I'm dragging you on my bipolar roller coaster. Updownupdownfasterfasterfaster.
It's amazing to me how often I rush around, panicking without reason. I do wonder if I have anxiety. It's a co-morbid disorder, right? But quite frankly? I think bipolar and depression meds are plenty. I don't want to take any more. It's wearing on me--the drymouth, the nausea, the SEIZURES! (okay, there was only one, but still). I suppose that's better than being crazy.
Today I found some old, unhealthy comforts when I deep-cleaned my room. I just threw them away. I didn't even want them. I swear that's the only time that's ever happened to me. So I know the meds are working. I know it. But it doesn't make it any easier to put up with the side effects.
I peeked at *Tbird's Train a little bit ago, just to visit. I don't want to forget who I was. And I read some pretty sick stuff. And it shows me the power of secrets. Secrets are bad news, really. It's kind of like the Road Runner is this perfect bitch that I'm just trying to be. He's always ahead of me, and then here comes Wylie Coyote. He thinks he can catch up, and sooner or later, the ground runs out, and he falls falls falls... and if I'm on my medicine I can really slow down. I don't have to chase after that Road Runner. I am that Road Runner and I'm not even trying. Sometimes it's a let down that the Road Runner isn't as perfect as I thought. But it's still better than trying to keep up with myself.
I don't think I've ever had as hard of a semester in my life. First Ian. Then bipolar. Then IAN. And I think I need it adjusted now, because I'm going a little crazy. But it's hard to tell when my craziness is just normal, hormonal, teenage girl stuff, when it's a very natural reaction to the stresses at home, or when it's really my disorder pushing through my medication; becoming too much for it to hold back anymore. Like a gate... never mind. I'm done with the analogies. I'm infamously horrible at them.
I don't want to adjust anything until I know for sure. But how will I ever know? I'm worried about Ian. I really am. I love him so much. I don't know where he is. I don't know what kind of choices he's making (I'm assuming shitty ones). And he is not ready for any baby. I don't really care if that gets out at this point. Molly has my brother, and she's letting him kill himself. SHE'S PREGNANT. Not enough people read this for it to get out anyway. But still. That one spiteful action makes me feel a little better. In a week I'll shake my head at this week me, but right now I am really frustrated.
I've felt so guilty this whole time. I've turned him away from home twice. And both times it hurt like hell. Because I just want him home. I want him back here and I want him to be okay. I know it doesn't work like that. But he's so good. He's smart. He's a really good gift-giver. He's a hard worker. He's so much better than this cliche'. All I know is I miss him and rock bottom is nowhere in sight. I wish he knew how much I loved him and how much it hurt to lock the door in his face...
Traditional Word Vomit Wrap-Up:
1) I need to slow down. I need to be in the moment. I need to breathe and let everything else fall into place.
2) Despite the struggles with my side effects, my medicine is working. However adjustments may need to be made: Added anxiety medication and less Wellbutrin. But I'm worried about adjusting too quickly, because this may just be an emotional time and not an episode.
3) I'm really, really worried about Ian. I miss him and I'm scared of
losing him. And I'm scared for his unborn child. Who's going to raise
it? Kelly again? Then she deserves to know. This is why is why I'm
pro-choice. This kid doesn't have a chance.