Update
I haven’t posted much lately, here or on my other blog, because frankly, it’s just too much effort. I’ve been taking my medication regularly for a longer period of time than ever before, and I must say, I love the results. It’s amazing what they can do with drugs these days. I just go along, and I don’t panic, and I’m not too sad, and I’m not too happy. Really, I’m just marking time until I die, (which time I hope is sooner rather than later), but I’m OK with that, thanks to the drugs. I used to tell people this was no way to live, but then I experienced it, and it’s one hell of a lot better than the only alternative I’ve known.
I am working on an entry, though, that touches on my thoughts about the major events of the past month or so. I’ll post it eventually.
I would like to read more about you and this topic. I will keep checking.What seems to be the issue — if I might ask?
You can ask me anything–only I’m not quite sure what you’re asking. Clarify for a woman on sleeping pills?
What seems to be making you sad? or causing you to take meds?
Now you’ve done it! I’ll ramble on forever about mental illness, because I think it’s so important for it to lose its negative stigma.
Anyway, I’m rapid cycle bipolar. Unmedicated, I can go from miserably depressed to feeling like I can–for example–paint an entire three bedroom house in a few hours. I’m suicidal and I’m ecstatic and I’m lonely and I’m paranoid and I hate everyone and I love everyone and I will seriously hurt people (emotionally and, occasionally, physically) because I truly believe it is self-defense–and that is, obviously, an exhausting way to live. It’s been that way for me for as long as I can remember, but only recently was I able to articulate it well enough to get a diagnosis beyond “major depression.”
I still have the occasional spell now, but mostly now I just feel chill. I laugh, I cry, but I don’t get too worked up. People mistreat me, but I ignore them, because it’s just not worth the trouble. I’ve stopped writing, because like so many bipolar sufferers before me, my muse seems to have been chased away by the drug cocktail I consume every day. But it’s all good.
I’ve always argued against this to other ill people. “It’s not supposed to be like that,” I’d say. “You’re still supposed to have strong emotions, to stand up for yourself, to write.” But so far, I’ve experienced the constant roller-coaster, and I’ve experienced the constant bland. These are my options, and I strongly prefer this one.
I also really enjoy talking about mental illness, as I’ve said, so feel free to ask anything or make any comments should you be inclined.