“I’ve slept 5 hours over the course of 48 hours. I can’t sleep due to the mania. My mind won’t shut up. I’m being a chatty Cathy.”
– Me, 5 hours ago at the height of my mania. Couldn’t sit down and focus long enough to blog any more than these four sentences.
I woke up at 5am, hunched over, on my phone and Diego was trying to lay me down to go back to sleep.
I insisted I wasn’t tired and proceeded to grab a redbull and talk to him before he had to leave for work.
After he left at 5:15 a.m., I made breakfast and blogged. I called him as he commuted to work and had a good, normal conversation. At 6:15 a.m., the blog post was finished. I watched some stupid reality TV show until I could call unemployment to receive my benefits from months past.
That was a bust. 40 minutes to tell me that I needed to call back Monday.
I proceeded to call my mom and invite her over. She came over about 9:30. We did a little shopping to finish up the housewarming thank you cards and goodie bags.
(I had over 250 miniature Tabasco’s that I planned to use as party favors at my wedding back when I was engaged. You all know that didn’t happen so I’m now using them as party favors for this party.)
I made lunch at noon and then she left so I could clean the disaster that was the office. She helped me tidy up the kitchen and the living room before she left and so I knew Diego would be happy when he got home.
2 hours 14 minutes. That’s how long it took to clean and organize four very full boxes of art supplies, scrapbook material, etc., etc. I was very pleased to finish just in time to meet Diego at my therapist’s office at 3.
I told Diego all the progress I made today and he was high key surprised.
We discussed how to communicate more effectively when I can’t do a seemingly simple task that he asks of me. He tends to ask me to do something while he’s at work, and if I don’t have it done, he gets real angry. But Kelley said that there are going to be some days when bipolar gets in the way, but I have to tell Diego before I blow something off.
We also discussed our different coping and grieving processes. I felt as though Diego was mad at me for not doing my chores, but seemed a little more mad than he should be because he was angry about his mom’s health situation.
He said there was nothing to be mad at considering nothing has really changed. Yeah he was nervous about her surgery outcome, yeah he was a little anxious. But he is also the most pragmatic person I know.
Despite dealing with his sick mom, he still went to work everyday, he didn’t talk about her or grieve at all. He still had to work everyday so he did.
For a compassionate person such as myself, for someone who cares so deeply, I would not have the same response if my own mom was suddenly ill. I just don’t understand his response to the whole ordeal, but I learned that’s okay to not understand. But I can’t be ignorant to his character traits such as pragmatism.
Then the anxiety started…
This early evening…
My mind was racing from one idea to the next. I had to show Diego the house that I cleaned immediately when we got home. Then I had to paint.
I painted all of my royally awful paintings with white to cover up the ugliness. I let those dry. I painted a piece of wood which I am going to then stamp and hand paint Diego’s last name and have it be a welcome sign for the front porch.
This wasn’t good enough. I start drawing on canvas the next painting idea. It was decent enough. I stared at it for a long time, lost in space. Diego asked what was wrong and I simply replied that I was agitated.
He went back to playing his video games which led me to then pick up my weed pen and take the biggest hit I could. I had just purchased the cartridge, so it was mighty strong.
I don’t think tonight was the night that I smoked for the right reasons. I just wanted my thoughts to cease. I didn’t want to be awake anymore and I didn’t even consider taking Xanax.
This leads me to writing the first paragraph of this post. I was talking non stop, filling my time with distractions rather than coping mechanisms.
Kelley said the next step in the process is determining why I feel the need to distract myself, but that’s too much for me right now.
I hate taking my meds, but I have been doing so diligently. I think it is finally time that they don’t work much anymore. I’ve been on this stretch of same medication for over a year. Over a year, my meds have been effective. So why are they failing me now? Why can’t I escape the manic mess that is my mind?
I almost typed the words, Why me? Why not me, I should ask. I am no hero of the story but sometimes I get frustrated playing the martyr character. But maybe that’s just bipolar brain talking.
I have never referred myself as a martyr before. It’s not in my rhetoric. It’s almost like I am lifted out of my body and I am watching myself act on Earth from a far. I am not willingly acting on my distractions nor am I willingly acting on my mental illness.
After I got extremely high, I fell asleep for 4 hours. Much needed rest. There was just one thing missing…
I just needed Diego to hold me, be in dark room with me with a weighted blanket, and to enjoy the silence with. Just have the two hearts beating. Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum.