This is what bliss is

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated this. At first (when the Lamictal was still in its early phases and not yet therapeutic) it was because there was nothing new to say; my days were varying shades of gloom and gray. Most days were bad, not the kind of bad that I had grown used to, but a kind of depressing, sorrow-filled type of bad. It was better than before because I at least felt like me and that is an important distinction from the other medications I have tried, but I didn’t feel I had anything new to say after my last post. Things remained the same, which is to say, not great. But I didn’t want to keep complaining about the same old problems with no new twists or turns. It felt boring and stale to write and I imagine it would have been worse to read. Also, I was very depressed for several weeks and I don’t think I had the energy to do much of anything except to keep breathing.

Then (when the Lamictal reached therapeutic levels and Risperdal was added), I didn’t update because I didn’t want to jinx anything. For the first time since before April I felt like a person again. For the first time in years I wasn’t plagued by anxiety in varying degrees. I felt like, and still feel, like I might just actually be able to have a normal, happy life. But I’m cautious. I’m cautious because my psychiatrist warned me that with new medications there can sometimes be relapses. The cocktail keeping me afloat now but not be entirely stable. I’m cautious because I’m afraid that if I sneeze too hard the whole thing will come crumbling down around my ears and I’ll be back at square one. I’m cautious because I’m afraid.

I can’t even begin to explain how different I feel. How my energy has improved so drastically, my drive to do things has risen, my fear of the future gone. I feel like I can live my life and not be terrified of it. I can go through my days without emotions that cripple me and make it impossible for me to enjoy any part of my life. I can live without random burst of anger that make me lash out at the ones I love. I can live without the anxiety that wrenches my gut and sets my skin tingling and breaking out in cold sweats. I can live without the depression that makes it impossible to get out of bed or to get off the couch or even to speak. I can live without the racing thoughts that plague my mind making it impossible to sleep or ever be at rest. I can live without random impulses that cause me to make decisions that I will regret for years to come, if not forever. I can...I can live.

And I have been. I’ve been going out more, doing more. I’ve made new friends for the first time since I was diagnosed. I told them about my illness fairly early on. I decided I don’t want this to be my dirty, little secret. This isn’t the thing I have to hide in shame and fear, lest someone should discover it. This is who I am. It will always be who I am. I may be treated for it and not exhibit symptoms, but it will never go away. Why should I be ashamed of who I am? No one else seems to be. And, wouldn’t you know it? They didn’t even care. It actually opened up our friendship for a closeness that wasn’t there before. So, turns out I really don’t have to be ashamed or worried, even with new friends and not just the old.

There were some scary times, that much is sure. In those weeks I was silent there were many bouts of unexplained crying and a crushing feeling of hopelessness. One of the things that brought me through that was the wonderful, touching messages I received from friends I didn’t even know still thought of me. The kind words given to me by those friends helped me to hold on to hope when I was sure the medications were never going to work and I was always going to feel that way - gray, heavy, bleak. I lost the will to live and one of the few tethers I had was how sad I would make those friends and family members that had reached out to me. How disappointed they would be. Seems like a silly thing to think, maybe - I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t a healthy thought, but it was my thought.

There may still be scary times ahead. My jaw is apparently clenching so hard at night that it’s misaligned itself and now I can’t bite down properly and my jaw joint hurts on the right side. I went to the dentist and he said that some bipolar medications can cause this type of problem, so I’ll be asking my psychiatrist about that this week. In the meantime, I have ordered a very expensive mouthguard from the dentist which I can wear at night to mitigate the effects of the clenching. Also, my psychiatrist wants to wean me off one of the three medications that I am taking for the bipolar disorder. He wants me on the least amount of medications possible so now that the Lamictal is full strength, he wants to see if we really need both of the other two. So, we’ll be doing some experimenting that could turn very not fun.

