Since I’m terribly bad at updating here – and elsewhere, for that matter, I’m giving those of you who care yet another way to peek into some of the corners of my dark life. Hopefully, I’ll get back into the regular routine of updating Plurk on a semi-daily basis. However, given the enormous tidal wave of . . . stuff . . . that’s hit my life of late even that may turn out to be a feat in and of itself. Things have been so chaotic and topsy-turvey that even my much beloved Bipolar World Cafe has gone by the wayside where my regular participation is concerned. Some things occupying my time are good, whereas others I’d ask that this cup be taken from my lips, to get Biblical for a minute. Anyhow, below is a mini-timeline of my Plurk posts. Enjoy!
Not only do I feel useless, but I feel like I’m pissing someone off without meaning to. Great. Watch me fail all over the fucking place.
True to addiction, huh? Everything gets going good and you find a way to tear it apart. You can’t have nice things.
There goes the committee. Spin, spin, sugar . . .
(ephemeral)
All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I’m feeling like I’m headed for a
Breakdown
I don’t know why
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they’ve all been talking ‘bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I’ve lost my mind
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re taking me away
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be
Matchbox 20 – Unwell
(ephemeral)
[19:16] John: Show me a bipolar in a happy relationship and I will show you a peace-loving President
(ephemeral)
(This was originally a message board post on a Bipolar forum that I’m a member of.)
So I’m in a quandry right now, and I’ll probably go with what I know the right thing to be is, which is also what my gut tells me to do, BUT . . . I don’t wanna
In other words, this may just be a Reese-is-being-a-big-whiney-baby-and-thus-is-ranting post. sigh You’ve been warned. SO . . .
I don’t want to take my meds. I want to discontinue them. I don’t really have good, solid reasons for this when it comes down to this. I’m just sdick and tired of taking them every single day and being reliant on something external to ensure my capacity to function in the world. Now, I KNOW that, akin to my brother’s and father’s diabetes, I NEED my meds in order to function properly and effectively, and thus I’ll probably, most likely (h*ll, DEFINITELY - let’s not lie) continue taking my meds day in and day out for the rest of my time on God’s blue and green. Heh. But right now I’m just in a strange place with my relationship, I guess one could say, with my meds. Whereas I used to not mind or care about taking pills now all of the sudden it seems as though I kind have started to really dislike it. Is this normal? I mean, do other people with chronic illnesses who depend on medications that they have to take routinely to survive ever get disgusted with said medications, dependence, and routines and desire to "go on strike"? Well, now that I think about it . . . I guess it’s not all that uncommon.
My little brother and only sibling, David, has been diabetic since he was six years old. Well, since just before he turned six – by about a week or so. Yep, he got to spend his birthday in Texas Children’s Hospital hooked up to IV’s while they tried to bring his blood sugar levels under control. He nearly died because of it, too. But that’s another story for another time. Back to the point, though: I can remember a time when David, a few years after getting diagnosed as diabetic, that he would throw fits around times when Mom would say to him that he needed to test his blood sugar or to prepare for his shots of insulin. He went through a few phases and bouts where it was readily apparent that he was angry, upset, not very happy about the whole situation, but . . . he HAD to. He didn’t have a choice. Without insulin, he’d die.
I won’t die without Lamictal, Lexapro, Gabatril, Topamax, Klonopin, or Adderall. My life would just be . . . different. I just wouldn’t function. My BP, BPD, Panic Disorder, Asperger’s, and ADD symptoms would all just get worse and eventually I’d probably just decide life wasn’t worth living and attempt suicide again and land – guess where? – back on a psych ward, probably court ordered.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. At least now I can understand where my brother was coming from during those times when he was complaining and bemoaning the glucose-monitoring-and-insulin-shot routine. I just hope that I can come to peace with it like he’s apparently managed to, that I can attain the serenity about it that he has.
(ephemeral)