My first psychotic break – the suicide attempt in California – was brought on by stress. I was in a new state halfway across the country from where I had been living for years. I was in a new job. I had a new roommate and new flat. Stress is not always bad, sometimes it is the good kind, like finally getting the job you always wanted as a Style Editor for a salary that nearly doubled what you had been making.
But it is stress, nonetheless, and I can’t handle stress.
Stress always seems to proceed episodes of mania and, sometimes, of depression for me. I get overwhelmed. I inevitably catastrophize (which means to follow a train of thought until which a catastrophe happens). For example, I am dealing with liver numbers that are out of whack and to me (thanks to WebMD), I will need a liver transplant. Don’t fret. I won’t. But my mind goes to the worst possible outcome and it camps out there and everything in my life gets jumbled up and forgotten about.
I’ve had more panic attacks in the past two weeks than I have had in the last six months. Stress = No bueno. So, my apologizes, dear reader, for being more erratic with my posts lately. I am in strange, stress land trying not to go down the rabbit hole. But I will be BEAUTIFULLY bipolar again soon. 😉
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