Bipolar

It’s official.  For a few weeks now, but I’ve been trying to get someone to figure out what drugs I need.  So far, 300 mgs of lithium.  Can’t start taking it till my CNP gets the results of my blood test.  Till then, I’ve lorazepem to keep me calm and control the insomnia, but it doesn’t help too much.  Not since the first night.  It knocked me on my ass in an hour.  The next night . . . not so much.  I knew what to expect, and I fought off the drowsiness and stayed up for another three hours.

Slow at work today, so I left early.  Was suddenly just massively tired and depressed.  Yesterday I was so energized and up.  But today. . . .

I took my lorazepem just before I got home and slept for six hours.  Watching Olbermann and Maddow, then popping another and sleeping till morning.  I’m just tired and sluggish.  Can’t seem to get in gear since I got outta bed this morning.  From the week before (despite getting suspended from work for four days, for insubordination) I was so UP.  Ideas, writing, everything.  I didn’t need sleep.  Sleep was for the weak and insipid.  Now, I just wanna close my eyes and never wake up.  Just tired.

I keep meaning to blog more, to keep up with blogs I like, but I’m either HIGH! and can’t focus, or low, and simply don’t care about anything.  I think that’ where I am right now because even typing is physically exhausting me.

Meh.

Sometimes, it’s not even that I want to die because I hate being alive

–it’s that death’s the only way to get away from other people.  They disgust me, more often than they don’t, and I’m sick of being one of them.  Sick of the pettiness, the bullshit, the stupid, impotent anger we, the consumerati, have over silly, tiny shit.  That people think nothing of ruining the day of someone who’s never done anything to them–who is, in fact, trying to help them–just because they can.  Because they can’t their fill-in-the-blank fix as fast or as easily as they’d like.

I work in customer service, and get to see a fairly wide cross-section of American attitudes.  I would hope that maybe it’s only US citizens. when it comes to this level of misery and narcissism and mean-spiritedness, but . . . man’s a predictable animal.  A herd animal.  We’re all the same.  No matter where I go, people would be rude, stupid, lazy, cruel, thoughtless, immature.  Small.

There’s only one way of getting away from that entirely.

It might not have made sense an hour ago, even, but it does now.  I can see so clearly, dispassionately, that there’s no other getting away from what makes me the most unhappy: people.  The only way to be at any kind of peace–forget happiness, I don’t expect that anymore, unless I’ve had too much caffeine–is for them to die, or me.  And since even the best ninja can’t take out an enemy that’s six point-something billion strong. . . .

I don’t know anymore.  Why I’m here, or why I bother.  The thought of doing this for another fifty years makes me so tired, and I just want to sleep.  The never-wake-up kind.  I’m tired of struggling and being miserable when they’re the ones that suck.  When they make me wish I was dead, not the other way around.  I’m the wronged party here, but there’s no redress for this.  No other way out.  The only question is, do I take it into my own hands, or let time/circumstance do it for me?

Every day I lean more toward the former.  Only a crazy person or a masochist would hang around just to be abused, right?

I just don’t want to be angry and sick of everything all the time.

You know what my life needs. . . ?

More cow-bell.

no title

Testing?

What the hell is wrong with this fucking site?

Edit: For some reason, I could only save as drafts, no matter how many times I hit publish.  Oy vey.  I think it’s back to normal–dunno if I actually “fixed” something, or if Google Chrome just decided to stop being such a damn princess and oh, maybe, work for a change.  But I can post to my primary blog, Daily Dose, so hopefully I can post here, too.  I should gin up a mood just to test that theory. . . .

So angry . . . so futile. . . .

I don’t wanna wind up one of those unbalanced crazies that kills their mother, but . . . I seriously can’t stand living with her, sometimes.  I just want to be alone, and . . . I never am.  Hell is other people, and I’m always, always in Hell, waking or sleeping.  And I know I’m stuck, that this is the way it’s gonna be, possibly till she dies, but I’m so tired of this life, and her, and everyone.  Tired of constantly being angry or sad, and having to trick myself into not wishing I was dead most of the time.

My Current Mood: “Enraged”, with a side of “Depths-of-Despair”

Just an observation, but. . . .

. . . when I’m feeling stable, I’m fucking bedrock. When I’m feeling unstable . . . I’m gravel in a high-velocity windstorm.

I wish I could be bedrock all the time. It’s quite nice. But I’ll happily settle for bedrock till I fall asleep tonight. Several hours of relative peace at any one time is a treasured thing, these days.

Okay, now

And *for now*. It was touch and go, but the extra caffeine pushed me right over the edge, and I’m just tired and numb, right now. My mind is empty. It’s a good listening place, so I am. Not to the Voice in my head (strangely silent for the past week) but to other people’s voices. On the YouTubes, watching videos on atheism.

My Current Mood: “In Love” with YouTuber QualiaSoup

Per Wikipedia, on Bipolar disorder:

“Ultradian states in bipolar disorder cycle much faster than rapid cycling, which is defined as four or more mood episodes in one year, sometimes occurring within a few weeks. Ultradian mood cycling is characterized by cycles shorter than 24 hours.”

This sounds like me. All day, every day. I’m trying to find a therapist, one who takes my insurance (which isn’t great, but which I acknowledge I’m lucky to have), but it’s hard. No one’s taking patients, no one is close by, sometimes numbers don’t work. I’m tired of trying, but there’s really nothing else to do. It’ll only plateau till it gets worse, I imagine. I’m afraid to think where I’ll be a year from now if I don’t try to fix myself.

There’s calm on the face of it–

–but I’m still wired. About to be more so. Still HIGH, but trending toward furious and sick of myself. Who the fuck messes up fucking *ramen*? Me, that’s who, and another cup of coffee’ll make it all better. I wish I was crying and in bed, now, because when I’m like this, I’m just as useless, only apt to be more tired, when I’m finally, finally numb. I got too much sleep last night. At least when I’m tired the HIGH doesn’t last this long. As it is . . . more coffee’s the worst idea, but I need something, anything. To either push me over the top, or maybe rocket me straight into low or numb. If only so everything’ll stop tasting so weird and I can stop shaking and every sound didn’t make me think I was being spied on, with an option to be attacked. If only it could let me off for a few hours, so I could write something that isn’t this self-indulgent twaddle. I have short stories that need writing, need editing. I have friends with fiction I should be beta’ing, or reviewing. But the world is too fast, too slow, catching me up and passing me by, and I just want it all to stand perfectly still, with me and for me, so I can have a little peace. For little while. Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen, but a mangler of Latin can dream.