And, of course, I’ll have to stop all of my medications when it’s time for Ryan and I to try for a baby. The various fertility tests we took came back positive, which is a hopeful sign. However, it does look like I’m going to be skipping months with my menstrual cycle so I’ll have far fewer chances to actually get pregnant. I’m still terrified that it will never happen and no amount of platitudes will ever ease that fear. Until I actually have a fetus growing in my body, I will never believe it can actually happen. But that’s not the bipolar disorder, that’s just me.

I also have this new sensation where I am strangely reluctant to go to bed in the evening. I don’t want this day to end, I don’t want my time with Ryan to end, I don’t want to be one day older when I wake up. It’s a feeling that came with the full strength of the Lamictal so I assume it’s related. It’s not debilitating or terribly inconvenient, but it is weird. I’m supposed to be unfiltered with this blog so you get all the tidbits, even the not so interesting ones. The best way I can describe this feeling is what I used to get on Sunday nights when I didn’t want the weekend to be over and have to go to school the next day. If you remember that feeling, you know what I mean.

It is so...bizarre to feel hope for the future. Even just a month ago I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be better. I can remember sitting on my couch and forgetting what “normal” felt like. I was worried I wouldn’t recognize it when it came back. And here it is. It’s not a subtle difference, with the worst symptoms gone but still a heaviness, a weight tied to me. It’s a complete and total change. There is no comparison I can give to you because I don’t think anyone that hasn’t suffered from a disease that was suddenly treated can experience this. Maybe...okay, maybe if you’ve ever had intense tooth pain and you go to the dentist and give you a root canal and suddenly that pain you’ve been living with for weeks is abruptly, completely gone. That’s what this is like. I was in pain for years, severe pain for months and now, now it is gone.

I’m not sure if I’ll update any time soon because, while I still have bipolar disorder, my journey to wellness appears to be complete. Once I have to go off my medications for baby purposes, I’m sure I’ll be back. For now, I’ll enjoy the rest.

Not to Sound Ungrateful, But...

I’m tired of not being happy with my life. I have a good life. I have a great job with great benefits. I have good friends that I genuinely love and care about. I have great family that I get support and love from constantly. I have arguably the best partner I could ever ask for. I have great pets that make me smile. I have nice things. I have minimal debt that I’m close to paying off. I have everything.

Including this stupid disorder. Bipolar disorder completely ruins my ability to enjoy the wonderful things I have going in my life. I feel so completely ungrateful because I constantly read about people with bipolar disorder who have it so much worse off than I do and I can’t make myself feel better about my situation. Instead of thinking, “I’m so lucky” I think “I hate this and I don’t want this to be my life anymore.”

When can I finally stop whining? When can I stop complaining about poor, sad, bipolar me and start to relish in the wonderful good things I have going for me in my life. Consciously, I know how good I have it. But that doesn’t stop the rampant feelings of hatred that I feel for my life. That’s the bipolar disorder unchecked having its way with me.

Being bipolar is so stupid. It causes the worst things, and I don’t mean just for me. It causes me to be such an unbelievable pill for everyone else to deal with. I can have a perfectly lovely day that leaves me lethargic and mopey because “something feels wrong.” I feel off, like something isn’t right. Don’t know what it is, don’t know how I fix it. My brain is just telling my body that something is off and until it figures it out it’s going to make me anxious but sluggish and slow of thought.

I’m having a hard time writing something that flows smoothly and gets across a point I haven’t driven home a thousand times before. I feel like so much of my blog is repetition and I don’t know if that’s just because I think the same thoughts constantly so it feels repetitious to me or because I’m actually saying the same things I’ve already said. Ugh! This stupid bipolar brain is so fogged up and confused right now. I’m not even 100% sure what I’m saying anymore.

I know that I started this to say that I know I’m not unlucky. I know that I have every possible advantage on my side and I am grateful for those things. I am grateful for the thousands of ways my life is so much better than it could be. My life is filled with, for lack of a more secular word, blessings that I am thankful for everyday.

And yet I hate my life. I hate everything. I hate the sun in the sky and the grass underfoot. I hate everything that lives and breathes, I hate everything that is bereft of life. I hate colors and sounds and sensations. I hate it all. I should love everything and I hate it all so much it makes me want to scream. I see a smiling baby and I hate it so much I could spit. A cute dog trots past me and it makes my insides squirm with loathing. I hate. I should love everything and I hate it all.

