How It's Going

 It's been awhile since I've given an update as to how I've been doing with my bipolar disorder (beginning of January, I think). I was worried for myself. Well, I've continued to be worried. I went through a period at the beginning of this month where I would regularly forget to take my meds. I take meds a total of 14 times a week. I was missing at least 5 of those times. That's not good. I wasn't getting much sleep. We have a new puppy, Lucy.

With having a new puppy, she needs to go out during the night or she piddles on our rug. Also, Brock, our almost 11-year-old dog, was pretty sick for awhile. We took him to the vet, who figured out that he has diabetes and had a pretty bad bladder infection. He was piddling all over the place, so I was constantly cleaning that up. I was cleaning up pee at all hours of the day and night. My sleep was severely interrupted. I was getting around maybe five to six hours of sleep a night, which may be normal for some people, but is considered dangerous for a bipolar person. For me, a normal night's sleep is around nine hours. I was a hot mess. Frankly, sleep is still poor.

I promised my psychiatric nurse that I would take my meds when I feed the dogs. Brock is on insulin which needs to be taken regularly when he eats, and I'm very anal about making sure he takes it. I'm trying to be just as anal about taking my own meds. When I feed the dogs and give Brock his insulin, I take my meds.

Frankly, I worry about myself a little. I still feel like I could go into a manic phase at any time. With the sleep loss and the funky medication taking, it's just a single step into mania for me. I guess I should be thankful that spring is actually a time where I usually dip down into depression. But is that something to be thankful for?

The day this picture was taken, I was actually feeling up, then down, then up, then down, and I stayed down. I'm actually down while writing this. It's hard to write right now. But as I dream of being a writer, there is a saying that we should write every day, even if what we write is crap. It can't all be good. I'm taking two classes through Wesleyan University right now; I'm going after a Creative Writing certificate, and I'm taking a class in Memoir Writing. I'm still trying to decide if I want to go after the certificate that the Memoir Writing class entails. I didn't realize what a challenge it would be to take two classes at once. That's another reason I don't sleep: the only time I have time to write is when it's quiet and I'm alone, and that's in the middle of the night.

I don't think my family understands how much I enjoy the time I have to myself in the middle of the night. Nobody makes phone calls then. Nobody texts. Don't get me wrong: I love the phone calls and texts that I receive during the day. I love talking to my sisters, mom, Nick, and the kids. It's just that when I start writing, whether it's for a class or a project that I'm personally working on, I like to get into a rhythm and not stop. In the middle of the night, I can get into that rhythm and not be interrupted. Everybody is asleep, even the animals. (Unless one of them is in the back hall taking a leak.)

I miss my time at the prayer cabin. I haven't really worked on my book since I was there in February. I got about 22 pages in, then I came home and I've been at a standstill. I'm not going to the cabin in April; it's Easter weekend when I was scheduled for my time there, and the kids really wanted me home for Easter. So I'm not due to go again until June. I can feel the pressure of everyday life starting to get to me, and I know the reasons why I go away every other month. I do it for sanity's sake, to keep myself out of the hospital.

Like I said, I worry about me. Perhaps I'll stalk the prayer cabin website and see if anything magically opens up.

Mental health is a tricky thing. Here's hoping I'm more positive in next week's dirt...