Someday this will be funny. It kind of was right after I attempted it.
Clearly the new mix of meds isn’t working and I entered another bout of severe mixed state mania. This particular circle of bi-polar hell is now referred to as Dysphoric mania.
I could tell it was starting because of an inability to sleep for about a week and the agitation I felt. Plus, I heard cats.
Have never had an episode of euphoric mania. We always want what we can’t have eh? Think of the housework that would get done around here. But no, it’s always been dysphoric for me and it’s getting more severe over the past year and a half. This is the second time in 4 months. What the hell.
My answer? Take an ice pick to a plastic safety razor and try to get the blade out. It was a damned cold day so I thought slitting my wrists in a hot bath would be the way to accomplish my task.
Am pretty sure I looked like a moron at the kitchen sink attempting to dissect the damned razor on the cutting board. I almost cut myself. The irony. It burns.
In the end all I accomplished was bending the shit out of the blade. I burst into hysterical giggles and gave up.
Was suicidal, severely, and had no one to talk with. My closest friend has become embroiled with their own personal demons. Even if my confidant didn’t understand the my illness, I could freely speak what I felt. I feel very alone now.
My shrink’s practice is a medicare, and probably medicaid, mill. He’s virtually worthless but there are very few shrinks left who are not private pay.
At this point I called a musician friend who has been hospitalized for his bi-polar condition and also attempted suicide. He recommended that I check into West Hills Hospital. I called them. They couldn’t tell me if my insurance would be accepted because the billing office was closed for the day. Told them I’d be in on Monday morning at 8:00 a.m.
This all occurred on Saturday night.
On Sunday I went for a walk and tried to get some kind of focus. Kind of hard since I’d fallen the night before and now have a huge black bruise on my chin and a cut on the forehead which probably needs stitches. Being a klutz sucks when you have a step with wrought iron railings. Especially when you fall into them with your fucking head.
Anyway, Monday morning came and my bag was packed. Felt some better and decided that being locked up for observation would in reality suck. Don’t ask me how I know this.
Instead I asked my bi-polar friend for his shrink’s name, and also found out from West Hills that this same doctor is on staff there.
Have an appointment for April 5th which is a month out.
Am on the cancellation list though which is good. Have to see the lame-ass psychiatrist next week otherwise I’ll be out of the lame-ass meds.
Took another walk today and lifted some free-weights yesterday.
Here is something that I’ve never seen mentioned by anyone else
Exercise can help if the depression lifts long enough to accomplish it. I’ve noticed that sometimes exercise makes things worse. The endorphins increase the feelings of sadness, hopelessness and that underlying desire to die.
Feel as though the crisis has been averted, albeit temporarily.
Keep your chin up and your Geodon down.
Album: Mentor Tormentor