That’s what I feel today. That’s what my life is. My privileged, first-world, first-rate life that so many people would give their left arms for and I hate it. Not every day, but today I do. Today I hate and I feel ashamed. I loathe with all my being and and it shames me to my core because there’s no reason. No reason except my stupid, crazy brain that needs to just shut up already.

Let me end by saying that this is because of my unchecked bipolar disorder while I wait for my medications to get to levels of full efficacy. I can hope for things to get much better within the next five to six weeks.

Ah, Mania - My Old Friend

I hate transitioning between drugs. The Latuda had to be stopped after just a day because it made me feel foggy and a little feverish. Instead, I am on lithium 600mg to go with the Lamictal 25 mg. Unfortunately, those are both very small doses of their respective medications so my bipolar disorder is essentially like a dog on a very thin leash. It can hold on tentatively but if something excites the puppy named "bipolar disorder" it's going to break the lead and run rampant through the streets of my brain. That metaphor got weird...

Anyway, I was feeling anxious but thanks to Klonopin 0.5 mg I am feeling calmer, if not entirely well. I feel sleepy, which is an unfortunate side effect of the Klonopin. I mostly feel...bleh. Is that a feeling? If it's not currently one, I would like to nominate it for "feelinghood."

I feel like I'm rambling. I don't have the clearest thoughts right now. I'm not even sure what I want to say except that I want to be able to say "fine" when people ask how I am. I want to be fine. I want to be okay. I don't need to be great, I don't need to be awesome. I just want to be fine - mid-line would work just great right now.

But aside from wanting to be fine, I want to say I'm fine because I want to stop feeling like I'm whining all the time. Yes, I know I have a legitimate reason to feel bad, yes I know people understand that and believe me, I've received such overwhelming support. The support I've been shown, and from places I would never have expected, has kept me going when times are tough and really make life that much more liveable. I couldn't ask for a better support system.

However, I feel that, at some point, people get tired of it. Not that anyone has shown that - please don't get me wrong, people have been nothing but wonderful. But I think,it’s got to get annoying, tiresome. It’s tiresome to me!

I’m having a really hard time concentrating because the bipolar puppy has gone off the leash and is rampaging across the land. I feel twitchy, fluttery. It’s this nervous energy that makes my thoughts flit by too fast and my brain too slow to catch them. My fingers want to type words I haven’t even thought out yet. It’s a surreal feeling.

I should probably take a Klonopin again (it’s been several hours since I started writing this, ergo several hours since my last Klonopin) but I hate having to take it. I hate being reliant on a benzo, the “scary” meds. Those are the medications that can really mess you up if you let them. And I’m determined to not let them. My psychiatrist tells me to it’s okay to take it and I’m not going to become an addict and I try to listen to him. I’m not trying to be thick-skulled, it’s just this gut reaction. Taking the Klonopin feels like cheating, somehow.

So, I tried coloring.That worked for all of ten minutes. I tried watching a movie and that went okay but I was still under the influence of the earlier Klonopin. I’m trying to blog and I think it’s turning out to be a mess. What am I even talking about? This blog has no point, no purpose! I’m just free thinking because my brain is running at 100 miles per hour and I can’t get it to stop.

Okay, think. What was all this about? Does it matter? My brain is a thunderstorm and my legs are shaking like I’ve had thirteen cups of coffee. Does it matter than I spell out the numbers instead of use the numerals? I remember from English that for numbers less than ten you’re supposed to spell them but you can use the numerals over ten. But I tend to type them. Why is that important? It’s not, it’s possibly the least relevant thing ever - but that’s all I can think to say.

Woah, I think I should stop this post because if it turns into a free thinking marathon while I’m like this the rabbit hole is going to get twisted and weird really quick.

