This is Going to be a Long One

So much has happened since my divorce was final I am going to start at the end and do sort of a flash back thing until I lose track of which order everything came in.  Please follow along…

The elation and anticipation of being off for the summer was thwarted because I had to ween myself off Pristiq. Withdrawal symptoms have been complete exhaustion, not eating, and brain zaps to name a few.

I planned this withdrawal very carefully.  Two years ago, I stopped taking Abilify because of twitching in my legs.  Two weeks later I fell into a deep depression.  I was put on Seroquel.  Two weeks later, another depression because the dosage wasn’t high enough.

One of the things I am terrible at is judging my state of mind.  I think it goes back to 43 years of coping with my moods alone.  I had to mask them from others and myself.  Not recognizing my last decent into into hell, my therapist and I came up with a 10 point question sheet to ask myself if I’m feeling different.  It makes me feel more secure.

I spoke to Tristan about needing his help if I go into a depression.  I spoke to Allison and told her if this happened she should call Tristan if I couldn’t.

After two weeks of careful planning the withdrawal and doing everything I’m supposed to do I took a dive.  It was more like a crash and burn; I don’t even remember the dive.

Getting Tristan’s help was more stress that help so I called the only sane person I know, my sister.  I started to cry and she said to call my psychiatrist.  I did and he called me back very quickly. My sister had called his office and said it was an emergency.  My Dr asked if I was suicidal because my sister had threatened to call an ambulance. Total overreaction.  Just writing this out makes me feel humiliated.  And I was and am.  What do they say about best laid plans?

The reason I had to stop taking Pristiq is because it was causing “Serotonin Syndrome”.  I had all the classic signs especially the hypo-mania.  I used to look forward to this little gem in my non-medicated un-diagnosed life.  Now it really sucks.  No pleasure from it, just agitation, irritability, poor sleep and all the other bad traits.

I wrote most of this blog the day after the crash.  I must have lost my concentration at the end because I had begun writing in a “stream of consciousness” style.

I wrote about how nobody understands, how I can’t trust anyone to be there, why am I even trying so hard, what is there to live for……

I know that is how I truly felt.  It’s not true today.

It’s just me and Allison now.  I am alone to take care of me.  I have always taken care of Allison on my own, but I’ve always had help for me.

I’m going down another half dose this week, I’ll be brave.

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Crushed

Feeling crushed tonight.

Times like these I just really want to give in to my illness and feel sorry for myself.  I don’t feel like being strong and “high functioning”.

Remember my “Stinging Tears” post?  It almost happened again at work today.  I am blessed to be working so closely with a woman who is so like me and then again not.  I need a man like that.

This time she was in the office with me and offered to leave me in there, close the door and shut the blinds.  A little humor goes a long way when your life and emotions feel like they are spiraling down like flushing a toilet bowl.  Not the most eloquent analogy, but for some reason that is the mental image that comes to mind.

I have been doing a little spying.  No, because this blog is all about honesty, A LOT OF SPYING!  I’ve found out through and overheard conversations that someone is not being truthful with me.  In face I feel completely betrayed and revolted by what I have overheard by accident.  It really was by accident.  He was so drunk in the hot tub he didn’t realize how loud he was talking.  I also know he thinks I am a complete moron and couldn’t possibly find his secrets.

The bastard has turned me into an obsessed individual looking for anything I can get my hands on. Rummaging through drawers, digging through paperwork and buying a USB recording device that I either leave casually on the table or placed in my bra.

Because this is so against my nature, I am torturing myself with my own behavior!  What the hell have I turned into?  I know I can’t use this information to help me with the divorce, but I just need to know.

Why do I need to know?  I have been living under a narcissist my whole life,  23 years with my mother and 27 with my husband.  I can never seem to get it through my thick head that I will never feel justified.  I can’t hear another self-affirmation again. I can’t try another “healthy or mature way to take this betrayal” Is taking the high road all that great?  The only person it really helps is the offender.  The victim is still left with feelings of unworthiness.

I want to shred his clothes. I want to key his truck. I want to tell his mother. I want to make him suffer. Even though it doesn’t make me feel better in the moment,  the best punishment for him is for me to outsmart him.

He really shouldn’t underestimate me.  I’m not as dumb as he has always told me I am.

A Serious Discussion

Emily and I had a discussion the other day about revealing my Bipolar Disorder II to people. “People” means the people I know. I worry that if they know I have this mood disorder they will view me differently.

My daughter, I believe because of heredity, has a little OCD and General Anxiety. She tells people in her life about it. She thinks it is important to educate about mental illness and she feels that it will make a difference as far as how some people view it.

I have a different tano-more-stigma-10ke on it though. I am afraid to tell even my closest friends about my illness. I am afraid they will misunderstand and think I will strip down naked and run down the street with a knife.  Actually, I hate to admit it, but before I was diagnosed with this disorder, I thought the same thing.

Just like everyone is told by top news stories, the perpetrator of mass murders, etc. are often reported as having a bipolar illness.  The general public sees that and assumes the worst.  Who can blame them?  There are so many variables that are not reported.  Predisposition to violence, access to weapons, psychotic breaks, not medicated, etc.

Writing this blog is the farthest I can go right now.  I feel very protective of my situation. Maybe one day.