12 Hours Later

I woke this morning with a sense of paranoia. Sense is just a plain old dumb word to use to try to relay what was going on when I woke. I was scared, horrified, felt the need to hide, every nerve on fire…..

This didn’t happen in conjunction with any psychosis. There were no hallucinations or loss of time…just an inner voice whispering, “Hide. Protect yourself.”

I’m doing better now, 12 hours later.

Now, I feel sad and heartbroken. I’ve scanned stuff in my mind (like if you have three consistent things that really bother and worry you if you don’t get them under control) and nothing clicked. Nothing revealed itself saying, “Yes, hi, it’s me. I’m the one that got you all worked up.” But then again, I have way more than three issues that I’ve got to keep under control at all times, so maybe I just haven’t met up with my current torturer.

I am so tired, which is not to say I’m sleepy. I wish I was sleepy and actually slept, versus curling into a ball under a blanket and feeling thankful I’m done with the day. A day of pretending I’m okay, done with keeping stress-inducers under control, helping my child who also works hard to manage his own anxiety and Bipolar Disorder. (disease!!) Knowing my mom is safe because she’s in bed sleeping, instead of up walking without all that great of balance and her pain killer-induced cognitive issues. (Yes, they are prescribed and she is medically compliant.)

Yeah, so anyway, paranoia gone, replaced by whatever this depression is. I’m going to speak to my psychiatrist at the end of October appointment and ask if he thinks medication should be reevaluated and/or dosages reconsidered.

I don’t have anything fabulous to say. Just checking in and saying hi, offering a brief update. As I’ve said before, when I began this blog, I promised I would try to write something when in each mood, and I decided photos are important because they can show visually what’s going on inside, as long as I take authentic photos. And for the purpose of this blog, I aim to be authentic.

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This disease – and its malicious, pestering, kicking, screaming, violent friends – this whole gang sucks.

I want one day without it, but when I have that longing, the gang seems particularly hateful and cruel and knocks me down still further.

To the point I must lie even to myself at times.