How do I know

It's been a tough day. I've been irritable and fidgety and crazy productive, although not for anything work-related. It's not as bad as it's been in the past, but it's worse than it usually is. I have this fear that it's a potent of something worse, that it's going to get really bad before it gets better.

It might explain why I'm so irritated with New Guy. Last night, when I hung out with Big Brother and the girl, he was (I thought) acting like an utter asshole. But then, I thought that the girl was acting kind of like an asshole, too, and Big Brother says they were both just fine. So maybe it's me. Maybe it's entirely my perception, which could mean that I'm just really pissy and irritable.

Now how do I handle it with New Guy? Do I just flat-out tell him, "I think I may have a hypomanic episode coming on, but I'm not sure, so if I turn into a crabby bitch, please don't hold it against me"? Yeah, that wouldn't freak anybody out. At the same time, though, if I do turn into a crabby bitch, I don't want him to think it's about him.

Unless it is about him. And how do I know? That is, oddly enough, one of the worst things about the crazazy: I can't trust my own perceptions. I can never really know if I'm actually feeling what I'm feeling or if it's just my jacked-up brain chemistry telling me something different.

I've got an appointment with Dr. R. on Thursday, thank God. I missed my last one because I was so pissed off after my meeting with Boss of Eternal Evil that I forgot it entirely. It's probably best that I'm going this week instead, though. With the way I feel now and the way I may well feel by the end of the week, I'll definitely, definitely need his input.

Frozen

Frozen is the word for how I feel. I know what I'm supposed to be doing--working out, eating better, writing my story, writing my novel, writing my screenplay, knitting that damn blanket--and it's not that I don't want to do them. I want so badly to do them. I just can't make myself move. I sit in front of the computer and can't type; I pick up my knitting and stare at it.

I lie in bed, trying to force myself to get up and do sit-ups. I cook up a nice veggie casserole and eat ice cream instead.

I wonder if this is how Hot Mess feels, constantly self-sabotaging. I realise that my issues aren't quite as serious as his, but still--to know what you need to do to make life better and to not be able to do it. To only be able to do the opposite.

It almost--well, okay, no almost, it does, it makes you lose hope that things will get better if you can't make those small steps, if you can't let them get better. And when things don't get better, you know the only person you have to blame is yourself.

He lost his job because he was an asshole. I might miss my deadline because I haven't written this story. Things could go right, but they aren't going right, because when I try to do what's right, I freeze. And maybe, like Hot Mess, I'm just subconsciously scared of what will happen when I do finally get my shit together.

Or I'm just lazy.

Two steps back

I have no idea what I'm going to say to Dr. H. tomorrow. There aren't enough minutes in a session. "Well, Dr. H., I feel like I'm back at the beginning. I'm stressed, I'm unhappy, and I'm doing bad things to myself."

"Work is a chaotic mess, and every time I try to do something to make it less so, They come along and jumble things up again. I now have more work for more departments than I can handle. I've tried talking with Boss of Eternal Evil about it, and she seems understanding and willing to help, but I'm not really optimistic because of the big problem, the fact that I've got more work for more departments than I can handle and I'm not getting any additional help or compensation, isn't going to change. To them, it isn't a problem but the solution to a problem. To me, not so much.

"And how am I dealing with it? Shopping, throwing up falafel, and having inadvisable ex sex. So much for my meds working. I bumped up the dosage this morning, but I'm still walking around feeling like I could burst into tears at any moment. I definitely don't feel like my stress reaction is being slowed down at all; on the contrary, I'm constantly ready to pop.

"And the sex last night? Not that good. I just wanted the physical intimacy, and it started out that way, but it ended... another way. I've always gone to him because he's always accepted me just as I am, but I begin to suspect that's because he just plain doesn't care--one way or the other, or about me. Hello to the false sense of emotional intimacy. Not that it matters, since he's leaving in a month, which I saw coming, but it's like to level me, and I wish he'd just go already so I can start getting over him. I know I won't be able to find someone else as long as he's in the picture, because what we have is the ideal by my standards--if only he loved me.

"So that's where I am, Dr. H. Work's a mess, romantic life's a mess, mental health is a big old mess, and while I trust that one exists, I don't see a future where all or even any of that gets resolved. I don't even know where to start. So, in other words, pretty much where I was the first time you saw me. Yay for progress."

Tears of a clown

You know you've got the crazazy when you're wondering if you need to "up your meds." Heh. I'm on "meds." And I'm wondering if I'm taking enough of them.

It's just that I've been doing this for, what (checks) working on three weeks now, and I'm only getting marginally better. I'm purging again (which might explain things somewhat), I'm not sleeping, I'm physically exhausted, and I'm panicky. Dr. F. said the drugs are supposed to slow down that immediate reaction to let me look at things rationally, but there have been at least three incidences when I've been so frustrated I nearly cried. Cried tears. At work.

Is this a failure on the drug's part, or am I just under such a ridiculous amount of stress right now that even Abilify can't overcome the self-destructive and panicky urges? And if so, what to do? Increase the dosage until stress levels are normal? Or let it ride and try to reduce stress on my own? Or both? Thank God I'm seeing Dr. H. tomorrow. I had to force myself to keep my interview appointment for a story today because I'm so tired and frustrated I just want to go home sick.

Hot Mess had better call todamnnight. I'm making this my bright-line test. I missed him like burning while he was gone, and if he can't be arsed to get in touch with me even to ask that favor he was talking about, our feelings are unequal and I need to pull out. I don't care how few minutes he has left on his phone; if he cares, he cares, and if he doesn't, I'm out.

Coming alive

A few discoveries I've made of late:

1. If I work out first thing in the morning (if I can force myself to get my run in), I don't have the cigarette cravings. Hello to the naturally occurring happy chemicals.

2. As inadvisable as it is, skipping breakfast and lunch is a great way to shed those unwanted pounds.

3. Caffeine on an empty stomach is a great shortcut to Super Perky. Warning: May cause jitters.

4. This quote on a friend's Facebook page:

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." --Howard Thurman

It's kind of a challenge, because with my mental state, I haven't felt alive in some time. But there are things that make me feel relaxed, that make me as not-crazazy as I ever am these days. Knitting. Writing fiction. Playing Monopoly with Hot Mess. Interviewing people for work, I discovered recently. Work in general does it a little better when it's something that I feel passionate about.

I don't spend a whole lot of time feeling passionate about my work, so I guess that's where the problem lies. Canuck recognizes this and has some kind of big plan in the works to get us working together  on projects that would impassion me, so I guess I can just wait to see how that comes together.

What about the rest? I'm doing more and more work for another department, which helps feeed that jones for talking to people and learning and sharing their stories. A/V and Art Guy have both suggested showing some of my knitting at a local art/craft gallery (I think) and maybe getting some money for it. With music, I can take Jazz Guy up on that invitation to sing with him and his band the next time they play out, and I can save up for that piano I've been drooling over. And between the novel and the short fiction I've got going, I could conceivably be able to make some amount of money off of my fiction in the not-too-distant future.

Monopoly with Hot Mess is not likely to ever pay off.

I guess the trick now is maintaining the energy and desire to do the things that make me feel alive. Because honestly, all I've wanted to do lately is ass around on my couch, surfing the Internet. And that isn't getting any writing written, knitting knitted, or songs sung. The sucky unfairness of depression: that the things that would make you feel better are the things you can't be arsed to do.