#my illness is kicking my fucking ass and i’m gaining weight from my meds and i’ve been feeling real shit abt it so pls be nice lmao

[xy75]

new hair 🖤💚🦇🌿

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

It’s not that simple

I thought stable meant stable. I mean I take the meds every evening, and though they don’t let me sleep and cause some dizzy spells, they are working really great. I reacted so incredibly well on the smallest dose I was really hesitant to increase to the next level. However, a couples days prior to upping I could tell a difference. That seems to be the rotation I will be following until I get to a respectable dose.

The anxiety is back. I woke up with it. Not entirely foreign, but definitely not the norm. I’ve started the deep breaths again which sucks. A lot. The weight is starting to increase in my chest, my shoulders are having a harder time staying relaxed, my mind seems resolute on refusing to focus. And then it shifts to that darker and yet scintillatingly greater place. 

The addictive delusion of grandeur, my internal monologue of self centered thinking starts. It dances and swirls around the equally destructive increased sex drive, which arrives in tandem with these thoughts and creates a double helix of bad ideas. Even now I sit here thinking about delicious mistakes, impulsive behaviors, terrible actions I wouldn’t be able to come back from. And while picturing shameful fantasies I simply think “I can pick up the pieces later”. My sexuality kicks into overdrive and I’m desperate to find a man to satiate it- ugh that sounds so stupid.And, ya. I said man. Bisexuality doesn’t really present much since I have been with the wife for so long. I don’t bother defining cuz there is no point. I’m not a gay or a bi, I’m a “Her”. But in these moods, I am as straight as an arrow and yearn to be man handled and fucked into oblivion. I know that’s crass but it’s the only thing I can think of. I grit my teeth and try to focus on work as best as I can. It’s painfully awkward to speak to anyone in this state. Mercifully, the mood passes like a receding wave and the pressure on my chest returns. Maybe I should increase the meds sooner... maybe my body fights the improved mood too hard. But I wonder if it has anything to do with the exercise yesterday.

I used to condition daily in high school for basketball. I would go to the elementary school basketball court in my neighborhood and practice without requirement because the act of pushing myself was addictive. I would run miles around my block in a neighborhood were no one went running. In college the internal discipline continued as gym days were any day that ended in Y. Then something happened in my late twenties; the long time love of physical exertion abandoned me. I wasn’t the same. I somehow managed to run a couple marathons but it was during the reprieves of the disorder. Since the bipolar hit in full force (6 years ago? 5?) I’ve gained almost 30 pounds, become a sedentary, miserable, gluttonous sloth. I’ve been told liquor and alcohol stimulate the dopamine receptors in your brain mimicking the feelings of happiness. It makes sense then that people (read: I) tend to find refuge in these vices.

Since the meds, the yearning has stopped, at least for the vices. The liquor impulses have receded significantly (which is amazing but I’ll explain that later).  Yesterday, I challenged my meds to see where I was at after the mrs. inspired.

She played golf this weekend and a 2 hour tennis match. Yesterday she played another round of golf in 95 degree weather then played another 2 hour match outside on blazing clay courts. She kicked ass- and I was there to support. Something I miss out on constantly when unmedicated. She walks off the court as red as a pomegranate and exhausted but happy. I felt, in comparison, like a sack of fat. So instead of joining her for dinner, I went for a run.

It was still rather warm, so I assumed I would collapse after the first half mile. I turned on my run tracker and set off hesitantly. Mile one flew by like a breeze. I felt almost manic in my happiness. Turning the corner after the next block, I decided I was determined to run 2 miles, and found to have the energy to do so, so I kicked up the speed (which by the way isn't much- an 11:30 mile is rather good for me so "kicking it up” is a 11:00). I typically run with music, but marathon training has shown me the benefits of running with only your breathing as a soundtrack. That’s what I choose to do this run. It allows me to ensure that I don’t short myself and start wheezing too early. But by the time I hit the mid way point on my second mile I could feel an ache settling in. I began to panic. I wasn't ready to quit but I didn't think I could complete the 2 miles if I continued the same way. My last recourse was to use my phone as a speaker. I know that's pretty obnoxious but I didn’t care. Speaker in my hand I slowed slightly, determined to hit my target. I started the internal conversation I used to have with myself.

I scolded my quads, angry at my body for thinking it could stop before my mind commanded it. Then a song came on, one of my youth. One that I would use to sink into the pain and lean into my illness as a sort of comfort. I almost skipped it but something pulled at me. I kept it on, and went back to my run. Bipolar hasn’t allowed me to enjoy music from certain bands, because as soon as I hear it I immediately sink into a dark place. Jimmy Eat World is one. Their track “Kill” is the worst. As I ran, it the opening guitar strumming began to play.

Funny how I'm nervous still I've always been the easy kill I guess I always will

The more it sang, the faster I went. I listened to the lyrics. I started to sing. I realized I was singing to myself. Simply mouthing at first, then I began to whisper the familiar bridge between huffing breaths and felt a hit to the heart. 30 seconds into it I realized I was addressing myself, the bipolar victim that I’d been for years.

Oh God, please don't tell me this has been in vain I need answers for what all the waiting I've done means You kill me, you've got some nerve, but can't face your mistakes

I pushed on. My phone’s GPS interrupted and told me I had hit two miles. I ignored it and focused on the song in the background. I tore out.

So go on love Leave while there's still hope for escape Got to take what you can these days There's so much ahead So much regret

That was it- I was sprinting. I was screaming at myself in my own head. Angry that I hadn’t been able to do this in so long. Angry that I couldn’t or wouldn’t push myself. Angry that it had been years since my muscles were forced to build up that lactic acid because I fucking said so. Then the lyrics that are normally my undoing approached. At the anticipation of the next words, I know I'm about to break

I can't help it baby, this is who I am

Despite my wants, tears begin to stream down my face

Sorry, but I can't just go turn off how I feel

Impossibly, I push harder , run faster. I want to force it out. I don't want to hear this any more.

You kill me, you build me up, but just to watch me break

I scream. Out loud. To no one. And everyone.

I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away

I stifle one more scream as I lunge the last few steps.

"Workout ended. Total distance 2.25 miles. Average Pace 10 minutes 42 seconds. Fastest pace, 8 minutes 59 seconds"

A smirk breaks across my face. At least as well as a smirk can creep along your face when you are dying from over exertion. I began to walk in order to regaining the breath I cannot find. Laughing as I finish the loop, I feel lighter than I have in years.