looking out of windows & writing letters to myself
these days leave
like water running through uncupped hands
once upon a time my world was wondrous;
there were big dreams & days that didn’t end —
but now
all i have is time,
these empty pages,
& a broken pencil with a broken tip.
it’s beautiful out today, & i feel productive
it’s early spring
it’s bright skies & cherry blossoms & i’ve only had four hours of sleep so i feel productive;
today i am going to be productive,
today i am making my list,
today i am going to:
make the pancakes from that recipe i got last summer
make the bed for the first time in weeks
vacuum for the first time in over a week
go for the walk i’ve been waiting to go on
maybe coffee with a friend i haven’t seen in a year
mail these fifty letters
check the post box for the first time in over a month
pay last month’s bills
get groceries by myself: apples, bananas, bread, brocolli & quinoa
start painting one of these canvases i’ve had for weeks
finish the painting i started in december
paint my fingernails since my old polish has all chipped off
unload yesterday’s clean dishes
throw out yesterday’s stale tea
call my mother
go out for dinner — maybe that new restaurant down the street?
easter dinner?
try this lemon poppyseed loaf recipe i’ve been looking at for 2 weeks
have a little unscheduled bipolar breakdown
eat cold pancakes two hours late while i
cry into kleenex over old written words
…….
today i am going to stay home,
again.
it’s a capital M because it was a big one.
i guess i should start by saying, i have no idea what i’m saying.
* * *
i’d say it started in 2008, but it really happened long before then, and 2008 wasn’t too long ago. i had always known i was different, messes of cliches perhaps, but the limitless energy & the sudden crashes were a little hint too. i’d read about bipolar & everything fit a little too perfectly, but i was too smart to be bipolar, & no one but me seemed to think anything could possibly be wrong, so the thought kinda danced in my head & that was it. for a long time. years. okay, maybe my whole life.
it wasn’t until the anxiety developed legs (and chains) of it’s own until i realized it was a problem;
phobias were developing out of nowhere & before i knew it i was spinning homicidal stories out of stray socks & all but feeling insane. i’d like to blame it on the stress, or the meds, or the anything, really.. it’s hard to explain when your world turns suddenly upsidedown & stays that way. but that’s what happened, i’m not sure exactly when it happened but i woke up one day & everything was different, & there was no way out.
eventually i decided the only solution was the easiest one: a trip to the doctor for a tiny pill full of tiny beads that would end up being my downfall. it was too simple: take one, once a day, and come back in a week.
a week later i had hardly slept — jitters kept my mind off food & my mouth busy, somehow i managed to make it to all my classes between trips to the bathroom to puke & make sure my eyes weren’t turning to liquid. this little pharmaceutical demon — effexor xr, prescribed to me for a generalized case of anxiety which later turned out to be bipolar. and nothing was the same after that.
i was only on that demon drug for 8 months, or maybe was it 9? that whole time feels like a blur — memories are blocked out & blacked out & all but gone, so i can’t really be sure. but eventually the anxiety came back, & with it, the depression…. & suddenly i woke up one day with the realization that i didn’t care about anything & life wasn’t worth living. not that it was suicidal — just not worth it. i felt like i was running on a script, with no soundtrack.
3.5 years into my degree program, with 4 months to go, i hit the wall, stopped taking the medication that i was certain was destroying me, & was destroyed instead.
that was however many years ago — it is 2012 now. & i’m still waiting for the medication to wear off & for normalacy to overcome me — the normal i had before the medication, when i could be super productive for many months before a couple months of crashing. instead i’m left with crippling depression & blurry memories of what was.
this is my story about living with bipolar, in bits & pieces. and why you should never ever ever ever ever ever take an antidepressant (effexor xr) when you have bipolar ii…. or i guess i should say, this is my story of why misdiagnosis fucking sucks.
dancingindarkrooms 