These are my thoughts. They are not meant to make sense. They are my echo into the woods. I am the tree that falls, and it is here that I make a sound.
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Friday, November 19, 2004


I've been filling out the mood chart and it did help me when I visited my Little Tiny Pdoc. It allowed me to say without equivocation that the past three weeks have been essentially stable. I told him about the chart and he asked what kind. I explained it's essentially a dot graph, with stable being "0" and there being four classifications on the positive and four on the negative. The graph since November first has resembled a nearly straight line, with all but a couple of dots being either stable or mildly manic (dot #1 above).

This is good.

He mentioned that my last blood test shows my valproic acid levels are back below normal. He's going to have me do another round of tests before I see him just after New Year's and determine from then if the meds need to increase yet again.

NO NO NO NO Every increase of either the Epival or the Seroquel has had an immediate attendant 5 lb weight gain. I fight it so hard: I play ice hockey three times a week, I run at least three times a week for 2-3 miles each time, I ride our funky stationary bike at least 50 km a week. NOTHING budges it.

I told him if my meds change, I'm looking for a reduction, not an increase. He folded his tiny brown hands in front of his cheesy Freud goatee and said in his Bombay accent: "That will all depend on how you are feeling when we get the next results back".

Since I am well armed with almost three weeks of good and even moods (it's written in the chart so it must be true), I left his office confident of a medication reduction soon and a gradual return to my svelte but athletic build.

Then yesterday I had a staff meeting. The fine details are irrelevant but I've had it independently verified by another staff member: I was the target of some bashing ("When are we going to have people do x, y and z properly in the system?" and the only person who actually wasn't nodding in agreement and who had those items as a job function was me. At the end of the meeting, this "mystery" person - me - was compared to a dog who has been rapped with a newspaper so many times, the animal is dense and pees on the floor constantly. That is their words, not mine). I was immediately in a rage. I held it in, trying so hard. I sat in the meeting taking my ball point pen and digging it into the fleshy part at the base of my thumb near the wrist, a favourite place. The urge to throw things and destroy the room was barely containable. I bit the inside of my mouth to hold in the words: they were weighing down my tongue like so many fish in a net, bursting to get out. I left the meeting (which ended at 5.20 pm) and went to the parking lot, popped the clutch too quick on my little 4 cylinder Accent, and literally squealed out of the parking lot. All the way home I screamed and yelled in the car and my latent paranoia gorged itself on the new data.

I would think that my difficulty to maintain even keel today is directly related to the top spinning off its centre yesterday.

I came back from North Carolina to a massive workload (little had been done), and had a snippy sales rep of ours today bark at me that I had done something that was unprofessional (I had sent a copy of something through handwritten, per his instructions, but didn't black out his comment to me on the top to do the very thing he had asked). I went into a silent rage again, baring my teeth at the computer and running through quite graphic imagery in my head of what I would like to have done to him.

I had a phonecall at one point today from another of our reps, who happens to be a part owner in the company, who was asking me to drop everything I was doing (for the fourth time today at that point - three other times followed). I was quite polite on the phone. Then when I hit the release button, I took the receiver and, holding it in my hand like a hammer, slammed it on my desk four times, quite hard, in rapid succession. It put a dent into the desk. One of my colleagues just looked at me, eyebrows raised. If he only knew what a tame release that was.

And in the back of my mind is a phonecall I received about a week and a bit ago from the best boss I've ever had. He's at a new company, a competitor, and was just "letting me know where he was" and after our 20 minute talk, he let it drop that he would be making changes there in the next few months and be looking to hire the best again "nudge nudge wink wink" he said. I would work for this man again in a heart beat. An additional bonus is that his middle daughter is autistic and been diagnosed with clinical depression about the same time as I was with bipolar disorder. I am terrified of letting my current employer know about the disease. Allan, this gentleman, would be far more understand about the vagaries of the disease and I would know without hesitation that my job was safe. Then earlier this week I received a call from a former colleague (we had both worked for this man) and we compared stories. He figures we'll soon be at the same company again. Not a bad thought, but this is a man who on a regular basis tells me he has wet dreams about me. Do I want that again?

And the final thing: tomorrow is the show I've entered for the jewellry I make. I will be up at the crack of morning to be there to set up and spend my whole day putting my ego on the line.

I've got a lot to think about, which only feeds my tendency to the manic. But the bipolar way is to put the cart before the horse. No, scratch that. A better analogy: the bipolar way is to either sell the horse for glue without even putting it in the race, or to mortgage the house to build a shining gold cart and forget where the horse was when it came time to race. I need to grab hold of myself again and slow things down.

I need to get that chart back to level.

Blogger moodymicello said...
Good luck on the jewelry show. Remember that is a completely different side of you. That is your artistic creative side come out to play and shine. I'm sure you will do well. Let work stay on the shelf for the weekend. Ruminating is just "ruinating" your weekend. When you feel like thinking about work read my email I'll send tomorrow. Michele  

Blogger Meitar said...
I absolutely love reading your posts. :)

Good luck.  

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