The good kind of boring.

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’m not really sure how many days it’s been since my last post.

Only a day or two, I guess, but it feels much longer than that.  I’m on more solid ground again, can’t even believe that I was so low, so recently.

Today I officiated at a derby bout and there were a few people who asked how I was doing, then, when I said I was doing good, they gave me that look.  That look like, “What aren’t you telling us?”

I don’t exactly understand it either, two days ago my brain was trying to kill me.  Two days ago walking out into traffic seemed like a perfectly logical plan.  And now, I’m fine.  Nothing has changed.  No medication changes, no major life changes, nothing.

Welcome to life with mental illness.  Don’t like what’s on the mood channel?  Wait a few minutes, it’ll change!

Except it doesn’t always happen that way.

Sometimes, you really want it to change and it doesn’t.  Sometimes, you really want it to stay where it is, and it changes.  Sometimes, you are intensely suicidal one day, and then back to boring old mixed mood symptoms the next.

I’m happy with this kind of boring.  This is the good kind of boring.

The dishes are piling up in the sink because I’m pushing hard enough to find the motivation to cook, but I’m having a hard time finding the motivation to clean up afterwards.

I’m okay with that.

I’m getting hyperfocused on projects that take me all day, and then looking for the next project, and the next, and I must do all of the things.

I’m okay with that.

My sleep is either too much or too little.

I’m okay with that.

I’m still struggling to stick to a budget and I really can explain exactly why it’s perfectly logical for me to buy everything.

I’m okay with that.

I have to talk myself into showering and even brushing my teeth.

I’m okay with that.

I haven’t been to the gym in 2 weeks or more.

I’m not really okay with that, but I’m not ready to change it either.

This is the good kind of boring.  This is the kind of boring that isn’t trying to kill me.

I see my pdoc on Tuesday and I’m sure we’ll talk about all of this.  I have a nice, month worth of notes for her.  I have no idea if we’ll change medications or not, but at least we can talk about what options there are and if we want to consider changing something.  Some of this isn’t really fixable.  Unfortunately, some of this is just riding it out, weathering the storm, and using my skills to make the best of it.

This is the good kind of boring, though.  I’ll take it.



Zoom Zoom

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I wish I could take a side step off of this roller coaster and just settle.

Wheeeeeeeee.  I’m up high.

I was driving last night and my anxiety was through the roof.  Every time another car came near me I was seeing the impending accident.  It’s not all that often that I get to drive, and normally I love it, but last night was just terrifying.  Luckily it was late enough that there weren’t many cars on the road and I only had to focus on my own anxiety about the car blowing up or a tire blowing or something happening to cause me to have an accident by myself.

I didn’t go to bed till after 5:30 in the morning.  Just couldn’t stop.

Unfortunately I can’t get wrapped up into productive things like cleaning the house, which would be nice right now after a week of depression, instead I’m crafting and making more of a mess.  But I’m having fun and making really cool things, so there’s that.

My brain is going a million miles a second and my urge is to drink coffee and take my ADHD meds and stay awake and focused and keep going going going, but I also know that it is an incredibly bad idea to do such things so I’m avoiding coffee (WHAT!?!) and my ADHD meds until I float back down.

I’m hoping I don’t just suddenly crash.

I also wonder how much of this is a mixed episode (and why do I even care, it is just exactly what it is) because my body image issues are still there this time.

I’m not getting comments about my “amazing energy” from strangers and those comments are always a sure sign that I’m going manic.  I’m still pretty withdrawn and not interacting with people on the street and in stores so I’ve probably got a pretty good lid on it.

It’s probably just more mixed episode.  At least the suicidal thoughts are gone for now.

But my thoughts are going zoom zoom all over my brain.  I feel like there’s an interrogation light in my skull and shining onto the back of my eyes and like the bright light is shining out everywhere and everyone can see.  Not literally, but I just feel like I’m radiating, something.  Like I’m vibrating with the number of thoughts that are pinging around all over the place.