A Hard Decision

Today I am making one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make by deciding to wait to have a baby until I can get well. It seems like a no brainer, it seems like something that shouldn't even be a question. But for me, who wants a baby so bad it sends me into a depression every time I see a pregnant woman, it is incredibly hard to put this on hold.

My solution is to get tested for my fertility (because I believe that I have fertility issues as we've been trying for months with no luck and my menstrual cycles are irregular) so that I am equipped with that information for when I am ready to have a baby. I will not go back on birth control (as that can take some time to wear off and I don't want to lose precious months), instead we'll use condoms. That way, as soon as my medications are stable and I'm ready to have a child, everything will be in place.

It's not the ideal solution, it's not a solution I love, but I think it's what is going to be best for me and my future child. I can't be a good mom like this. I can’t be nurturing and loving and caring when I can barely stand to be in my own skin. I want my child to feel like he or she is the most loved being in existence and I can’t do that without medication help.

So, I went to a fertility specialist today and we’re going to do some tests (some which I can’t even do until next month) and find out if I’m going to be able to have a baby naturally or if help will be needed. That way, if we need help we know to get it right away because once my medications are stable and I’m ready for children, we’ll have to stop the medications cold turkey because they’re the kind of medications that are very harmful to a developing fetus. Then, once I have given birth I can go back on my (known to be helpful) medication regimen.

Ryan came with me to my psychiatrist appointment so we could discuss our options and my psychiatrist is behind the decision 100%, which helps make it feel like the better option. I think I knew all along when my sister and mother were telling me I should wait that it was the right option and I hated hearing it all the more for that. I don’t want to wait. I want a baby.

But I can’t think just about what I want, I have to think about what is good for Ryan and for future baby and even for me. It’s hard to see it now but having to deal with an infant while trying to figure out bipolar medications would probably send me over the edge - I’m probably saving myself a huge hassle. So, that’s what I’m focusing on. Focusing on doing it to be a better mom and a better partner.

I’ve been started on Lamictal 25 mg today. My psychiatrist has wanted to put me on this medication for a long time but couldn’t because of the negative effects it would have on a fetus. I have high hopes for this medications because in bipolar forums people seem to do well with it. The only downside is that it is a very slow titration process. I have to be on 25 mg for two weeks, then I go up to 50 mg for two weeks, then 100 mg for two weeks until I finally end up with 200 mg as my daily dose. Apparently, there’s a very serious rash (that can turn into a trip to the hospital) that has to be avoided by very slowly introducing the medication into the body.

So, I will take the Lamictal with Latuda 20 mg (because the small dose of Lamictal will not be enough to ward off my bipolar symptoms) and hope that things start to turn around soon. This has been a rough, rocky road and I would really love to get to some stable ground.

What I Like About Me

My therapist has me making a list of ten things I like about myself. Who knew therapy came with homework? And such difficult homework.

Don't get me wrong, I like things about myself. I don't live in the world of self-hate that I was in as a child - I'm past all that. But to actually make a list to say "These are the things I love about me!" feels very odd. I feel narcissistic when I try to make my list because to say I'm good at something implies to me that I'm saying I'm better than someone else. I don't know if that happens to other people when they try to think of things they like about themselves, but it plagues me to no end.

My therapist loves to say "We should be our own biggest supporters instead of our worst critics." That sounds like a pretty good idea so I'm willing to work on the list, I'm willing to do the homework so I can become a better person. I am overly harsh on myself and I could give you pages of things I don't like about myself so maybe it's time I look at it another way. So, that begs the question: what do I like about me?

I have compassion towards my fellow man. I donate money every month to make sure a little girl in India has everything she needs in life: food, shelter, medication, schooling. I give loans on Kiva to help people better their lives without them feeling like they're just taking a handout. I genuinely care about the people in my life and their concerns and joys. I will do whatever I possibly can to ease someone's pain when life has been hard on them. I like to give random compliments on the street to people because it makes my day if someone tells me how much they like something about me and I want to spread that feeling around. I also love to buy the food of people behind me in drive-thrus; it's never happened to me but I think if I was having a rough day and I get to the window and some stranger already bought my food that it would really help erase my problems just a bit. I try, whenever possible, to avoid buying items that are not fair trade. I'd rather spend $15 on a single pair of underwear that was made by workers getting a real wage and working in good conditions than pay $15 for five pairs of underwear made by virtual slavery.

