Wrote the following in the wee morning hours, then passed out without posting it:
So, I am still here, and I haven’t done any smack, or harmed myself, yet. I am trying to stay reasonable, and rational – mania makes this very difficult. I have the tendency to get panicky when shit goes awry while I am manic – either I am next to oblivious, or I completely freak out – no in between. And, this morning, I really felt boxed in. I remember a storyline on a TV show I saw once that kind of sums up how I’ve been feeling. There was this woman who had been through surgical sexual reassignment. Now, this character was played by Mia Sarah, who is hot, and who obviously, was never male, but we’ll overlook that for a moment. Mia’s character had a relationship with one of the characters on the show, and when he found out the truth about her/him, he could not deal, even though he loved her. Well, some time later, Mia resurfaces, and is rejecting her female hormones, so she can’t keep taking the injections, so she knows her voice will deepen, and her facial hair will grow back, and she would start to seem masculine, again. She says something to her ex (who is helping her through it), something like, "I won’t be a woman, and I’m not a man anymore." She felt like she had nowhere to go – she couldn’t go back to being who she was (no longer an option), and she was ill equipped to move forward, and be who she wanted to be (there was just no safe way to make it happen). Well, dude doesn’t think of the right thing to say, and leaves. Shortly there after, he thinks of something better to say, and goes back, but by then, she’s slit her wrists and bled to death. A nutty example, no doubt (David E. Kelley always tends toward the extreme – the show was "Chicago Hope."), but hopefully, you get my point.
I can’t be who I’ve been, and everyone seems to agree about that. Everyone seems to agree think I am broken enough that it’s worth whatever risk (worth it to them, anyway) to roll the dice, and try to fix me with these powerful, dangerous ass drugs (like Lithium and Depakote). But, I have a very hard time imagining myself living my life on those drugs. I’ve already been a prisoner to a substance. I just got free of that shit, and I swear, it’s right on my heels, sometimes, gaining on my ass. And, heroin was actually less scary in some ways. That might sound crazy to you, but if you tell a doctor you’re on H, they don’t insist on regular blood tests, to make sure you’re thyroid and kidneys aren’t failing (the way you have to on Lithium). You don’t have to worry about your hair falling out, like with Depakote (which could also make me fat) – yeah, fat, and balding – that’s what I need, on top of everything else (my looks may not be perfect, but they aren’t totally [email protected] yet, either, and I’d like to keep it that way). I am not trying to talk up heroin (don’t misunderstand, obviously, it is an awful, and cripplingly addictive substance) merely to point out just how HORRIFYING I find Lithium. I asked about Lamictal and he made a big deal about how that doesn’t treat type I bipolar, but my research disagrees with that assessment, and so I will probably talk to still another doctor. (Am I just stalling? Possibly… Charlie thinks so, and I have agreed to try the Lithium, if the next doctor suggests it. Why do I agree to these things?)
There’s no place ahead of me that I can stand to step, no place backward that’s safe to go, and I can’t stay where I am, standing on one foot, because everyone expects more of me. People already seem so impatient. I’ve been off smack like two months and people are clamoring about when I am going back to school and how soon I am gonna do this or that. Everyone was so impressed with the whole kicking thing, and now the novelty has worn off or something, or they think, "okay, that’s done, now – next challenge." And, that’s sh*tty. Now, they expect mood stabilizers (even if it’s some of the most side effect riddled stuff around), followed quickly by a return to school. I want sanity, too, but I am not confident Lithium will do anything good to me, and I am terrified of the damage it could do. My [email protected] imagination and creativity… I can’t lose that. It’s bad enough being foggy and forgetful because of the post acute withdrawal. And, I want to go back to school, very much, but I don’t need people nagging me like I am not enough without it, or something – like I am somehow less than, not good enough, or a waste if I am not immediately back in school. Obviously, I want to go back, and I will as soon as I can. Can anyone just be pleased with the progress I HAVE made? Anyone? Does everyone have to expect so much more than I can realistically give? Or to be so pushy about expecting it? Because, I am still fighting not to stick a needle in my arm, at some point, most days, and that can be a little distracting.
Everyone expects too much, too fast.
I was talking to someone who means the world to me, today, about all this. I told him how everyone keeps saying that if the side effects start, I can always stop the drug, but I worry that I won’t be thinking clearly enough to care, or realize – I often don’t know, in general, when I am manic or whatever (at least not right away). I could be like the guy on Depakote who stopped creating art, and stopped caring that he didn’t create art. If I stop caring about my art, who am I? Who would I be? Maybe, I’d be someone that my friends don’t like, anymore. Maybe, I’d be someone that I can’t like, at all, on any level… maybe, someone boring, who isn’t special, in any way.
My creativity dulled out… my affect flattened… the awe and wonder in my eyes, gone…
I asked my friend, "what if it affects me so much, that I’m not the same, and my friends don’t enjoy spending time with me, anymore? What if you don’t feel the same way about me?"
He said that from what he understands, most of the symptoms usually fade within a few months. First of all, if I was that altered, such that I was no longer someone they would dig, I doubt they’d wait around that long. I doubt I could stand myself, for that long. 3 months of not being able to write, of being someone without passion, or imagination – I COULD NOT STAND THAT. I couldn’t stand 3 days of having my ability to write creatively STOLEN from me. Ever see a movie called "Quills"? About the Marquis de Sade? They put him in a nut house, but he wasn’t crazy (just a sick f@ck), but they eventually drove him to madness by taking away his ability to write and create. He was an artist – even if he was a beast, he was an artist and an artist breathes creation. IF I CAN’T CREATE ART, I DO NO WANT TO EXIST. I hope I would see it, if that was happening to me, because I would rather die than live that way. As a [email protected] drone, with the only thing that I can do well [email protected] ripped out of me… and, it’s not like he said, "that wouldn’t happen." Well, I would never gut through that shit, hoping it would go away – if it [email protected] my creativity, and I know it, then I’m off it – that simple. I just don’t trust that I will know what’s happening or have the strength to take proper action. I could just wind up offing myself. Very easily… (but, admittedly, the bipolar also has better odds than most disorders of provoking such an action, all by itself).
The same friend also made a strange comment (it’s not really important what it was, because it wasn’t malicious, just strange and disconcerting) that kind of hurt my feelings, and I did say something about it, but the conversation quickly shuffled on, and I wasn’t going to launch into some protracted whining session about it. Just something to think about, I guess…
Yeah, I know, I am hypersensitive, and I may even sound irrational, and cowardly, but this is my journal, and if I am going to be the worst version of me, anywhere, this is probably the right place for it. I try not to be this whiny during real interactions (I sometimes fail).
Woke up, looked at this, and questioned whether to post it, but w/e… why the hell not? It’s where I was at, early this a.m. In a little less pain, now, I am not feeling quite as desperate, or whiny, but I still feel pretty shaky. I’ll write a update for today when I get back from outpatient.