And they are dying to get out, I want to talk about them but I can’t organize them enough to get them into the air.

And I want to buy all of the things.  I NEED to buy all of the things, Right, Now.

And I have really good reasons for wanting all of the things Right Now.  And they make perfect sense in my head.  But they probably don’t make actual sense in the long run and sometimes it’s so hard to understand how something can seem so clear and true right now, but once this neurotransmitter induced high wears off it will seem so dumb.

I have to live with any of the decisions I make now, even once I come back down.

Mania seems like so much fun from the outside.  But from the inside, it’s just a different kind of mental illness hell.

Soul Sucking Sadness

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Trigger Warning:  Suicidal Thoughts

It is amazing how quickly I go from “eh, I’m having a bit of a rough time, but things are pretty good.” to “Holy shit, I’m in over my head and my thoughts are scaring me.”

adult alone backlit black and white

Photo by Pixabay on


It’s hard to believe that 5 days ago I was proposing to my future wife and today I’m thinking about ending my life.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m mostly safe.  I know the thoughts are just thoughts and I’m able to let them pass through without acting on them, but sometimes they’re getting awful loud.

I am supposed to be away at a conference today and tomorrow.  Was supposed to leave a few hours ago.  The school paid for my ticket and lodging and I was going to ride up with Batwoman.  I was really looking forward to the topic and the discussions that I’d be a part of.  But my anxiety kicked in so badly that I just couldn’t go.  I started looking for any escape to avoid it, including the idea of death and that’s when I realized I just needed to give myself permission to cancel.

It fucking sucks though, because I wanted to be there, and on top of that I’m letting people down by not going.  Batwoman got stuck going alone and dealing with her own anxiety, and the school is out the money they paid for my ticket, and there are probably people who wanted to go and couldn’t because I said I was going and now I didn’t.

It’s one of those times where taking care of myself and doing what I knew I had to do makes me feel like a total fuck up.  One of those times where my mental health feels like it has total control of me and like I’ll never really get control of it.

I cancelled going to Roller Derby last night as well, for the same reason.  My anxiety is out of control.  I’m not quite to the point where I can’t leave the house, but anything having to do with crowds of people and the thought of it makes me want to recoil.  Normally I can push past it, but right now it just feels like too much.  The thought of pushing beyond the anxiety makes me literally suicidal.

If I’m dead I don’t have to deal with this anxious bullshit.

If I’m dead I don’t have to keep letting people down.

If I’m dead I don’t have to keep fighting my own brain just to live an average life.

If I’m dead I don’t have to worry about becoming home bound again.

If I’m dead I don’t have to worry.

Wonder Woman is going out of town for the weekend and I’ve already played out the fact that it would be two days before anyone found me.

Of course I immediately chastised myself for even having those thoughts, but they’re there.  What good is it beating myself up for thoughts, I just let them pass through, but this is what it’s like in my head when it gets dark up there.

So, I take more of the medication that I’m supposed to increase when this stuff happens.  I get myself out of bed early and make myself do the dishes and follow some sort of routine.  I sit down and write and shine some light into all of the dark spaces.

And I hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Round and Round We Go!

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

TW: Mention of Suicidal Thoughts.

I’ve had nothing to write about, really.  But the longer I go without writing, the less I want to write, and the more I know I need to write.

I had a great day Sunday.  An all day date, of sorts, with Wonder Woman, doing all of the things.  An amazing breakfast, good coffee, walking around Annapolis, and dinner at The Melting Pot.  One of those days that you want to never end.

But it did.

And I woke up this morning and didn’t want to get out of bed.  Eventually, I crawled out of bed, late, and went to the gym, late.  And when I got back home I climbed right back into bed.

I crawled back out twice, convincing myself that I had to find something to occupy my time so that I didn’t waste my day away under the covers, but each time I crawled back under, turned off the lights, and rolled over.

The entire time I was beating myself up for how useless I was.  And beating myself up over how useless it was to beat myself up.

