And So It Goes…

It’s happening… Again.   Night after night of little or no sleep.  The words that pour out uncontrollably in a verbal vomit.  The thoughts that can change in a nanosecond, or take root; repeating themselves over and over and over.   The dangerous urges and the self loathing that comes from acting out.  The feeling that your skin just isn’t big enough to contain all the energy.    The rage that comes from being inflicted with such a horrible disease.  The sadness in knowing that this isn’t the last time.  The fear that this time it will become just too much to bear.

The mania has returned.

This time it began from something good.   I finally was able to find a job, freeing me from the prison of my home and the resources to enjoy more than the most basic necessities.  But one thing leads to another. Being unnoticeable without the need to focus, the meds that had controlled the beast for over eight months turned out to be just too sedating for me to produce an honest days’ work. So we tried something new.  The first attempt did enable me to make it through the day without falling asleep at my desk, but I could see that the signs of the impending storm were building.   So we moved to the next one.  Hello zombie!   I couldn’t even make it to work two days in a row without missing an exit or forgetting the location of my desk.  On to number three. A next generation drug that showed great promise with an excellent track record of maintaining the mood without the side effects and sedation.  Until I found out that it wasn’t covered by my insurance and would cost me more per month than what I paid providing myself a home.  That one never made it out of the pharmacy.   I’m on yet another medication, but with the insurance delay and the time for it to become effective it was too late.  The mania had taken hold, and I was on my way.

I think that one my biggest frustrations comes from dealing with the isolation from my family and friends.  Most don’t even know, but those that do, even my very closest of friends just have no idea of the hell that is my life.  If it’s not something experienced, it’s just not possible to understand.   So I’m drawn to others who do.   But being able to relate just opens the floodgates of the anger and despair, and feeds into the intensity of the episode like oxygen to the flame.   There’s just nowhere to go, and no one who can provide any relief or comfort.

I know that this too shall pass.   The natural cycle will eventually resolve itself, giving me some peace, if only for a while.   And I know that it’s only a matter of time to find the right combination of meds that will help to deal with the worst of the symptoms.  Knowledge and understanding however isn’t healing;  it’s the barest shred of hope that keeps me moving forward.

And so it goes…

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