Been all depressed and angsty all day. And my fingers ache.
Now at work.
Should read english and then write some. Try at least.
I just feel so “no-meaning-to-anything-no-matter-how-I-try-I’ll-never-make-it-I’m-just-a-failure-anyway” and so on.
Depressed and grumpy and I just don’t seem to care.
I guess I’m in need of some more of those happy pills.
I’m tired. Had difficulties falling asleep last night, and the alarm woke me up so early. Usually I avoid scheduling appointments before noon, but my Doctor is busy and I had to take the time she had to offer, and it was today, 10 a.m. now I’m struggling to keep awake.
We talked about my diagnosis with the doctor – do I have bipolar disorder, or am I more the Borderline-type? I’ve had the so called Borderland-disorder for since 2006, but one year ago they changed it to Bipolar. I do not feel like it though. I’m impulsive and when I get excited about something, I start new things and talk a lot. I also make decisions quite fast.
But still, my mood swings are usually short, the “fast phase” no not last even for the four days required to be hypomania. And more than manic, I’m impulsive.
I have a different doctor now than then, when I got my bipolar diagnosis. She said we don’t have to make decissions right now. I’ll talk about it with my psychologist, and we’ll see. We’ll see if I should have some more medication. More Happy Pills, yei.
Also, I have an appointment with my neurologist in Feburary. Last summer I was maybe-diagnosed with epilepsy. Like everything in my life, it’s not for sure though. The brainwave or whatever they did on me May 2011 indicated something though.
I went throug some testa last spring, because I had these spasms that I couldn’t controll. I didn’t have seizures, but really violent spasms. I had a hard time eating, reading a book or holding anything.
It was concluded that I’m allergic to lithium, which I was on due to the bipolar diagnosis. But before that they did those tests, and they showed something else too. So now I’ve got an neurologist too, not only a shrink. Hallelujah, am I lucky.
And my luck doesn’t stop there. I developed massive jointpain in November – before that, I had some pain, but in November I had to get some sick leave from work, the pain was so bad. It lasted to the beginning of January, because the doctor (a third one!) just took some blood and they didn’t show anything, so he decided I was fine. Even if I was hurting all the time and the smallest tasks made my pain worse. In January I got a new appointment, and this time he wrote me a medicine that increased my paintolerance.
It helped. At least for now. I have started to have pains again, and I am afraid the pain will come back, as it adjusts to this new medicine.
My psychiatrist do seem to believe me, and she said she do not believe that my pain is due to over-weight – as the worst pain is in my fingers, I too have a hard time understanding how my fingers would ache from my weight.
I do know that I should loose some weight, and I am trying. My weight went up again in December, when I had all these pains, cause I couldn’t exercise and I was feeling really depressed and then I have the bad habit of eating a lot.
My Psychiatrist also commented on my blood. The trombolytes are abnormally high, and my red blood cells are unusually small. It could be explained by anemia, but my hemoglobin is fine. I’ve had this on and off for several years. It’s not alarmingly off, but still, it’s strange. Not strange enough to start looking for answers though.
And, last (for now. The inside of my right thumb has for one and a half weeks felt numb. I do feel pressure at the inside of the thumb, but I have difficulties feel the different between hot and cold and between different materials. My Psychiatrist thinks it is neurological, and sain I should tell my neurologist, when I see her in February.
Anyways, even my Psychiatrist concluded that I have all kinds of these small “things”, nothing alarming, but still…
And oh, I forgot maybe the worst of them all! I, at times, suffer from restless legs. That is torture! Such pain that I feel like beating myself up to make the pain less. It’s just so bad. Luckily it doesn’t happen that often, but when it do happen – maybe about once a month – I feel like killing myself just to get away from the pain.
So, there are little this’n’that about my health, but for now, my meds stay as they are. At least until I meat with my neurologist.
Oh, and I talked to my Psychologist about my late creativity, and how I miss it. She said it is possible that my meds influence my creativity, but that that is maybe the price I have to pay to get some kind of stability in my emotions.
I just don’t know if I am ready to pay that price. Give up my dreams, just so I can live a life of boredom?
When I was young… Every big stone I saw was a troll who had been out in the sun, every tree was an ent. I used to caress the trees softly, talk to them. I thanked them when going down a steep slope, thanked them for being there to support me if my foot slipped. I’d ask their forgivness if I thought I’d accidentally hurt them.
I imagined seeing elfs and fairies in the corner of my eye. I remember chatting at length with others about what was real and what was not and if one really could count fairies as “not real” just because there was no sure proof of their existance – as I saw it, there was no sure proof they did not excist, so everything was possible.
I remember loving poetry. I’d read at home my favorite poems, sometimes searching for new ones. I’d read them aloud to my self and even using my body to theatrically express the poems. I did the same with songs. When no one was there to see me I would dance and my dance was a performance.
I’d tell myself the most fantastic stories and live them out in theater in my home – again with no one watching. I’d work for hours on dialogues, sometimes days even weeks or months. I had these stories that I repeted and worked on. I’d perfect the scenes and the different persons personality and what they said and what they did and why. I made the story bigger and more and more happened, but I also went back and changed parts that didn’t fit. Sometimes I’d go through the same scene from different angles and different dialogue. I loved my stories.
I remember my first girlfriend. We would sit on the sofa and I’d tell her the most fantastic stories. Stories about aliens and other creatures. I’d make her laugh.
I did not have a lot of friends back then, and the ones I had often lived in a different city than I did. But I did have Dreams. I didn’t do the “face my feelings”-thing though. I locked the feeling up inside me, and smile.
In 2006 everything changed.
I started facing my feelings, and they were bad. I didn’t take it well. I was 25 years at that time, and a lot of different feelings were locked up inside me. Now they came all out, overwhelming me.
I did not know what to do.
Now. January 2012.
I do not read poetry out loud anymore. Nore do I think the big stones are trolls, and I haven’t had a discussion of the reality of things for years. Even when I sleep, my dreams have become dull. I can’t concentrate enough to tell myself any stories. When I write, I have difficulties finding the words. The stories I have managed to write, are short ones. I do not feel inspired anymore.
My Love says that maybe I don’t tell myself stories anymore, cause I have no reason to want to run away to an imaginary world.
I have Her now, My Love. And I have friends. I talk about my feelings and do not just lock them up. I live more in the world now than then.
But. I miss my stories.
I wouldn’t change anything, if the prize was My Love. She is the only one worthy the sacrifice. Everything else I would change.
I miss my stories. I miss my imagination.
I want to write again, to imagine, to be filled with passion.
—
I do not know the reason. Why did my dreams die? Is it because I am more connected to the world, or is it the Happy-pills the doctors feed me, that makes me feel like a robot at times?
Tomorrow I have an appointment with my doctor. I’ll try to remember talking to her about feeling this way.
crazykitz 