I got sick. Really sick. If you’ve been reading this blog you’ve been perhaps slowly watching me fall down the rabbit hole. It all came to a head last Thursday – a week and a day since my symptoms of a bipolar mixed episode started to show. I walked into my psychiatrist’s office after crying all morning and stared at him through my glasses with red, puffy eyes. We didn’t say a word for a few seconds as he cocked his head to one side.
“I am miserable,” I told him.
And basically that was the gist if it. This was not clear depression nor was it straight up mania. It was a mix of both – it was frustration, irritability, anxiety, anger, energy. I wanted to just get out of my skin. I didn’t want to die; I just wanted to be someone else – someone without rapid cycling bipolar disorder 1.
I’ve am going through some med changes which have only led me to feeling shittier. I got a doctor’s note stating that I needed three weeks off of work. And I came to my parents’ house in North Carolina to “take a break” and “get well.”
It is horrible timing, but life happens, right?
My brain isn’t working that well. I can’t seem to find words. I forgot how to dial my phone. I had trouble sending an email. My friend referred to it as ‘cognitive impairment.’ It is complete crap.
So, here I am, waving my white flag. I have not completely given up, but I have come to terms with the fact that I can’t fight this particular battle with bipolar disorder alone. I need back-up. My parents are taking care of me, and my dog is loving me constantly.
I will be okay, dear reader, just wanted to let you know how and where I was.