Out of my over loving mind

I am going to snap pretty soon. I feel like I’m at the end of my rope in all aspects of my life. Work is going to send me back to the looney bin. The sheer amount of just non-work related talking and at the top of their lungs, is enough that I want to gouge an eye out. With a spork. I could give a shit about where Karen was a year ago (Disneyworld if you wanted to know). One of them pissed me right off and I am doing all I can to not hurdle over their cube walls and help her bounce her head off the desk 2 times. The old fart is talking loud because she can’t hear a god damn thing. And the poor Middle Eastern guy across from her is usually the target of her racist rantings. The admin has eaten about 17 carrots and made sure to snap them off and chew open mouthed over the last couple of hours. The lying of one of our contract managers is rampant this week and I’m tired of getting my ass handed to me by some of the divisions The two-faced one is having a fake sugary talk with someone and as soon as she hung up, informed me that he was a fucking dick head that knew shit about….you get the point. I was in the toilet when she came in one time and she was whispering to herself. Sounded a lot like fucking asshole, I’m going to fucking kill them. I’m not exaggerating about any of this. I know I’ve written about this before but it bears repeating myself. If for nothing else to prove to the authorities that I was justified in my leaping from the top of this building to stop the voices in my head start arguing with the idiots in my office.




It doesn’t take a lot to actually be out of my mind. I am a mental patient but a “high functioning” one. Whatever that means. I went to a bipolar support group when I was going through the divorce. I was floundering and was just desperate to find something where I felt like I belonged. I sat through that meeting absolutely high on fear. These people were hard core nuts. Most (like ¾) didn’t have a job. More were living with their parents. All thought this support group was intended for bitching and complaining and hooking up. I was so so fascinated with the dynamics within the group and of course saw all the ways I could fix these people. They were lazy and just not willing to be an active participant in their lives. I’m sure you can understand when I stopped going to the group after a few weeks because I was starting to gloat about how I’m better than them. Not to mention, I was “high functioning” and didn’t need this damn group. Sayonara dip shits! But I think that was a wake up call to me. I’m just a manic or depression episode away from living in my parent’s basement. I am not as concerned about my mental health as I am about my living situation. My parent’s basement is gross.



I think I’ve hit a crossroad. I’m absolutely disengaged at work. To the point that I’m half expecting a visit from HR and a promise that they’ll forward my personal belongs soon. While I worry about that a lot and it keeps me motivated to do at least the bare minimum, I think I would find it a relief if I were to find myself unemployed. Don’t get me wrong….I would be seriously fucked if I lost my job. I would have to break my lease, find a basement to move into (and one big enough for Crawford), make at least enough money to pay for the, hopefully cheap basement gig and car. I think it would be pleasant to not have to worry about big things like I do. I’m tired of making decisions and deadlines. I get up every morning knowing that I’m going to be yelled at and/or stabbed in the back. I don’t really take pride in my work anymore. This is all very strange to me because I was so incredibly engaged in my work until a year ago. I would work at night and weekends. I know the ex wasn’t very happy about that but it didn’t matter. I was important and I worked hard. Now, I’m out of my mind while at work. I check out and live in my head for 8 hours.



So, I had a therapy session yesterday and my cool therapist put me to the wall and gave me an assignment. She’s really good about calling me on my BS. I’ve been with her for years. And she knows me. Really knows me. I have an assignment and I have a time frame. I’m to email her Sunday and let her know what I’ve done and then I’m held accountable for what I do from there. I’m not the most consistent person, I tend to get really into it and then I slowly (or sometimes not so slowly) stop doing things. And I’m right back where I was originally only usually worse off. Something has to change and that something has to be me. I don’t want to live in a basement when I’m 37. Makes me feel like I haven’t done anything with my life.

I'm just working myself into a dead end and I don't want to start thinking about what my life is going to be like if I find myself sinking into a level where a basement apartment looks really fucking good.

Shake it Up

So....as a result of being bipolar, I take a lot of medications. And unfortunately, I don't take just one or two. I take 16 pills throughout the day. Now, 4 of those are for something different. Like vitamins. So 12 are for being manic, being depressed and then being manic and depressed.


I have been on some of the same meds for years and I know that they work. If I were to stop taking them…I would probably not live very long. (Sounds so dramatic but it’s still the truth) To me, death is an option. It’s always been THE ANSWER for everything. I never saw the flip side of that argument. But it’s become less of an option today. It probably will always be an option. But I have came to a place in my life and found that I don’t want to die. So, in the need to stay alive, I take my pills. I don’t want to. I hate taking them. And, in my head, I keep thinking I’m doing better so why keep taking them. But I play the tape forward and I see the darkness for what it is.

