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.