I’ve been awake all night. sweaty and full of anxiety. I am waiting for my health insurance to authorize refills on my bipoolar medicine, and anxiety medicine.. somehow I forgot to take care of this before I ended up like this. I’m usually on top of stuff like this, but everybody makes mistakes.
it’s scary, counting on medicine to make you feel “well.” I’ve been on them for 20 years. they have made such a difference in my life that I feel very nervous that somehow they’ll be “taken away” from me. I know this is silly, but when something like medication can make you feel so much better, you tend to “treasure” it. when you’ve experienced a certain depth of depression for any length of time, and have felt the medicine make such a HUGE positive difference, you become afraid of losing it.
so, every time I need my monthly refill, I imagine something is going to go wrong and the med won’t get refilled. again, silly, I know. SUCH ANXIETY!
I think anyone who has experienced a manic period like mine will understand this feeling. let me describe…
my heart rate is higher than normal. and my mind is scrambled…FULL of possibilities! of ideas! i jump out of bed (time 3:12 am) and go to my computer. I pull up a story I’m working on and reread. yes, I like this so far. but I’m distracted by an image on the screen, attached to the story. I don’t like it, so I go to Photoshop and select another image. I begin to edit it, but can’t focus. I shut it down, and open a box of beads in the craft area. so pretty…I choose a sterling silver headpin and try out a couple of blue and green beads. it looks nice, but I’m not interested.
I go outside on the patio and light a cigarette. what time is it? too early to call a friend. I stub out the cigarette early, and decide to lay down and listen to music. wearing earbuds means I can skip ALL AROUND the playlist and listen at any volume I want.
yes, this is good. my legs feel much better lying down. It’s time for Frank (Sinatra), and I choose “Summer Wind” to start my playlist. LOUD.
but I only make it halfway through the song; I’m so BORED!
I decide to take a shower and get ready to drive an hour to visit my parents. (time, 4:40am). I’m ready to go by 5:45 am, and look through the pile of CDs on the passenger seat before I pull out of the garage…Harry Connick Jr playing.full blast. my whole body is buzzing – it feels like I’m on cocaine.
I arrive at my folks just a few minutes after 7am. my mom is still sleeping, but my dad’s awake and surprised to see me. I tell him I’ve been dealing with insomnia and woke up very early. I can’t stop talking! am I the only one who is noticing this? my mom shuffles out of her bedroom at about 8:15 am. again, I’m rambling on about the book I’m working on…
my parents sip coffee and listen dutifully, making a few interested comments here and there. my mom asks me how much coffee I’ve had. I show her my large Starbucks cup, which is 1/4 full, and she looks nonplussed. “You’re so hyper, at this hour!”
I feel like she’s picking on me, and try to start an argument about it. “I’m NOT HYPER!! CAN’T I JUST BE AWAKE! AND EXCITED ABOUT MY BOOK??? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS THINK THE WORST???”
And so on, until my dad gets sick of it and shouts for EVERYONE TO SHUT UP. Which we do. I rise and find my keys. time to go.
lots or shopping to do!
THIS was my mania. didn’t need sleep. couldn’t stop racing thoughts. shopped too much, spending money I don’t have. couldn’t stop talking, to anyone that would listen. nothing fully interested me. I couldn’t focus on anything. no matter what I did, I could NOT FILL THE HOLE. no crafts, no computer stuff, no BOOK work, no new clothes...NOTHING satisfied me. I knew I had to wait it out, but I was never sure how long it would last (so terrifying; afraid it would last forever).
But I knew what was coming after, even SCARIER.
Horrible depression. hours of tears, and days of sleep. wearing the same clothes for a week. self-harming. trying to decide how to get help. ( I would be hospitalized later on, for bipolar disorder, and an eating disorder.)
but for now, I just suffered through all of it. the mania could seem very attractive when choosing between “it” and depression.
either way, I’m fucked.
