14 December 2010

Day 14 of being a Guinea Pig, and a bit of a journal.

-Listening to "The Last Felony - Too Many Humans" -

Day 14 of the Lamictal. I got to increase the dose to 50mg tonight. Sadly I promised the doc I'd use this shit until the 22nd. I'm not impressed with it. I'm still dizzy, lightheaded, God help me if I can actually stand up and walk straight. The other day I fell and landed on the space heater/radiator thing that I have in my room to keep my ass warm at night. That was rather painful and my left ass cheek is a wonderful shade of purple. Life seems to be fuzzy. All I want to do is sleep, and that's broken and torturous.

While I've occasionally been able to get my nose above water long enough to take a breath, I'm still drowning. This shit isn't working. The only reason I've been able to step away from the suicidal line is simply my natural cycles. I've been in this rodeo long enough to know the difference between a gradual cycle up and medically induced help.

I'm still at a place where it is easy to trigger me into crying (normally I don't cry. I didn't cry at my Grandpa's funeral, and I only cried for an hour after I got done writing Mom's obituaries and taking care of the immediate post-death bullshit), cutting (I've been cut free for about 7 years but goddamn it's a struggle at times), or suicidal thoughts. In fact, crying often brings out the pissed off wolverine in me. It pisses me off to no end, so I cry harder and get more pissed, etc... it's a vicious cycle. I can easily go manic too, just like I did when I gave a presentation to my class. I guess being nervous can illicit mania in me.

My sleep is so broken it is beyond ridiculous. I'm apparently in a paranoid, jealous, fucked up state that even attacks me in my sleep. Most of the time when I wake up (after 2 hours of sleep), it's from some variation of a shitty dream that I unfortunately remember. Dream analysts would have a blast with me.

Nothing like waking up hot, sweaty and crying like a fucking baby... alone, which makes suffering this shit even worse. But, like I have said before, what do you do when even your dreams are not a safe haven, instead they are just a nocturnal trip through another level of Hell?

Just once it would be nice to take sanctuary in a mans arms, where I can just completely melt down with someone who gives a shit about me after one of these shitty dreams. Not someone who just wants a fuck and kicks you out immediately after without so much as a kiss or thanks.

Even when I'm awake I'm feeling quite paranoid, anxious, angsty, and definitely depressed.

I found myself incredibly on edge, very close to having a full anxiety attack last Thursday (12/9/10). I was simply sitting in the hall, waiting for class to start. Other people started showing up, talking, having a good time, minding their own business, and encroaching upon my rather large personal space circle. The noise, the energy, and simply the presence of other people spazzed me out. There's been more than one time I've had to ask my friends if we could leave the restaurant or bar because it was too much for me to handle.

It's hard to describe the feeling, but I'll try. My heart rate increases dramatically. I cannot stop twitching my legs, or fidgeting with my hands when someone bitches about my leg twitching. People just cannot understand that I cannot control it. My breathing definitely becomes faster. I'm hypersensitive to everything around me, especially sounds. I get jumpy. It's incredibly uncomfortable to be around even small groups of people, especially if there are ones in that group that quite frankly piss you off, and my brain fires faster than George Kollias' blast-beats; Example: Hittite Dung Incantation - Nile.

I've been told I resemble a king cobra or mamba out of it's element, ready to strike at anything that even remotely moves its way. There is no calming down during these episodes, no relief from the agitation besides solitude. It's just something that has to be exhaustively endured. Believe me, it is exhausting.

Events like this have been happening for awhile, like my entire life. It's just sad when you get to the point that even two people you actually like approaching your quiet, peaceful, cigarette inhaling place can illicit the same reaction as being in Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve.

***I do not hear voices, except mine, which is bad enough. I am not a Bipolar with Schitzoid Tendencies. I am a severe Rapid Cycling Bipolar***
The paranoia I experience is the most excruciating and disheartening. It's the part of the many cycles of Bipolar I hate most - as it usually means the dangerously low depression is around the corner. It's also definitely the hardest for me to open up and write about.

