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Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Such a kidder

You know, I really kid myself sometimes. I tell myself I don't get depressed. And I don't. Not really. I get into these funky mixed states where I have the mindset of depression but the energy of mania. It's great for those long lonely car trips. What is my drug of choice? Why, my pretty, it's driving alone and figuring out the many ways they could find me.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not that way right now. Rather the opposite really.

I went to see the pdoc today. We have a new receptionist apparently in his tiny little office. The other receptionist always made me a bit nervous, even though she was as harmless as a newborn's fart: her kids and my son went to dayschool together, so she knew me "before", that magical time pre-diagnosis, before the scarlet letter was tattooed on my pale forehead.

But this new receptionist. Her name is Lillian. I was alone in the waiting room when I walked in and I promptly grilled her. She was a bit taken aback, I think. I asked her name, how long she'd been there, what happened to Heather (the other one), did Heather leave of her own accord or was she forced out, was Lillian permanent, did Lillian know that this pdoc is always always always always always late (yes I did say it that many times)? She said he's not always late. I said yes. She said, no, not always. So I made her a bet that I'd not be in before 15 past the hour (my appt was for 6). When does the dr take me? 6.12. So she won and made a point of saying so as we squeaked by her desk in the narrow hall to his office. He asked what it was all about and I said about three times in a row: nothing, it's between her and I.

He sat down and asked how I was and I told him, after consulting my calendar (which I've taken to use as a mood log of sorts, writing down those days I struggle, otherwise I forget and tell him eveyrthing's hunky dory), I told him I'd had a week of good, a week of ok, a week of not so good, a week of good, a week of slipping and now we're cool. But, and here's where my point comes in about NOT being depressed or suicidal, I told him, when he asked me if I've been talking too loud or too fast, that I get the impression over the past week or so that there are things that I'm saying that I shouldn't be and that I'm stepping over verbal boundaries with people but I don't realize that until after I've done it. I also told him I had one vendor on the phone return a voicemail of mine saying "HOW MANY COFFEES HAVE YOU HAD!" because of the babbling and strangeness I left on the message. The pdoc wrote things down.

And I actually almost started TELLING him things. Holy cow. That just doesn't happen. So I have a funny feeling that I'm on the up. (on the up and up, honest, even, straight forward, best that a bipolar can be).

The appointment ended with a two month script (4 weeks plus a renewal) and an appointment to return mid January. Which comes after Christmas, which is causing me some bit of stress when I let myself think of it because I'm now officially the only breadwinner at home and THAT's just not going to work for long.

So, I'm not depressed. I'm not even mixed.

But I'm kidding myself when I tell myself that all I ever do is bounce from stability to mania or someplace between on the happy side of the rainbow. I just can't admit to feeling not "up". But up I am, I believe. Up I am, green pills and ham. Let's see how long this lasts....let's ride this puppy till she sings (I wrote "till she bleeds" but some of you'd take that the wrong way....c'mon, relax. I'm not going anywhere. Not in this frame of mind).

I should be going to sleep now. Seroquel hasn't kicked in yet, another sign of upward mobility (upward mobility=cash, so I have to think of another phrase).

Rob's calling me now. Poor guy's got a sinus infection. Quite sexy for the job interview set. I guess I'm going to bed now.

Behave kiddies. If you're nice I'll tell you another fairy tale tomorrow.

Blogger moodymicello said...
So how did you feel when someone asked you how many coffees you had had?? What was your emotional reaction? Were you surprised or down under there did you have a sense that you were already getting a little loud and loose in your manner? This is the type of cognitive therapy that my psychologist and I work on. IN other words the comment would have been a great signal for me to catch myself and alter my behavior when I notice I am doing "x". The goal is to get to the point where you notice the behavior in yourself. It's an interesting concept/ I've overcome a number of areas of difficulty this way. But not the major ones that we all face like the mood swings, depression, rapid cycling, etc. Just the way I handle it. m  

Blogger BipolarPrincess said...
When I notice that I'm doing something "bipolar" it makes me mad and I refuse to take responsibility for it. My doctor has never brought up me taking responsibility for it, so I don't have to, :p. Am I living in denial?

:* Princess

PS: I'm reading a really good book on bipolar and I'm going to post some info sometime today.  

Blogger dan said...
I swear I'm confused.... Isn't 12 past the hour still late???

You may have lost the bet, but I hope you proved your point. :)  

Blogger AMO said...
I feel the same way about my illness sometimes. I get very angry at myself for not having it together enough to hide my symptoms to the Real World. The Normals can tell when I'm up. I don't think they care if I'm down.

I hate when anyone runs late. With a doc, as long as I get a full session I'm not too po'd. But if a doc's poor organizational skills take away from precious minutes I am paying for....

Except when I want to avoid talking!  

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