And cost...holy crap balls. I don't have a deductible insurance plan thankfully, just copays. I have a flex spend account that I put $3,000 into every year to pay for doctors and medications. And I am sqeaking by with $3,000. My meds cost, on average, $225 a month. Then there are the med check appointments and therapist. Just getting a regular check up with my family practioner. All that gets down to the very bottom of the barrel and I typically have to come up with $50 or so at the end of the year. But it saves me so much money during the year because I'm not one of those people that can save money away for known expenses even.


Recently I had to add a drug to my arsenal and it has been HUGE for me. And kind of scared me when I started taking it because I saw it as a last ditch effort. I had gone manic for about 7 months at that point. I had never been manic for more than a couple of hours; maybe a few days. But to be manic for so long…I was running on fumes. And I didn’t see I was manic. My friend Crawford pointed it out to me and at that point I totally saw it. I immediately contacted my doctor and was put on a new med. My doc prescribed Lithium. Lithium is an "old" drug and one of the first drugs produced to help treat depression.

It still took another 3 months or so for me to get it under control. But when it did kick in, it was amazing. I felt this calm about me that was so cool. I wasn’t high nor was I low. I’m on this even plane where I don’t get riled up and I don’t get depressed. When I first started taking it, I thought I was depressed or a zombie but in reality it’s what normal feels like, I imagine. It’s so appealing to continue to take this drug for the rest of my life. Except 2 things…death and side effects.


This prescription is the only time my doctor has told me to absolutely stick to the prescribed amount because this will kill you. Part of me was amazed that she finally told me a dosage that would kill me. I ask her every time I change a drug what the dosage that could kill me be. Being a good doctor, she never told me. This time, with Lithium, she told me very specifically, do not take more then you are prescribed to take. I think that is what made me think this was a last ditch effort to help me. Of course, it isn’t. Lithium was just a drug in her arsenal that she was trying to see if I could come down. It helped immensely.

The 2nd reason I am cautious about taking it for the rest of my life are the side effects. With any medication, you have the potential to experience side effects. I read somewhere that one in four patients are plagued by side effects from prescription medications. I have not been that one in the past and is probably why I’m OK with taking all the pills I take for now. Its the fact that the pills are giving me a good life; that's why I take them.

But with Lithium, I'm getting side effects. And not just for the first few days but I am experiencing them since August. But in Lithium’s defense…it does post that you WILL experience 2 side effects. The 2 side effects are diarrhea and tremors.

I thought long and hard about what to talk about with diarrhea. And I’ve decided to spare you the vivid details but suffice it to say that diarrhea and I are "buddies" and it’s not every day for the most point; which is a good thing. But I'm not sure you need the details of that.

The tremors are interesting and something I have had to get used to. I get them every day, just with varying intensity. For the most part, I get up in the morning and it’s barely noticeable. Further into the morning and I start to shake. It starts to get bad around lunch. Around this time it then is decided what intensity it’s going to be. Some days are better than others. Today it is barely noticeable. Yesterday I couldn’t hold a cup to my mouth. I had to hold it with both hands and even then it was a bit “wiggly”. And people notice. More than I do. I’ve had people tell me that I’m shaking; either in a grocery store or in my AA meetings. People have definitely asked if I’m OK; if I had eaten. The concern is actually very nice and I typically just tell them that “I shake, I’m a shaker”. That seems to appease them. And it sounds kind of witty.

But I've essentially become a vibrator.

Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

This technically should be done on day 25 but I decided to quit doing the last 10 so you're getting the 2 or so that I still wanted to write about.

The reason I believe I am alive today is because of Milo and God.  At the time I would not have said God but looking back, it was always God that kept me alive when I so desperately wanted to be dead.

I know I've talked on here about my bipolar and how it affected me in my 23rd year.  I was miserable and drinking like a hobo.  I was blacking out when drinking but I was also blacking out when I was sober. It was my brain shutting down.  I would sit for hours on my couch and be surprised when I came to that 5 hours had passed. Poor Milo had to go to the bathroom but I was unresponsive.  This was the black period of my life.  If I could describe to you what depth of blackness it was, it wouldn't be enough to give you the idea of what I was experiencing. I just floated in darkness. There was no hope or end in sight. I just existed.

