End Good Ideas

I've got an appointment to go see a doctor again next Friday. It's been over a year since I saw someone. I'm not exactly nervous, but I am, as I have been for the last few months, marveled by the way I feel and act.

Like today I was certain that I needed to cut some time at work so I wouldn't hit overtime. Twice I checked and I figured out that I could work to the end of my scheduled shift. So I did, a bit less seriously because we'd slowed down and I'd been running like Davey Crockett at the Alamo all day, and then clocked out and left. For dinner I had two sandwiches on the discounted dinner rolls and a bowl of ravioli that I managed to not explode all over the inside of the microwave by laying a sandwich bag over the top. Fed the cats, dozed off a little while playing Final Fantasy II on my non-phone iPhone and then put on some jeans to head out to the coffee shop which serves most days as my social interaction/internet access. And I've been here for several hours and it was only a little bit ago with idle thoughts in and idle thoughts out that I realized: I clocked out of work at 4:30, but my shift was scheduled to end at 4. I went over.

It's this easy sort of confusion and forgetfulness plus that I've had since I ran out of medicine. When I saw I was running out in January, I called in a prescription which didn't get filled because, as I learned when I called my doctor's office, I was no longer a patient there. They'd given me a script that lasted beyond the point which I'd be dropped for not seeing someone. And, no, sorry, no new patients. Better shit next time.

The immediate transition was rough. Paranoia, severe highs and lows and an inability to make decisions. Valentine's was spent driving from restaurant to restaurant and in the end we didn't eat anywhere. In the end, well, I'm not happy about that. Let's just say the end came sooner and a bit more harshly because of the changes I was going through.

But I learned to navigate it as best I could. That's what any person living with mental illness does, right? I mean, as long as you're living. The time I'd spent medicated gave me a clarity to find myself and understand and figure out a bunch of problems I had or at least ways to deal with them. So now, not being medicated, even if I can't control things or make them better for understanding them, I can at least identify them. Oh, hey! That's paranoia! That's a period of mania! There's crippling loneliness! How about a downward spiral!

It's been different. There's been something wrong most of my life before the medicine and this period after has been less terrible. But I'll be happy to get on something again. I always hated the idea of taking medicine, but it's not what I thought it was. The medicine doesn't make me me. It helps me do it myself.

And a crazy effect of whatever is wrong in my head, whether it's just straight up depression or actually bi-polar disorder type II like that barely american student diagnosed me as being, is that I can't even feel excited about the prospect of turning around these last few terrible months. Lol. A week from now I could be getting better, but right now everything's blah blah dark dark terrible.

I'll be happy to read a book. To write and draw. To experience some subtle peace from the day. To not feel like a complete failure at work. Millions of other things. Big bags of happiness. Days full of puppies and rainbows! Sparkles!

Okay. Coffee shop is closing. Weird to talk about this stuff in public. Bye.