So I'm a little crazy right now.
And by a little crazy, I mean a lot.
Managing it so it doesn't get out of control and make me mess up my life in serious ways, is pretty much all I'm doing right now.
Does it sound sucky? It is. It's the serious suck.
I'm not crazy like you probably think I am. I am not depressed. Or suicidal. Or anything like that. I am manic. I wanted to type that in all capitols, but that's annoying so I didn't. But yeah, manic. YeeHaw, right? but oh so not.
And maybe I'm not all the way manic. Maybe I'm just hypomanic. Because I'm never quite sure of the difference. I don't think there'a clear line. But I do know I'm not hearing audible voices, I'm not having hallucinations, and I don't think god or the universe or even Vincent D'Onofrio has a special answer meant just for me. Those are all very good signs. On one hand. On the other hand the fact that I am honestly considering those good points - well that is scary and creepy as fuck, my friends.
I do not want to be manic.
Oh I know the lovely picture of mania that is sometimes painted by fiction of many kinds, but If I were to become manic I'm pretty sure it would involve things like projects I indend to finish but involve cutting holes in walls or tearing out half the carpet. Or, I don't know other such insane projects that I would start and never ever finish. I might reorganzie my entire kitchen. I might throw out half the stuff in the garage without even looking at it. I might give all my clothes to goodwill planning to totally change my style and buy a nw wardrobe. Heck, I might try that smokey eye like the mom in the commercial. Or I might go on wild shpping sprees - especially at Hobby Lobby or the cupcake store. Or, best/worst of all, I might pack my bags, whip out my credit cards and take off on a fanatastic vacation. Good for me then, I guess, that I'm nto allowed to drive when I'm on this medication.
To me it just feels like lots gears wound up too fast inside my body. Gears that are going to keep going too fast and hit some kind of snag and end up all out of wack.
It's just not a pretty picture any way I try to describe it.
Most of all I don't want to go to the hospital.
Here's the thing though -- I have been bipolar long enough to know that none of these moods last. It's the nature of bipolar to swing from one to another. So that's what I keep holding on to. "Don't screw anything up, Shelly," I tell myself, "and before you know it you'll be back to normal."
Of course I have talked to both of the doctors that care for my crazy bean. And of course I am following their advice although the crazy part of me literally screams for me to not listen and do it anyway.
For example, this is The birthday weekend at my mom's house in Pittsburg. When I went to see the drug doctor my car was loaded and I was ready to pick up my new pills and head south as soon as we were done. But she called me. "I don't want you driving to Pittsburg," she told me. "In fact I don't want you driving anywhere until your new meds are sorted out." I said ok but I knew at the time I was lying. I could not imagine any possible way I was not about to head off to see my family. I called my mom though, and while at first she was "I'm not going to tell you what to do," she called me back just a little bit later to tell me not to come. Which is in fact a crazy thing for my mom to say.
And so I'm home. I'm home and I can't drive. I swear to god I am on enough tranquilizers to knock out my former boyfriend King Kong and I still only feel calm when I'm sitting still and it's silent.
I don't know if I'm describing all that part well but I can't think of anything else at the moment. Don't blame me. I am on the drugs.
I will say that my family is so incredibly supportive. Danny and Hannah are patient with my bitchiness (they know I am truly trying to not let that stuff out). My mommy is checking on me and would come take care of me if she could. My baby niece Mady wondered why I wasn't coming after we had the plans. Her mom told her I was sick and Mady wanted to make sure I went to the doctor who might give me some medicine. Megan told her I did and would probably feel better enough to come next weekend.
My boyfriend is a little more confused about the whole set up, coming from a family that is so entirely different. And he has been physically ill for at least the last week. Yes, he should go to the doctor himself, but he is his own kind of crazy and lumps all doctors into the evil camp so he won't go. I call that being a straight up dumb ass, but I am not the boss of him so he does what he wants. I'm sad that he's sick, I really am, but on the other hand I know I'd be a lot better if he could just come over here and hang out with me. Take care of me even. I want to throw a fit and demand he do it - but he's sick too and I have to be understanding about that, right? Right? Probably right.
So I'm here, and I'll keep being here (in life, maybe not on the blog so much because I am a Bad Bloger). I will keep taking drugs that work towards zombifying me out, and then hopefully taper back off of them into my normal amazing self.
In the mean time, I thought I'd share this little bit about the lesser known side of the bipolar disorder. I'm not very good at describing it while I'm having it, but there you go. As good as it gets for right now. If you want to ask me something, or tell me something, or help me stay mildly entertained while I'm stuck i the house and unable to drive please go right ahead.
I'll check back in, at least when I get better.