Yesterday felt normal for the most part, during the day anyway.  I drank very little coffee and got only slight agitation.  I was proud of myself for that small, yet seemingly crucial, intervention on my part.  I went to my therapist yesterday and we had a lovely talk.  I felt confident.  I felt like I had made a plan and was acting on it.  I felt like things were turning a corner.

Then I got agitated.  Then I got rejected.  From there I went down, down, down until I was sitting on the couch and staring blankly at the wall, physically unable to speak.  Thoughts were swirling around my head, bad ones, but I could. not. speak.  Hopelessness, self hate, suicide ideation, the whole gamete. 

I am not as low this morning, but low.  I reflect back on yesterday during the day, and realize I was not as normal as I thought.  I was researching, in a flurry, bipolar.  I spent hours on pendulum.org, researching everything from the genetics of bipolar, to the progression of it with age.  I, apparently, sent several emails to my husband which I don’t remember.  How can you not remember doing something like that?  Did I send emails to anyone else?  I don’t know and I’m too worried to look at my Sent Mail folder.

I’m scared.  I’ve never been this out of control before.  I don’t understand what is happening to me.  I mean, I understand it in the clinical sense, but I don’t understand a lot about it. 

I just want it to end.  How long will it last?  Will it get worse before it gets better?  Will it even get better?  How bad will it get next time?  Delusions?  Hallucinations?  What will I develop next in this awful disease.  The chance of developing psychotic features scares the ever-lovin’ SHIT out of me.  Will I continue to rapid cycle and be entombed in mixed states?  How much more can my family, my husband, endure?  Will it endure?  If, ten years from now, I am even worse than I am now?  Will he say he can no longer be my rock?  No longer support me and neglect himself?

I’m scared. 

I know it is not helping me to “what if” this situation, but I don’t have control over my mind anymore. 

Gives a whole new meaning to “losing my mind”.  Not just a cliché anymore.  It’s fucking game time.    

It has, on another level, from a clinical perspective I suppose, been a fascinating investigation into hypomania’s and major depressions, rapid cycling, and now, mixed states.

I entered into my first mixed state yesterday, of which I am fully aware anyway. Could be I have experienced many of these in the past year, but I have been existing in a haze, a slave to my moods, and have been much less than fully aware of what has been happening to me.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, my husband and I decided that I could, we could, no longer survive without medication. My husband was neglected to the point of despair and exhaustion. My daughter was acting out, not sleeping, and has reverted to wetting the bed. Even my dogs were acting out. My students were neglected, not to mention slaves to my erratic and unpredictable moods.

The ramifications of this decision, we believed at that time, were that we would have only one child in our life, when we wanted more. I want many more, my husband wants one more. We believed, incorrectly, as I will discuss in another post, that I could not be on Lamictal during conception. So, this decision to go back on medication was not only a failure in the personal sense that I did not have control over myself, but also a severe and mind-numbing disappointment on my entire sense of what my future would be.

I went into a week of vacation in the mountains and forests of The South in my second worst depression of my life to date. I was vulnerable beyond belief; weeping at the slightest provocation or criticism. I no longer knew who I was or what I had become. I had a sense of coming out of a haze of the past year, one in which my life existed on a 28 day cycle. I didn’t know what I enjoyed anymore. I couldn’t remember how to act, what my personality was. It was very disquieting.

At one point my husband criticized me for withholding love(which I was because I had reverted into the deep recesses of my damaged brain) and for my withdrawal, my inability to see the vacation for what it was: a chance to renew. I could take no more and broke down completely. I explained to him that I considered myself to be the bottom of the barrel, the scum on the bottom of shoes. This is what depression does to me, to us. Makes us feel as if we are completely worthless. I was a failure as a wife, mother, teacher, and person in general. I begged my husband, pleaded with him to please try, for a little longer, to hold off on the criticisms. Told him I was doing enough beating on myself and there was no way I could get better without his support. And, once again, he put his own feelings away and supported me. From that point on, the vacation was spent building myself up. Trying to determine how to get myself back from the abyss I had willingly plunged into. I made plans, I had ideas.

Upon returning from vacation, I entered a hypomania. I stayed on Lexapro during this whole ordeal, against the advice of my psychiatrist. She warned me that an antidepressant only in someone who is BPII, creates only more instability and rapidly cycling moods. As on many things, I didn’t listen. I have a serious personality clash with my psychiatrist and did not trust her until just yesterday.

Last week, the hypomania consisted of severe irritability and agitation. I was quick to jump into arguments when provoked. I was plagued with uncontrollable anger in which I punched my dog for normal puppy behaviors, screamed at my child, and growled with anger at my husband. Not fun. Not fun at all.

This weekend I entered into an elation phase. Everything was just absolutely wonderful. I went to a birthday party for my niece and, to my brain, it was just the most pleasurable family experience I had ever experienced. Everyone was wonderful, the holidays upon us, and I couldn’t be happier. Sunday and Monday were more of the same elation. I left the house yesterday morning, headed to work, in the same mood. My husband was happy, yet cautious.

By mid-day yesterday I was in a raging state. I drank too much coffee, and knew better too. I made the mistake of attempting to research the effects of Lamictal on pregnancy and child. I looked at page after page of research, my mind sucking up the information and creating a jumbled mess in my mind. By 1 o’clock, I was repeatedly snapping at my students, my heart was racing, and my stomach was a pit of acid.

I called my husband and took a Niravam. My husband, having just spent 45 minutes trying to get our daughter down for a nap, his responsibility because she was at his mother’s house after being suspended from school for three days, was short on patience. He is an intimidating man: 6 foot and 245 lbs of football lineman. He is often intimidating when it is not his intention, by virtue of a menacing frame, deep voice, and intense personality. He tried to calm my but my mind was in such an erratic state that nothing he said made sense. Everything that entered my brain was jumbled and confused, nothing made connections. He told me he NEEDED me to get control, or something of the sort.

And, BAM! Down I went. It was very, very bizarre. Once the Niravam took the edge off the irritability, I plunged into insecurity, hopelessness, and sadness. I do not recall ever having plummeted so quickly, and from such a manic state.

The vulnerability lasted into the evening. This morning I am back to hypomanic. I really, really need to lay off the coffee, but having to wake up usually at least once a night to change the bedding for my daughter or simply put her back in bed because she wants to sleep with Mom and Dad in thwe throes of her own insecurity over the home I have created, causes a need for coffee. I can not get through my 215 students a day without it.

I went to the psychiatrist yesterday. My husband went with me. We have been on a fact-finding mission so we can make some pretty major decisions about our future. This morning, with tears of joy and relief in my eyes, I took my first Lamictal in over a year. I know some amount of relief is coming in the very near future. I will use the hope and peace that fact gives me to try and get through this mixed state with the least damage I possibly can.

Wish me Luck.