I would not sleep for days. I lived in Independence Missouri at that time and Independence is not known for being a safe place to be out at night, in certain areas. I lived in those areas.  But I would be walking Milo in the middle of the night; places I had no idea where I was. I would come to from a black out and it would be 3 in the morning and I didn't know where I was or how I had gotten there.  Luckily I have a good sense of direction and I ultimately would get us home. Might take me an hour but I would get there.  I can just imagine how tired Milo was after those episodes.

And red rages, God I was so angry. I didn't know at what or how to handle it but I would lash out at everything. Especially Milo.  That dog was put in my life to save it. I do not doubt that.  But the way I treated him was inexcusable. And I will do my part to make that up to him.  I will never forgive myself for it but he has.  He never shied away from me, cringing. He would sit there for a moment and then come over and put his head in my hand and just stand there til I calmed down. The dog was what I needed at the time.  Just writing this has brought back memories and I'm crying over the pain I put him through. I love that dog so much...

But it got hard to breathe. I was having a hard time leaving my apartment. I would call sick into work.  It was getting black all the time.

So I did what I had thought about my whole life. I took a bunch of pills.  What happened next is only what my neighbor told me.  But Milo went crazy. He was barking and scratching at the door.  She said she waited about an hour before she knocked on my door and when I didn't answer, she thought something might be wrong. Milo was going crazy still.  She called the complex and they brought the key over and, well...you can imagine.  Milo knew something was wrong and tried to help; that is the only thing I can think of.  Maybe he really needed to go outside or something but deep down in my heart, I think he saved me.  Milo and God saved me....

I went to the hospital; I'm not smart enough to actually take pills that would have done damage.  But they kept me under observation.  I called my Mom to tell her that they wanted to admit me to the phsyc ward. She thought I would be fine without going into the hospital and in her defense, they didn't understand the despair I was in at that time.  How black my life had gone.  But I wonder what my life would be life if I had gone in...would I have been more stable between 23 and 33?  I'll never know.

Shortly after that, my parents came to Independence (about 2 1/2 hours away from them) and brought me back to their house, where I stayed for awhile and then put the whole thing behind me and pretended nothing happened...until 2007...that's another story.

But Milo is still around.  He's 15 and he is still the love of my life.  He loves me so much, more then I deserve.  He has never cringed from me.  He will do whatever it takes to get in my lap and just lay there. And I will hurt so much when he is gone.  He is the only thing I have ever felt unhinged love for.  I love people in my life but I love Milo like no one else.  It will be a very very sad day in my life but I know he goes on.  I have to believe that God wants him as much as I want him.  And, some day, I get to be with the man of my dreams forever.

Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.

I’m torn about this. I actually have 2 things that I could live without in aspect that it would be nice to live without them. Being an alcoholic and being bipolar. I can’t image a life without both of these so it’s hard to dream about it. I don’t know what I would do if I was able to have a drink or two and not get totally shit faced. I would remember where I was the next morning. I’d never lose my keys or my pants. I could take $20 to the bar and come back with change. I wouldn’t wake up in strange man’s beds and try to piece together the series of events that got me there. I wouldn’t sleep til 1pm because I was hung over and I couldn’t get my ass out of bed to even walk my dogs. I guess I do know what my life would look like if I didn’t drink. It would be calmer and probably with more money (oh, wait…that didn’t happen).



If I wasn’t bipolar I would be able to sleep on my own. I would be able to navigate my way through social situations (maybe…). I wouldn’t have to take 14 pills a day. I wouldn’t have to go to a doctor every 2 weeks and get my levels checked. I could talk to people about my feelings because they are pretty vanilla and calm. I wouldn’t have to budget $3,000 a year for meds. I’d be able to be in a social situation and not cringe at the thought of someone talking to me and forget about touching me. I wouldn’t flinch at the thought of my mom hugging me. I’d be able to have a conversation with someone and be honest and look them in the eye. I would be able to function without pharmaceutical help.



But the thing is, my life today is pretty good. There are parts of it that I’d like to change but overall? I’ve got it pretty damn good. And I don’t know that I would be able to do those things above. I’m bipolar and an alcoholic…that is all I know. If I were to take one of those things away, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know how to handle me. I know how to ask for help (sometimes) and what my limitations are (also sometimes). I wouldn’t be me if those things were different. I’ve got a life today that I truly do not deserve but I am going to do everything in my power to continue to work on my life. I just know that there is a level of serenity that I can achieve, regardless of my “handicaps”. My recovery is up to me and I’m willing. Willingness is the key.