What may really be innocent becomes a reason for me to be hurt and pissed at you, like it was a personal assault on me. Paranoia leads to distrust which leads to fucked up shit. More importantly, the paranoid states skew your own view of yourself.

The worst part is honestly believing those that love and care about you are somehow stabbing you in the back, even if you're not sure how, you know they're doing it. This destroys relationships, no matter what level or context the relationship is.

Paranoia leads to and exacerbates angst, jealousy, anxiety, depression, and possibly psychosis. I experience thoughts/realizations/feelings/reactions that may or may not be real. This is the point where it's probably the hardest to deal with me. Everything you do or say either gets taken wrong or is simply not believed. You're an angel one minute and a lying, manipulative, evil piece of shit the next. (That might be a good reason why I'm single).

The perceptions of the paranoid mind: If you call a friend and they don't answer the phone, obviously they're avoiding you. If you ask a friend if they want to hang out and they decline, obviously you're not good enough to hang out with. You're just the charity case pity friend who's only good enough to deal with occasionally on the phone, or in very short sessions. Any excuse used to not hang out (gotta babysit, gotta wash my hair, I have "something to do" - man-speak for I'm getting laid, - I'm busy, whatever) is an obvious "fuck off, I don't want to hang out with you because you're not cool enough/good enough to hang out with". Crushes or significant others purposely gawk at and flirt with other women in front of you just to hurt you (giving the obvious emotional response of "why the fuck ain't I good enough for them")- because honestly it's apparently fun to rip people's hearts out and then rub salt in the wound.

There is no such thing as logic at this point in time. At all. If you do have a moment when your logical brain is able to break through and kick in, it is quickly overcome by the faulty part of the brain. I'm really not sure how a carer is supposed to deal with this, other than have a thick skin and lots of patience. I mean a LOT of patience. And possibly a shoulder to cry on, and a hand to hold during therapy.
Simply put: Imagine yourself going fucking nuts, knowing you're going fucking nuts, and not being able to do anything but let the train run over you. I think I'd rather be nuts and not quite know it, like Ferdinand I.


  1. I thank God I'm not paranoid. I saw that shit in action with my Mom.
    Mom used to mumble her part of the conversations with her inner voices; for a while, it gave an interesting insight into the way her brain made connections between unrelated things and assigned motives based on childhood traumas or the way people acted dozens of years ago - even different people. Since one person or event had happened that way, obviously, any could. And those were the more sane connections.

    I was able to be with her and intervene with the paranoid ideation because I was trusted implicitly by her and completely. I am sure anyone else would not have been there. Without a person like that a paranoid is in the absolute loneliest spot on the planet - no matter how many people are around.

  2. I dread the paranoid part of my cycles. It means the depths of hell are imminent and the demon hounds are inches from dragging me down. I'm just glad I don't hear voices. That would only be worse.

    It does seem that when I'm in a paranoid state, her mind and my mind work the same way, as far as the more sane connections.

    A good friend of mine who is trying to wrap his head around all of this (he's never really dealt with mental illness on a personal and brutally honest scale before) likened it to being on an acid trip 24/7. Though I've never dropped acid, I'd assume it is a decent comparison.

    I can understand the paranoid being the absolute loneliest spot on the planet. I feel that way often. Most people just don't have the compassion, strength, or knowledge to deal with us at our worst, so they take off.

    Even the ones we allow into our "inner bailey" flee.

    It's a good thing most never make it to the keep. They're stuck at the door surrounded by armed guards with swords pointing at vital areas.

  3. I can remember visiting my Grandma on my mothers side. Her sister lived with them, her name was Hazel. We all thought she was very mean and she scared us.I mean hey she slept with a knife under her bed. Fast forward to 2012 and I have bipolar 1, I'm much more understanding and hopfully more compassionate.