Life's cocktails.

"Life is unpredictable, often challenging us with new possibilities and change."
I found an envelope that had been slipped into my tablet and that's what it says on the front of the card. Scott always knows when I need words of encouragement. He says them all the time. But I'm not always hearing them. It's hard to listen or absorb optimism or hope. It's not because I'm being stubborn or selfish. I WANT to believe what he says. I want to feel that the words are truths. I want to be permeated with it. But it doesn't stick to me. I have glimpses and fractions of a moment where I think I might get what he's saying, but soon as I reach out to grasp it, it's like touching a little cloud in front of me and my fingers go right through it. And that's discouraging. But ironically enough, there must be hope in me somewhere because the next time I have that opportunity to grasp it again, I try again.
The last few days have been almost emotionally strong days. Towards bedtime, I get a little anxious and down. So I pop an ambien and the rest of my med cocktail in my mouth and go to bed.
For the bipolar and anxiety, I take effexor, clonazepam, lamotrigine, and geodone. The most important pills are the lamotrigine. It's a mood stabilizer. So is geodone. It plays second fiddle to the first. Effexor is anti-depressant and anxiety. And clonazepam is purely anxiety. Ambien is a sleep aid.
If I didn't have a family, I wouldn't take pills. But because I love my family and am trying to the best of my ability to take care of myself because they love me, I take meds. When ur off the meds, the manic is such a high. I feel like I can do anything. Except fly. Pretty sure I can't fly. I have such great ideas and I create awesome projects and art. I don't sleep because I'm so into whatever I'm doing. I can write anything (I've been published during times like this). I want to be out in the world and be with friends and laugh. I throw parties at home. I'm like a whirlwind of happiness. I thank God for my wonderful life and go to bible studies (and even lead them). But then the crash comes. And I start wondering if I should test that theory on flying. I can't get out of bed. I don't answer the phone. I don't eat, shower, or change my clothes. I write, but it's dark and dangerous. I create art, but it reflects my misery and desperation. I sit for hours, lost in another world and I don't even remember what I was thinking about. I want it all to go away. I hate feeling that way. I ask God to kill me. I want to kill myself. So then battle begins: death or survival.

But that's not today. With meds I'm a little bit more stable. Still have some off days. I'd say I'm boring now. I don't really socialize too much cause I have routines now that I've etched into my mundane brain. Because it's safe. I have to plan everything. I'm NOT a spur of the moment kinda girl, unless I'm having an off day. My craftiness is normal level. The passion isn't as pronounced as it is when I'm unmedicated. My writing. . . It's just writing. I would say it's normal, too.
I miss the intensity of not being medicated on my manic days. Scott says I was the life of a party back in those days. Now I'm just a body at the party. I don't like normal. It's not how God created me.
But on the flipside, I have responsibilities. I got married and had kids. And they love me. It would be selfish of me to not medicate myself. I owe it to them. It's doing the right thing.

Today is a day of trying to get myself to eat. I ate breakfast--an actual bowl of cereal. That's a big deal, but now I feel that I have to burn those calories and ride my elliptical for more than an hour. So the struggle today will be the elliptical time. If I can stop myself from riding it too long, then my next struggle will be to still eat. I'll want to eat less to compensate for eating breakfast. And so the rollercoaster begins. . .