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It turns out that yes, indeed, I am manic, very much so, and have been for a while now.  Mania is not always a good thing, even though many of us are medicated to the point that it seems we are kept below the threshold of “normal” in terms of happiness and productivity. Thus we long for the mania to return, or even hypomania, for which I have wished repeatedly during my prolonged depressive periods.

My mania lately has taken a freaky form: Anxiety, right-brained reactivity and destructive impulsivity that has now resulted in me truly hurting someone and forever burning a bridge that was important to many people. I am filled with remorse, and many things, particularly horses, will be no longer enjoyed without that prick of sorrow and guilt that I have set myself up for with my actions taken in the throes of mania.

I have medicated myself rather heavily in order to accept the constant yelling I am getting from my hubby and myself right now. Everything I say is responded to by hubby as “you aren’t hearing a word I am saying,” and “it’s like talking to a rock!” and “Stop it” You are being ridiculous.” Ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous are all my concerns as I watch him doing what I believe to be further damage over the phone, and insisting that I abdicate what I feel is important responsibility without offering a different solution to take the place of my abdication. I wish he would stop it but there is nothing I can say that isn’t “ridiculous.” I also know he is trying to do helpful things that will lead to the solution of our current problems more productively than the things I did, in the hopes of keeping me out of the hospital again. God bless him!

So, thanks to my understanding doctor who has prescribed me some extra medication (extra risperidone and clonazepam) to help me react without anger or bitterness or dangerous breakdowns to these triggers, I am able to use the extra medicine she prescribed to enable me to control myself, namely, my tongue for the most part. I have little doubt that when the crisis is passed, I will be able to return to my normal tiny dosages, as I don’t like taking the refuge of extra medication. I would prefer to handle my crises with mindfulness, wise mind, essential oils, prayer and so forth. But now I need to feel as little emotion as possible or the anxiety would get out of control. Of course, it can also be argued that in this circumstance, anxiety and fear and crippling remorse are warranted and normal, too.

I am reminded of the words of Jesus, and I pray every day that he will help me guard my tongue. He said if a part of the body offends, then cut it off. Not sure if he was being literal or speaking in a parable. Sometimes I wish I could cut out my tongue. I feel it has caused me to do damage beyond forgiveness. I will never receive the forgiveness of the person I have hurt, but I know my heavenly Father will forgive me.

To be Christian about this for a moment: “I [God] live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite. I will not accuse forever, nor will I always be angry, for then the spirit of man would grow faint before me–the breath of man that I have created.” – Isaiah 57: 15-16

There is some spiritual help for me and for others who have done horrible things through the erroneous impulses that accompany mania. Deeds done while in the manic state should never be written off just to being manic. We should take responsibility for what we have done, for we have done these things.

There may have been one way in which my destructive impulses have worked out for good and that is what my husband reminds me of when he is being compassionate toward me, and it comforts me but only a little. How I wish for the good mania, the type that doesn’t result in craziness.

Yet I know too, that this will pass, just as I know my normal, functional times will pass, and that my depressive periods will pass. Everything passes and turns into something else with bipolar. You can count on not staying a certain way forever; there will always be a change, and sometimes for the better. Take encouragement from that. Remember to take a breath, mindfully, seeking wise mind to operate from. Hopefully wise mind will become a habit. It has not happened for me during my manic freakouts, but that does not mean I will not be able to achieve this with the help of the good Lord. Many others have succeeded at this and I know that I can too.

 

 

I started this blog a long time ago when I was very depressed and upset, with no clear idea what I wanted to do with it.  Just bitch to the world about how much it sucks to have bipolar disorder?  What good is that?  No good, no good at all.  I know there are resources out there.  I took Dialectical Behavioral Therapy and learned lots of great skills.  There’s a weekly post-DBT meeting I could be going to if I could stand to leave the house.

I read a friend’s blog recently, a new one she’d started that was intended to provide a service to its readers.  She admitted starting the blog was scary, was concerned about making mistakes, but was going to try it anyhow.  Part of me wanted this blog to do that, too, provide a service to readers.  My friend’s an artist, and her courage got me to thinking that I should go ahead and try this again.

But who the heck to reach out to?  Because of other social/work connections, I don’t want “just anyone” reading this blog, which raises the question why do it at all?  At this time, no one reads it, so it doesn’t matter.

I could start with what I’m taking: Nighttime meds (Seroquel 100 mg, Mirtazapine, Clonazepam), and Daytime meds (Lamotrigine 150 mg, Clonazepam), for bipolar disorder and anxiety.

Yesterday I added 10 mg amitriptyline at bedtime.  This was not for depression, although it’s an antidepressant.  It was prescribed to me for migraine prevention by a neurologist over a week ago, but I wouldn’t start it until getting the ok from my psych doctor. All I need is for a new antidepressant added to everything else to exacerbate my problems and the side effects of the medications through interaction. But the the psych doc finally gave the ok, because the dose is so low.

Today I woke up late, from unpleasant dreams I could not seem to get clear of, with a migraine starting. So I took Excedrin Migraine with my am meds.  Once up I had to hurry hurry hurry and was really cheerful, which is unusual for the early morning.  I thought perhaps the amitriptyline had a positive effect?  After I got back from dropping off the kids at the bus stop, the aura started up again, and I got really dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out.  The feeling lasted a long time and seemed to be getting worse.  I kept on with feeding the horses anyway, wondering if I would just drop dead.  I had to stay out there and keep an eye on the horses.  I was so worried about each and every one.  My solicitude is purely anxiety-driven.  I have no identifiable reason to think I need to worry about any of them.

Ever since R, my favorite rescue horse, died on Jan. 21, I’ve been unable see beauty when I look at the horses.  All I can see out there is a herd of potentially dead animals.  And every management decision, whether to turn this one out, bring that one in, feed grass hay or wheat hay, has become a huge, nail-biting dilemma.  It’s paralyzing.  This has happened to me on every occasion a horse in my life has passed away.  It was especially bad with T, last April.  I had planned to bring her in the previous night but didn’t.  Before morning, the freak accident had occurred with the fence wire, that ultimately cost her life, after weeks of round-the-clock care and involving four veterinarians with different ideas and approaches.  And that last morning, she made it perfectly clear that she did not WANT to be euthanized, even though she was suffering and crippled, which made the euthanasia even harder.

R went in his own time, comfortably, from old age and not from an accident.  For the first time, I haven’t second-guessed myself or found anything to blame myself for about a creature’s life or death.  Despite this, I don’t know if doing the horse rescue is worth it any more.  I can’t keep going through this.  I need someone to talk to about it.  But who?????  Who in rescue or the horse business can I discuss these feelings with without fear of being judged???  “Weighed, measured, and found wanting”?!

And am I just being paranoid?  How big a role is my bipolar disorder playing in my view of how others view me?  I have to assume it’s playing some role.  A significant other in my life always (yes, the correct word is, in fact, “always”) tells me my worries are “ridiculous”, “silly”, or “stupid”, and not to talk to anyone about them.  This is extremely unhelpful for me.

I am working on letting this person’s words roll off my back, and also trying not to voice my worries when this person is around.  After all, I know my worries aren’t stupid.  My inner compass is still true, even if my steering is imperfect!

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