I have compassion towards animals and all living things. I don't like when people kill bugs and spiders that get into the house; I'll grab a piece of paper and scoop the little friends up and place them outside so they can live in peace, away from humans that want to squish them. I won't buy meat that isn't humane certified. I would rather pay several dollars extra knowing that the animal I'm about to consume got to live a good life than save a buck and know the animal was possibly driven insane by its terrible living conditions. I will take in any animal in danger and even if I can't keep it I will keep it safe and warm until I can find it a shelter or permanent home. I love my own pets and I take great care of them.

I have very strong opinions and ideals and I live up to them. I don't compromise my beliefs to make life easier for myself or others. The man I've chosen to spend my life with will always be my partner, never a husband. I don't care if I have to explain it every time I meet someone new and watch them realize I'm a little crazy - it's something that is important to me and I stick by it. A husband is the head of the household, a wife is subservient to her husband. Partners are equal. I know it's just a name to most people and I know many don't believe in the definitions of those words but I think that words have power and I want to know what words I am using.

I feel like such an idiot writing this. I don't like to flaunt my virtues and I don't like to put them out there for people to scoff at - not that I think people are that unkind, generally, it's just a fear I can't shake. But it's part of my journey so I'll do it. Just know that I was more comfortable writing about suicide than I am about this.

I am a good friend. I will always be there when a friend is in need and I will do whatever is within my power to help them through their tough times. I love being a good friend, actually. I get a kind of high from being able to really help someone (hence one of the main reasons for this blog: the chance to help someone). If a friend is sick I will bring them soup. I may not always make the soup, but I'll heat up a can of Cambells or pick something up from a local restaurant. If you're depressed or just feeling run down I will do whatever I can to help pick you back up. I never get tired of friends that need help, I don't feel overburdened by "needy" friends because I know I'm needy, too.

That brings me to my next one pretty nicely: I'm not a hypocrite. Or, I try very hard not to be a hypocrite and I think I've done a pretty decent job. I don't get mad at other people for things I do myself (or if I do get a burst of uncontrolled anger, I tamp it down right quick). I really try to live by the motto "treat others as you want to be treated." It's why I buy fair trade and humane certified items. I let people cut in front of me during traffic without making a fuss because maybe they didn't realize they were in the wrong lane or maybe they have someplace to be. If I catch myself doing something I find irritating when others do it, I stop. I'm not perfect at it, but it's a high priority in my life and I like that about myself.

I don't let anger hold on to me anymore. As a kid I had a lot of anger and held grudges as tightly as a drowning man holds a lifeline. But I realized when I was angry I was letting the people who made me mad have power over me. My mom taught me that. When you let your anger at someone else's actions dictate how you feel then you give that person so much power. I didn't enjoy being angry, it's a terrible, sickening feeling. Why would I want to let someone do that to me? So, when someone cuts me off in traffic I get upset but I tell myself to let it go and move on. Or if someone is rude or mean to me I let it roll off my shoulders and I try not to engage. If it's someone I have to deal with on a regular basis, or someone I care about, I will try and talk out the issue. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I do get mad - one of the common symptoms of bipolar disorder is flash rages that I have no control over. But I swallow my pride and apologize after I've shrugged off the anger. I will apologize even if part of me thinks I wasn't wrong because, well, angry is almost always the wrong response.

I am having some serious anxiety trying to write this. My arms and hands actually feel shaky because I hate doing this so much. How many do I have now? Six? I wonder if six is enough...I'm not sure how this is supposed to help because it's making me absolutely miserable. But I'm supposed to learn to be my biggest supporter, go me! Except I'm much better at criticizing than I am at supporting. I'm trying to think of it like I'm talking to a friend who needs some an uplifting chat. What would I say to me if I wanted to point out my good qualities?