Finally the suicidal thoughts started creeping in slowly and I rode that wave for a few minutes before they dissipated.  If I’m always going to end up stuck in bed again, what’s the point of being alive.

Days like Sunday are the point of being alive.  Now, Shut.  The Fuck.  Up.

The thing is, I’m really in a good place mostly, or I should be.  I’m doing all of the right things, I’m taking my meds, I’m getting sun and water and food, and I’m exercising.

Cooperate brain, cooperate.

Eventually I crawled out of bed for good.  I did some of the weekly stuff that I never got to this morning, I drank coffee, I freshened the color on my hair, I started dinner.

I know that when I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, it’s typically a sign that the day is going to be rough with depression, so I’m hoping tomorrow morning goes better.

Just Wanna Write!

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’ve felt the urge to write all day, but haven’t been able to come up with a topic.  Part of the problem is that I have a few floating around in my head, but they involve other people, and I don’t really want to write about other people in a public space.

I guess that isn’t quite true.  I write about other people all of the time.  In positive ways.  I  don’t want to write negative things about other people.  They either aren’t going to be able to defend themselves, or they’ll read it and it’ll start a shit storm, or someone else will read it and it’ll get back to them.  It’s just bad news all around.

I can write enough negative things about myself to last a lifetime.

But the only topics floating around in my head today involve situations and such that revolve around other people and it’s hard to get past that sort of writers block.

And I just wanna write!

Wonder Woman cooked us dinner tonight.  It. Was. Amazing!  I cook dinner 99.9% of the time (which I love doing) but this was a nice change.  I told her it was good enough that she needed to take over cooking dinner from now on.

I only got 5 hours of sleep last night, and then a few super short power naps today.  I’m still dealing with this mixed mood.  (In case you couldn’t tell from the way I’m jumping all over the place).

I was having a discussion earlier with Wonder Woman about the fact that this time around it is an entirely different experience.  Of course I’m riding the bipolar coaster, but I’m also able to see the big picture.  I’m in it, but not in it at the same time.  I’m not my moods, I’m not this mood episode, I’m not even entirely my reactions, but I do have control over my actions and reactions.  I’m able to monitor my moods and react accordingly.  I’m not feeding into the mania or depression.  It’s amazing to see the DBT skills at work in this situation, the same sort of episode that put me into crisis so many years in a row.  Being on medication that works well is helping too, but these skills are a game changer.

I feel like this should be a curriculum that’s taught to everyone in middle school instead of something that costs entirely too much money to access.  I only have 6 weeks left and I know I’m going to miss having the group every week.

I’m looking into a NAMI support group to fill the hole that’ll be left in my calendar.

Russian Roulette

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Medication changes are a game of Russian Roulette.

Sometimes, trying to help one problem and succeeding, can flare another.

I started on a new medication a few weeks ago.  It worked wonderfully for its intended use and could, long term, make a significant difference in my ability to focus and follow through with things.

But there were immediate downsides.

I was more emotionally reactive and as it wore off I crashed and just wanted to sleep.

We played with dosages and timing, and my body adjusted and those side effects are less noticeable.

But instead I’m noticing other little things.  Not only can I focus in class and get my assignments submitted early, I’m working on homework for two weeks ahead.

I’m focusing more on my blog, more on how to find work, more on how to make things work, and more on all of this at the same time.

I’m having a harder time falling asleep some nights.  And I’m waking up more often throughout the night.  Yesterday I was awake for almost 24 hours straight.

When I do crash, I crash hard, and sometimes I’m sleeping for 10-12 hours.

I’m overthinking all of the things.  I’m in my head a lot and my anxiety is on overdrive.

Basically, I feel myself moving towards hypomania.

But it’s really hard to say if this is entirely medication related.  Late February through early April is when things get the worst for me.  This seasonal shift causes depression and mania and mixed mood episodes for me every year.

And the thing is, I don’t WANT it to be the medication, because it’s helping, and I can take it as needed to focus and I like finally being able to focus.  It’s a whole new world for me to sit at a lecture and watch the teacher and fully absorb what he is saying instead of being off in left field thinking about what I’m making for dinner that night.

