This my first post of an ongoing hell trip that some people call Bipolar. I've been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, and fuck knows what else. I'm going to try to use this blog as my personal journal for the curiosity and/or amusement to some, but also to join a web ring of similar crazies. I can't stomp out the stigma of mental health disorders, but I can write about it so you can see what it's like to be certifiably nuts.
Today I told myself that I was going to walk almost 10 blocks to get to the drugstore to pick up my prescription, because I didn't want to have to ask the spouse if he could drive me. Also, I thought of a few things I could drag home from the nearby grocery store.
I washed up, brushed up, and completed the chore of my makeup mask. It felt almost as if I'd forgotten how to put on lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner. Come to think of it, the whole makeup process. At one point, I had to stop because I was feeling light-headed and anxiety ridden about my plan to get outside. Holding on to the sink and closing my eyes helped a bit with anxiety and more 'balloon head'. If someone had flicked me on the arm, I would have gone down hard.
Later, with sunglasses on and iPod in hand, I stepped out and locked the door, thinking how flimsy the door was. Then I was out on the sidewalk. I stumbled up the street to the store, which was about 10 blocks away. I had taken 200mg of seroquel and 2mg of clonazepam about 30 minutes earlier. Walking was difficult and hurt my back a bit.
I made it straight-ish up the sidewalk to the drug store. Walking was difficult and awkward, and I sort of tripped up at times. The only real walking I've done lately is walking a few miles on a treadmill. After staring at the variety of facial moisturizers for about 10 minutes or so, I was dizzy again and just sat on the floor, pretending to be checking out the bottom and lower shelves. No one was staring, at least from what I could tell.
I walked out of there with a few things, then found myself outside again, a little disoriented. And for some reason, I thought the alarm was going to go off as I walked out the door. There was the possibility that I could have been holding something and walked out of the store with it, unknowingly. It's happened before. But no buzzes or bells, so I crossed the street and went into the grocery store. Luckily, I knew exactly where the stuff I wanted was located in there, so it was almost an in and out trip.
Walking home was more difficult as the seroquel really started to kick in and my head was feeling like a balloon, my body a puppet on strings. It was a successful trip out, and all I wanted was to rip my clothes off and stand in front of the fan. Fuck it was rough, and I feel a bit traumatised by the whole thing. I was just glad to be back at home, alone in my cage again.
WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE
This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...
This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.