Perhaps most of you have heard that one of the fascinating faults of those with bipolar disorder is their inability to take their medication as prescribed. For many it is because they don't like the way it makes them feel or they enjoy the feeling of mania. For others it is because they start feeling better and begin to believe that maybe they don't need it. I am different, and even more confounding to myself and others. My meds don't make me feel funny. I know that I need them in order to function normally, and I hate the way I act and feel in a manic state. I don't take my medication regularly just...because. I forget. I am too tired to get up and get it. It's not convenient at the time I remember. And I've tried it all. I've set the medication and water by my toothbrush, set an alarm, etc. For some reason I continue to take my meds rather sporadically. When I start getting dizzy spells and feeling lethargic and nauseated I know that I have gone at least three days without.Another indication...my writing. As you may have noticed there has been very little positivity in my writing. I have been in a dim place. It's not dark, just tinged a dingy gray. This last week I was so exhausted that I didn't run, at all. Running rejuvenates me, but I couldn't pull myself up and get going. Patrick was doing everything around me, including working 12 hour days with inventory, cooking, laundry, picking up Cade. I was fading back into my hole.
But today...the sun is out! I feel positivity! I want to run. I want to clean. I even cooked dinner last night. How's that for a change? Patrick was even sweet enough to leave only one bite on his plate, that it was probably because he could no longer stomach it is irrelevant. He ate it. He thanked me for cooking and then put Cade to bed. What a man!
And you know what else? He worked until 11:30 p.m. on Monday night, then woke up at 4:30 a.m. yesterday to get to work so that he could get off early to take Cade to the dentist. And he never. complained. I can't tell you guys what a huge 180 that is for him. He used to complain about reaching for the remote. He is now going above and beyond the call of duty on a daily basis. And I really like him. I'm enjoying our time together. Things are good. I'm even thinking about (gasp)...sleeping with him. I know, I know. Drastic. But maybe I'll give it another try.
Things feel mostly good right now. I do have one looming issue that is bothering me which I will write about soon. But for now I want to see if I can get back on the track to self-improvement. The self-loathing is just so tiresome.
Huzzah! Sex!!
ReplyDeleteI love your title by the way it made me giggle.
I'm not really sure how the whole medication/depression thing works, but have you tried other kinds of therapy? Like, a kind that *doesn't* make you feel bad?
You know like um...alternative. I wish I could tell you what exactly it is I mean, but I guess the closest I can do to that is this..
one time I broke up with this one guy, and it was doing a complete toll on me. So much, my mother suggested therapy saying she'd pay for it. The lady I went with was amazing...she did different things, she listened, gave me lots of positive feedback telling me I was mature and wonderful, then suggested we did this breathing exercise where she asked me to "go down stairs" and stuff like that..it was all very nice...then we did another breathing exercise but this time we did it with my mom cuz apparently I had massive mommy issues. And there's just different things she had me do..granted I don't have a depression now, nor does anyone in my family, and that's the closest I've gotten to that...but I'm saying, it was all nice, and smooth, and positive.
Crazy talk?
:C
ReplyDeletewell I'm glad it was a good day.
My husband complains about everything, too. Like, for example, this past weekend, both he and my daughter were vomiting, diarrhea-ridden moan-bags. I took care of EVERYTHING. Cleaning up the poop, cleaning up the puke... I had about four hours of sleep in four days, pretty much just tending to their needs. My husband, who was feeling a bit better yesterday morning, decided he was going to do the laundry. Great for him. I told him that I had gotten all of the laundry together (translation: I gathered all of the disgusting sick-stained clothes and bedsheets, pre-washed them in the bathtub and hung them to dry so it would make easier washing and less stinky house). Later on in the day, I got home from work and he says 'I thought you said you got the laundry together this morning?' (Mind you, I had about ten minutes to spare that morning before heading out to work.) I stared, blankly, at him and said that I did, and explained what my definition of 'gathering the laundry' was. He complained that I didn't empty pockets and sort colors from whites and adult clothing from baby clothing. You know, on the 4 hours of sleep I had collectively gotten all weekend. And in the ten minutes I had prior to going to work for the day.
ReplyDeleteAre. You. Fucking. Kidding me.
This man pisses and moans even when he's being HELPED. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.
Bah.