But I also don’t want to be awake for 24 hours stressing about everything that my anxiety can drag up.

I don’t want to blow up my Facebook with post after post about things that I may regret the following day.

I don’t want to overthink everything that everyone says to the point that I’m going in circles.

I don’t want to try to solve all of my problems at once, when I know that’s not possible anyway.

I don’t want to feel this way.

Trying to solve one problem will often start another.  Or, it could just be the natural swing of things.  Or both.

I guess time will tell.

Just Stop

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’m on over a dozen different medications between mental and physical health.

That means, once a week I sit down and figure out which ones are AM and which ones are PM and which ones are both and sort them into my handy dandy med management system.

And right now I’m going through a phase of wondering why?

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m the first person to fight for medications. I’m the first person to say how important they are and how much people should consider them for the chemical imbalances that cause mental illness, etc.

Medications are important.

But I need a break.

Maybe I can make it without them for a little while.

It gets to the point that you’re medicating side effects to medicate side effects and sometimes I just want to stop everything for awhile and start over from square one.

Chances are pretty slim that I will. I know better.

But I’m tired of spending 30 minutes or more every week, breaking pills in half and sorting and counting and hearing the plink plink plink of pills into containers.

I’m tired of having to remember to take them twice a day.

i’m tired of having to remember to eat 350 calories with my night meds, and adding those extra calories when I forget to take it with dinner.

I’m tired of medications.

But I know I go through phases like this. And I still go to therapy and go to my pdoc appointments and get my meds and take them.

The roller coaster will just get worse if I don’t.

Believe me, I know, I’ve tried. It isn’t pretty. And it takes awhile for the meds to calm things back down once I go back on them.

It isn’t even the typical reason, “I feel better so maybe I don’t need them anymore.” It’s more that, “I don’t feel completely better, so maybe I could feel just this good without them, without all of the hassle of dealing with them.” Maybe I could maintain this level of stability on my own.

So, I go to therapy, and I talk to my therapist, and she helps me reality check that idea, again and again, and again.

I’ll just keep taking them.

I guess it’s easier that way.


Today was mostly a good day. I had a long list of things to do, a couple of appointments out of the house, the gym, grocery store, making dinner.

I overslept, woke up feeling kind of drugged, that sleep where you can’t tell if you didn’t sleep enough, or you slept too much, or even if you slept at all because you’ve just been out cold and don’t want to wake up now that you’ve opened your eyes.

I had my rides set up, my laptop on me, and got to spend most of the day hanging out in a few different coffee shops playing around online, looking at what part time online jobs are out there while also writing and people watching.

Therapy went well and the topics led right into my psych med appointment which also went well. Changes are being made to make it easier for me with school, hopefully.

But a few different times today I was caught off guard by thought chains, one thing leading to another, causing a series of emotions right along with them.

I’ve been wearing Parker’s winter coat as my own. It doesn’t make sense for it to waste away in a bin and it fits better than anything that’s been given to me. I still can’t afford a winter coat and it’s finally cold enough that a hoodie, even lined, isn’t cutting it anymore. Her old coat is thick and warm and I’ve been told it looks good on me, but it’s so different from anything I’d normally wear.

It’s definitely not pink.


Today while I was walking from my pdoc appointment to go kill more time in a coffee shop, I walked past a book store and I started thinking about all of the hours and hours Parker and I used to spend in libraries while we lived in the shelter. We had to leave at 8am and come back at 5 pm and spend the whole day figuring out how to occupy our time and not freeze. We had our backpacks with our laptops and we would spend time sitting in the various libraries around Baltimore playing games and watching movies.

I would spend hours researching how we were going to make it out of the situation we were in. What programs were available, what was the next thing I could call about or follow up on.

Or I would look into her or my medical conditions. What could I find that wasn’t being checked, what were they missing. What was going to make us better.

And that thought led me to how much better I’m doing now.

