There is a storm. Inside my brain, and in the sky. The are in sync. Banging, crashing together. Sometimes it is a relief. The outside storm somewhat drowning out the one in my head. The one in my head, so numbing that I am less fearful of the outside one. In truth I am fearful of them both, angry at both, saddened by both, and am brought to my knees by both. They wreak havoc on me, on my small minuscule world. They laugh loudly at me, silently on the outside, so no one else can see. Everyone on the outside sees nothing. Just a beautiful thunderous day. A woman getting on with life, or not.
Storm in a teacup. No. Storm on Jupiter fuckers. You know nothing. Why am I angry at you? I am angry at everyone. I know it is no one’s fault, but I am angry all the same. Stupid healthy people. Stupid happy people. Yet I know, so many other people are in physical and mental pain. I cannot see their pain, just as they cannot see mine. And for those not in pain, I should not be jealous. I should be glad that at least some people in the world are not miserable. At least this life has spared some people its shit. Bastard life.
My parking thingy is nearly up. I will return. I have seven minutes left, but my poxy knees will probably take that long to get their fuckin’ arse’s into gear!
I’m am home. It’s nearly two hours later. I picked up the kids on the way. Ironically there was a pretty intense storm. The external kind. Apparently there was a 61 mph gust at the kids’ school. For once I wasn’t scared. Maybe because the internal storm had been so loud minutes earlier. Q.E.D. I’m letting the kids play on their tablets. I never do this on weekdays after dinner. I cannot handle the idea of having to talk to them, or anyone. I am tired to my core. I have a psych appointment tomorrow. I usually look forward to it. Not in a weird – yay, I love psych appointments way. I like to plan next steps. Know what is coming. What slight changes are we continuing to make? How is my progress? Etc. etc. This evening I just don’t care. I want to sleep for hours on end. No forever. My storm is raging. My storm has blown itself out. The ultimate conundrum. I do not understand it. It doesn’t make sense. Yet it just is.
I will go to bed tonight, and thankfully sleep. I know this because of the magic of Seroquel. It is a gift and a curse. It brings me blissful sleep. It brings me cursed pound after pound after pound. Without it I would lose my mind, quite literally. I’m sure there are those of you who think I’m already nuts. Anyone with a mental illness is. I cannot concern myself with you. I do not address you. Lack of sleep causes hysteria and hallucinations among other things. I have on two separate occasions experienced the latter from lack of sleep. It is an awful experience. When I finally landed on Seroquel I was delighted, as were my doctors. I had been tried on so many other drugs, with nothing helping. Very soon after, it became apparent just how drastic the weight gain would be. I have gained ten pounds in the last month. I had already gained more than thirty in the previous eighteen months from other psych medications. The storm is raging. Raging I tell you!
So what will happen when I wake up? I should have had enough sleep. I have to drop the kids to school. We should leave the house by 07:25. My psych appointment is at 09:00. I presume I’ll make it on time. It’s impossible to know this evening how my storm will be tomorrow morning. Will it be relatively calm, or will it be as explosive as today or more so? Sometimes when I see my shrink, he’ll pick up on stuff I don’t even notice until he says it. Like last week. I didn’t feel as bad as the week before, but he commented that I seemed more antsy, and when I looked over my notes, I realized I had skipped over more than half of them, including some that I felt were really important. Usually I’m very organized when talking to him. I had been all over the place, and my concentration had been shot. Sometimes I honestly don’t notice symptoms until someone else notices first. Maybe I’ll be fine tomorrow. Maybe I’ll think I’m fine, but not be. Maybe I’ll be a complete shambles. Whatever the case may be, it’s important to discuss the big picture. Obviously one bad day isn’t crucial, as is one good day. The overall pattern is what is most important, or any extremely acute period of time. Like a suicidal period with intent. That trumps all.
And so your honor in conclusion… I am dreading tomorrow. It is another day, and I’m not sure I can handle another day. Like seriously. I really have to do another one of them? I am also… looking forward to is definitely the wrong term (way too positive)… glad it is coming, because I get to hash some of this shit out with Dr. D. Hopefully that will be productive. It usually is. I don’t think he’ll bring me into the hospital. I have no intention of killing myself. I feel like my mood is sliding downhill pretty significantly. I’m relatively confidant I can report it if it becomes close to dangerous. I am scared it will get to that point. Not because my life will be in danger. Because we don’t have a nanny, so my husband’s schedule will be screwed up, and Italy is around the corner, and I have to go.
I guess we’ll have to see what tomorrow brings.
Running Half Empty 