Having taken a few days break from this post I think I can come back and finish it up with one last thing I like about me, something I’m rather proud of: I’m doing what it takes to get better. I see my psychiatrist and therapist weekly, I write about my feelings, I do moderate exercise to help ease anxiety, I talk with friends and family, leaning on them for support. I write about the things I like about me even though I hate it. Does it make me a better supporter of myself? I’m not sure but I do know I feel pretty proud that I managed to write an entire blog post that’s mostly things I like about me. For how hard that is for me, I’m very proud that I managed to get so much in.

True, I didn’t go the full ten but that’s more because I don’t want this post to be even longer than it already is. Maybe I’ll share the remaining items I like next time. For now, I’ll sign off knowing I conquered the dreaded list and feel good about myself for it.

Trying to Cope

My body really does not like Abilify. I’m currently on 5 mg of Abilify once daily down from 7.5 mg down from 10 mg and I’m still experiencing mild akathisia. I still take Cogentin 1 mg twice daily (which is supposed to prevent the akathisia - HA!) and lithium 300 mg has been added. The lithium is a very small dose but my psychiatrist wanted to try just a little to see if it would help with the breakthrough symptoms I’ve been having while on the Abilify. However, since I’m still getting the akathisia (mild though it may be), I might have to push to be on another medication.

I think my next option is to add an anti-depressant with a low dose of one of the anti-psychotics I’ve already tried. I have hopes for that because I know anti-depressants don’t cause the same terrible effects that the anti-psychotic drugs do. Because I’m getting really tired of the side effects of these medications.

I feel like a broken record when I say all this. I know my friends and family want me to look at the bright side of things and not focus on the negative but the problem is that the very nature of these side effects take away my ability to do that. If it was as easy as staying positive and keeping my thoughts full of hope then my life would be a cakewalk and everything would be dandelions and daisies. But my mind can’t get there because my body is fighting me every step of the way. When I say I’m depressed I don’t just mean emotionally - I mean my body’s central nervous system is physically depressed and limiting my ability to act like a normal human being. When I say I’m anxious it’s not just a case of the butterflies, it’s my central nervous system going into overdrive. That “fight or flight” mode can get vicious if left unchecked, which mine is right now.

I’ve been coloring mandalas the past two days and that does seem to calm me down and put me in a more “zen” state of mind. The problem is that it only lasts as long as I can color and my hand starts cramping after more than about 30 minutes. So, I’ve been trying to spread it out and color here and there when I feel particularly lost and restless. I’ve also been knitting a bit but that tends to make me anxious because I get overwhelmed by all the options of things I can knit or crochet and I end up having to give up about 10 minutes in. I’ve also been going on walks with Ryan or even just on the treadmill since that’s supposed to be helpful, too. Haven’t been to yoga in a while because the last time I went to yoga I had a panic attack and had to leave and I’ve been afraid of going back ever since. Leaving in the middle of yoga is embarrassing.

So, I’ve been doing the stuff that my therapist recommends. I’ve been making every effort, I really have. It’s just that with these medications my efforts seem to amount to less than zero. I’m completely at the mercy of my medications and they have not been nice to me so far. I want to be better, I really do. And I’m willing to do what it takes to get healthy except for the one thing that will actually work: stop trying to have a baby and get on medications that will actually help me.

More and more I’m leaning towards putting off having a baby, at least until we can get my medications under control. But I want to wait to talk it over with my psychiatrist and also I want to go to my fertility specialist to see what she has to say about my chances for having a kid. I have to weigh all the options because it’s not an easy decision to make. I want a baby so bad it hurts but I also want to be healthy and happy for my baby. I mean, sure, as soon as I have the baby I can start being treated and should find something that fits me within a few months, but that can be a long time with an infant.

Ugh! There are no easy answers! I get that life is never about the easy answers but things do get complicated when babies and mental illness both come into play.

To baby or not to baby?

What do you do when live seem overwhelming? When the sheer weight of the responsibilities of your day weigh you down like a ton of bricks? When the thought of surviving through the day is almost more than you can bear? What do you do when life is just too much?

