I was sitting in the backseat of my mom and dad's car (they came down from Wisconsin to take me out to breakfast and have a little quality time), and I was struggling to stay in the moment. Struggling to keep a brave face on… a fake smile… a quip here and there…
Fake smiles, hugs, and humor – that's the recipe for getting through these things without hurting anyone's feelings.
I tried like hell, but I grabbed an excuse to bail after a couple hours. I felt awful for being with them that briefly. I could have spent more time, but it was seriously a struggle to hold myself together.
Charlie came along for the ride. That was nice of him. It helped take a little of the pressure of me.
My parents stopped off at Walgreens for me on the way home. I needed to pick up a script for Trileptal.
Digression: My shrink apparently noticed my email titled "emergency" at 3am, and called me immediately. He probably imagined me shaking, chain-smoking, and crying at that hour. Instead, I had actually fallen asleep at a decent hour. I am nonetheless glad he called because my waking hours had become unbearable. It's so scary to be aware of these symptoms.
When I did not know what was wrong with me, or that there was anything wrong with me, it was very different. I wasn't afraid of myself the way I am now. I wasn't afraid of losing control. Everything that happened seemed to happen for a reason. My behavior made sense to me. Now, I see things more clearly, and it is terrifying. I never want to be the way I was. I can't be like that again.
Anyway, my shrink thinks the Risperdal is causing these thoughts about death and dying. I agree. It was just so sudden and casual. It's not a build up of unbearable emotions. It's just this sudden knee jerk impulse, but it lingers. It probably lingers because I am so miserable, but that's not why it started. At least I don't think so. Oh, what the fuck do I know? He started talking about me going into a hospital, and I said "NO." I can't deal with that. I would only get worse. I would feel so isolated. I feel isolated, now. A friend is on the way over, but I don't really want that either. I don't want to be alone, and I don't want to deal with people. I don't know what I want, and that seems to be a recurring theme. Or, maybe I just want too much.
Returning to the backseat: I was sitting there, spilling coffee on my sleeve each time the car hit a bump in the road, and I felt like absolute hell. When stopped at the drug store, Charlie went in to get the meds. I tried to chit chat with my folks about the Milwaukee Ave Arts Festival. (Being invited to participate in that festival is the one bright spot right now, and it's not quite bright enough.) When Charlie got back, I ripped into the bag with urgency. My mom noticed, and I tried to play it off. I said I was okay. (I'm not.) Then, I opened the bottle, and took out one of these new pills (my newest defense against myself). I quickly gulped it down with some coffee, irrationally hoping that it would somehow make my sadness and insanity go away, the way Tylenol takes away a headache.
I know it doesn't work that way. And, Tylenol never really helps with my headaches.