And how much better I’m handling what’s still there. I need to follow up with some new pain management options that I’ve been putting off.

How many hours did Parker and I spend walking the city with her in the same coat I’m wearing now. How many doctors appointments did she take it to?

By then I had gotten where I was going and my thoughts dissolved into other randomness. My memories were mostly happy, with a tinge of grief. We really did make the best of a horrible situation during those months, and we found ways to have a really good time while being fucking homeless.

Tonight I got caught up in another chain, one of the ones that hits me when I’m most overwhelmed.

I ran late getting home from the gym and planned to throw dinner on real quick.

Except I realized the kitchen wasn’t clean.

And it wasn’t clean because I overslept and I was going to clean it up in the morning.

And I couldn’t clean it last night because I was hurting so badly

And I was hurting so badly because I forgot my meds all day.

And now dinner was going to be even later because I fucked up so many things.

So I yelled out.

“I’m overwhelmed!”

And I let the thought chain keep playing and running amok in the back of my head while I got to work finding my way out of the situation I was in.

Eventually dinner was cooking in the Instant Pot, and while it was cooking I was able to do the rest of the dishes, and by the time we ate I had a clean kitchen and mostly yummy sausage and peppers and my bad mood and overwhelm had subsided because I let myself feel all of my feels but kept moving forward.

I’m glad today was a good day, even with the rough moments and thought chains.

I’m glad I had a good day to write about.

Through It

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post

CW:  Mention of past suicidal thoughts.

I’m bipolar, which means I swing into periods of deep dark depression, and periods of hypomania, with some stability in between.  Medications and therapy and coping skills have lengthened the periods of stability, shortened the depressive episodes and made the hypomania almost non-existent right now.

Mixed in with the bipolar is also some seasonal depression that is longer lasting and milder.  Just a general depression, not so dark, not quite so debilitating, not a crisis, just something to live around.  It’s more like the depression that people with major depressive disorder (typical depression) live with.  That’s not to minimize it, it’s just a different sort of struggle.

My bipolar depression is a short, very intense race, it takes a lot of energy but doesn’t last very long.  My understanding is that major depressive disorder is a cross country race where energy has to be reserved for the long road.

This week the bipolar depression lifted.  I was able to convince myself to meal plan for the week, because I planned to be alive at the end of the week to make all of the meals (yes, at one point I wasn’t sure I would be, that’s how dark it got).  I was able to cook most days.  Really yummy food that reminded me how much I love caring for myself and my house that way.

And today I folded laundry.  I can’t tell you how long the laundry has been piled in the spare room.  It felt so good to finish and put the final piece away.

And I cooked breakfast, and cleaned up afterwards, and got dinner going in the crockpot for tonight (Lemon Chicken, a new recipe I’m trying).

But, depression is still there, just enough.  I don’t want to leave the house, and I’m fighting to get out of bed each morning.  I haven’t been to the gym in a few days (partially due to time restraints but it feels Oh So Good, to have the excuse).  I’ve skipped some days writing, or written too much on other days (I have drafts saved that may or may not ever be posted).

This marathon depression that just, is, is exhausting.  I’m glad it only lasts a few months of the year for me.

I’m also glad it doesn’t make me suicidal.

I’m sure I’ll get back to the gym (we have a plan for tomorrow), and I’m sure my writing will regulate (it’s why I sat down today to get something on the screen), I will get better at living around this.

And in the meantime, I’ll keep loving myself where I’m at.  It’s the one benefit to this depression over the bipolar depression.

I can love myself through it.

Thought Prison

Really Real Mental Health Post

Today you get two posts.

This one is long and rambling, and will give you a glimpse inside my brain when it’s acting up and ruminating.

TW:  Suicidal thoughts, also potentially triggering for those with Disordered Eating.

My brain is an asshole.

It’s partially my fault, maybe.  I forgot to take my morning medications before leaving for the gym, and I remembered pretty early, but I’ve been gone all day so I didn’t have a way to take them.  (Please, no “helpful advice” about carrying some with me.)

