the modernity ward

Orientation

Day 2 of orientation -- not even classes! -- and all I can do is SHRIEK INSIDE MY HEAD because seriously? Seriously? Sitting in a room for basically seven hours and trying to learn stuff EVEN if it is stuff about how nice the rec center is and how I get free pap smears (I know, right? I'm gonna get one every week just on principle!) and how it is not okay to flash patients your thong-th-thong-thong-thong EVEN if it is just by accident and all that? 

It is making my brain into one of those too-hard poops, you know, a really tightly packed stool that pushes the boundaries of what poop particles are capable of and really makes you THINK (and you DO have time to think, since it takes like an hour and a half to pass the thing, I swear, nulliparas push out nine-pounders in less time than it's gonna take this thing to leave your asshole) where was I oh yeah REALLY MAKES YOU THINK about the origin of the phrase "shit a brick."

It's pressed too hard for its own good and stuff that should be separate is all immobilized and it doesn't corner too well, this turd that was my brain.

I'm sure everything is going to be fine though.

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE.

See?

One unforeseen benefit of being out of the house from 7 to 5 is that I am no longer touched out at the end of the day. And I actually like rolling around on the floor with the kids, and tickling them and getting kicked in the gums by them and having them jab me in the solar plexus with their sharp sharp chins. No, really! I like it!

Maybe that is also the antidepressants, at their fullest flower.

Either way, who could complain about that?

Well. Nice talking with you. I have to go find things in the freezer and put them in the microwave and eat them now. Love you bye.

 

As We Go Up, We Go Down (version 2.0)

I'm certain I used that title before, but, you know. Fuck off. (insert brilliant grin) 

I had four days of obvious hypomania -- jacked-up happy mood, pacing, racing thoughts, social-butterfly-ness. I think Monday's open mic brought it on: high excitement = high stress = unstable mood. But I rode the wave through a kitchen reorganization complete with cabinet painting, some house cleaning, a lot of writing, and a remarkably healthy attitude toward food (why oh why is that a symptom for me? NO FAIR). 

But! Some things were different. 

First, I saw it for what it was. I knew I was hypomanic. And I didn't make any bad decisions -- just a lot of tweets -- and I used that energy to get things done. I didn't yell at the kids and I didn't get irritable, and I didn't make any ridiculous plans or commitments.

And I knew the crash was in the mail. 

On Friday morning I woke up and the first thing I said was "OH GOD I'M SO FAT!" Which is pretty much my tell, as far as mood crash goes. I spent the day roiling with self-hate which I moderated by seeing it as something outside myself, a symptom just as much as the high mood. I still felt like an ass for the way I'd been acting; I still hated the sight of my stupid ugly fucking face in the mirror. I was sure everyone close to me should just leave, they'd be better off, god, what a vortex of shame and neediness I was and everyone should run fast and far from this broken pathetic loser, save yourselves, folks. 

It didn't climb on top of me, this mood. It didn't sit on my chest and suffocate me. It just obscured things for a while.

Twenty-four hours later, that angry black fog was gone. I felt...normal. Sort of...medium. 

Huh.

That was dull, I know. More a record for myself of a little victory.