remind me to take my meds every night at least until I get back into a routine.
One of the most dangerous tricks a bipolar mind can play is to make you think that you're doing so well that you don't need the meds anymore. Back in the days of shame and embarrassment I loved to daydream about the day that I would wake up and not need my meds anymore (You know - when I wasn't daydreaming about the day I wouldn't wake up at all.). I was delusional. I'll always need my meds, and the combination that's working so well for me right now probably won't work forever. That's just my reality. This roller coaster isn't one that has a stopping point, and I'm still learning to live with that realization every day. The anxiety that accompanies that thought is something I still struggle with on the regular, and that's okay. It's allowed. Navigating life with a mental illness is a lot of trial and error (which is really true for anyone if you stop to think about it), and that's okay too. I'll keep going for now with what works, and when it doesn't work anymore we'll recalibrate and move right along.
xo.