I feel like those are questions I’ve asked a lot lately and I still haven’t quite figured it out. Medication helps, well the Klonopin helps with the chest-crushing anxiety but that’s a short term solution. If they don’t figure out my medications within the next few months the Klonopin will start to lose its effectiveness and I’ll need more and more for the same effect. Next thing you know, I’m a junkie for benzos and that is not the road I want to wind up on.

I’m in the weirdest loop of awfulness. Every week my doctor tries to see what he can give me that won’t hurt a growing fetus (should one ever inhabit my womb) and won’t damage my fertility (which is already struggling as is) and every week he has fewer and fewer choices. The kind of drugs that would help me are terrible for people trying to get pregnant. And I just had to want to get pregnant right around the time I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

I don’t want to stop getting treated for the bipolar disorder because that lets the full crazy of my brain out of the bag and no one wants that. But I also don’t want to give up trying to have a kid because it’s going to be difficult for me and I need as much time as possible to make sure I give my body a chance to do that thing that so many other women do without thinking about. Not to mention, I’m supposed to feel relief from my symptoms while pregnant and wouldn’t that be a lovely change of pace?

I have also found that small amounts of alcohol erase many of my symptoms and make me feel just lovely. However, I’m afraid of that road because “one drink a night” can turn into more so very quickly. But at the same time I don’t want to sneer at something that legitimately makes me feel better. Having one drink a night will not make me an alcoholic - or so the professionals keep telling me - but I have such fears of developing dependencies. Especially because I’m using it, basically, to self-medicate and that’s never a phrase with positive connotations.

So what do I do? Well, I should get back into exercising and yoga but the Klonopin makes me very tired. I’ve started knitting again but my hands cramp up and I lose interest. I’ve ordered an adult coloring book and some colored pencils, we’ll see if that does anything to help. Because when I’m in the grips of anxiety everything seems impossible. Writing this blog has been beyond me for days and days and only now, after taking a Klonopin, have I been able to write anything. And even still, I feel like I’m writing this underwater - I feel like my fingers aren’t moving fast enough or precisely enough. I feel like my thoughts are coming to me through a crummy phone line with static and an echo. I feel drugged up and it’s not enjoyable.

My disorder is starting to show its toll on my relationship with Ryan, mostly because he can’t stand to see my like this day in and day out. It leaves him feeling powerless and inadequate. We’re going to see a couple’s counselor next week to address some of these issues before they can become real problems. Our relationship is fine and we don't fight often but it seems smart to get counseling before real problems start to arise. But it sucks that the most stable and sure part of my life is starting to show cracks because I’m nuttier than a squirrel’s outhouse. I hate being crazy. I hate being anxious or depressed or angry or sullen. Why can’t I just be a normal person already?

And the kicker is we could probably get me set up on meds that would make me feel like a real person much, much easier if I just gave up on having children any time soon. It’s becoming a more and more tantalizing choice but I see a fertility doctor next month so we’ll see what she has to say. In the meantime I’m stuck on inadequate medications that leave me with crippling anxiety and bogs me down with depression. I would give anything to just be pregnant already because that would mean I’m finally, really on the road to recovery and treating this stupid illness.

I just don’t know how much longer I can handle the ups and the downs. On my current medications my bipolar disorder is barely in check and that means I’m running up and down the spectrum of human emotion. I get anxiety that has my throat pulsing and my stomach churning and then something sets me off and I’ve got depression so bad I can barely move or speak. This back and forth is torture, especially because I never seem to land in the middle. I’m only ever anxious or depressed - there is no medium. And my brain keeps whispering that this could all go away if I just  gave up my dream of having a baby, while another part of me whispers that if I can just hold out until I do get pregnant things will get so much better.

How do I choose between a baby and not feeling insane anymore? Seriously, I’m asking. Is it worth giving up a shot to have a child and maybe just hope adoption will be something Ryan and I can afford so that I can be normal and healthy? Or is it worth the months of misery for the bright, cute little ball of light at the end of the tunnel?