Somewhere in there, the innocent thought passed through “What if I just stopped taking medication.”  And I laughed, cause that’s a dumb thought, and I know better.  I’m the last person that would ever consider not taking my meds.  I start freaking out when I miss them for one dose.

Except this time the thought got stuck.

I knew it was a ridiculous thought, but just like with my suicidal thoughts, it started to take on a life of its own.  Replaying over and over again.  The thought of taking my meds became like the thought of taking poison.  Over and over “just stop taking them, I mean, you did it for 6 months around when Parker died and you were fine”  “Just stop, hypomania is fun, and you’ll get more done”  “Just stop, they’re poison and they make you feel like shit every night anyway”  “Just stop, they’re making you gain all this weight”   “Just stop, look at how hungry they make you”  “Just stop, I mean, you have to eat so much just to take one pill.”

I came home and without even stopping to take my ADHD pill out of the morning meds I took those.  I didn’t care that it was 3pm, I knew I needed to get those pills in me and that if I stopped to look at them I’d hyper-analyze and would have too hard of a time to take them.

I laid down for a nap.

My brain kept spiraling.

“Gonna be stuck on pills forever, might as well just die.”

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, my brain is trying to kill me again.

I’m laying there beside Wonder Woman wanting to tell her why I feel so needy and that my brain is being an epic sort of asshole but instead I just act like everything is fine and normal because I’m Self Saving Warrior Princess and all that, and she’s got her own problems and I know it’s not bad enough to actually kill me right now.

We roll over and I manage to have nightmare filled sleep.  I don’t remember the nightmares but I woke up feeling gross, I couldn’t really see a purpose in fighting against the thoughts for that moment, so instead I got up and made dinner.

Part of dinner was a pretty big flop, the rest of it was just, food, nothing special really.

“You’re a failure, why are you even alive.  Really, you should just be dead.”

Would you shut the fuck up already.

“Doesn’t make sense to eat, you’re too fat, not like your gonna take your meds anyway.”


I sit down and let Wonder Woman get her food first.  I’m fighting with my own brain while it looks like I’m mindlessly scrolling Facebook.  I need to eat food to take my night meds, or at least one of them.  I’m mentally exhausted, I’m too depressed to be hungry.

I’m giving you one random sentence here and there that pops out of my head, but the dialogue is constant.  One minute it’s a suicidal though.  The next it’s about how I can’t take meds.  Ruminating thoughts that have me in a fog.  This constant hum of thoughts that makes time blur.

I lay back down and the thoughts get louder.  Ruminations on death, cutting, overdosing, while also thinking about cleaning up dinner, and the fact that I need to take my damn meds, which means I need to eat.

None of the thoughts have any real power, so they aren’t too scary.  They are just, noise.  Almost like a white noise machine, except the sound of my thoughts.

I’m trying to work through the steps to take the Latuda out of my night meds so I can take them without eating and my brain keeps short circuiting, and I stay stuck in bed ruminating.

I want someone to talk through this with but I also feel like that’s selfish and like I should be able to handle this alone.  I feel like reaching out would be the wrong thing now because I’m not really in danger, I don’t think.  The suicidal thoughts aren’t too loud, they’re just telling me to die, they aren’t telling me to actively kill myself.  I don’t have a plan, I just want a plan.

Finally I realize I can just take my meds as is, including the Latuda and get whatever effect I can get from it, for tonight.  It’s better than nothing.  It’s better than ruminating for another hour, laying in bed, curled in a ball, stuck.

The thoughts quiet some, I just needed to figure out my way out of the thought prison.  Figure out what had me stuck.

I cleaned up the kitchen.  The suicidal thoughts are a dull hum now, although the nighttime nausea has set in and that’s fucking annoying.

This is what it’s like to get wrapped up in my own brain sometimes, this could have happened even if I wasn’t 8 hours late on my morning meds (that isn’t that late really).

One random thought that came from nowhere.  I may be able to let it go after today.  Or it may get stuck for awhile.