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I’ve come to the conclusion I’m rapid cycling.  After my depressive boohoo post, I’m hypomanic.  I want to clean and clean and clean.  I forced myself to eat my mini taquitos and I wanted to varmit* the entire time.  I took my meds-including my “after dinner mint” because my arm and shoulder just plain hurt like a mother fucker.  It’s been over an hour and I’m no where NEAR sleepy or tired.  I feel like my skin is crawling.  I’m listening to music and it’s not fast enough.  Now it’s too fast and too loud.  I want to shower.  No I don’t I just wanna MOVE!

I can’t stand this shit.  I can’t relax.  At.  All.  I want to email people and talk to people.  I want to do more video diaries.  No I want to write.  I can’t concentrate to do any of it.  This is bad.  This is really, really bad.  Would you believe I turned my phone on and there wasn’t any message from my sister?  Big shock, right?  Now I wanna cuss and spit venom at her.

I’m just so god damn SICK of all of this shit.  There’s no happy fucking medium.  Phone is back off.  No checking in from BBF.  Big shock there, too.  None of my “friends” send a “Hi”.  I’m just ready to grab my kids, fill up my tank and drive the fuck away.  I don’t give a shit about anything or any body when I’m like this.  You treat me like shit, I’ll throw it right back at you mother fuckers.

This is another shitty part of Bipolar-of my Bipolar.  It’s the fucking rage that always sit under the surface.  It’s not something that I’ve always had-at least not THIS intense.  I can remember being this mad only a handful of times before my diagnosis.  The first time I was so fucking mad I beat the fuck out of my steering wheel of my car.  I beat it so badly that when I turned right my horn would honk.  The rage-fit was justified though.  Even my friends said what happened was way beyond uncool.  The anger and rage rolls under the surface that is always waiting to take over in waves…and I can’t seem to control it.  I just ride the waves.  That’s all I EVER do anymore is just ride the waves of my life.  I don’t look too far in the future anymore.  The thought of “long-term goals” makes me cringe, and depresses me.  The longest term goal I have MIGHT be about 2 weeks out-whenever my next therapy session is.

The anxiety ebbs and flows, but has been MUCH better now that Dad let May stay.  I joked with Mom that I was going to change her name from May to Shadow-she follows me everywhere.  She’s never more than 5 feet away from me.  And I’m perfectly ok with that.  She has made a tremendous difference in my attitude and my parents can see that.  I’m not as high-strung and stressed out.  I’m not yelling, and you can SEE how relaxed I am.  She’s my Xanax.  I want to get her certified as a therapy dog.  She goes with me EVERYWHERE.  I have to listen to music when I’m in a store because when she’s not with me I start to freak out-even if I just run in for a pop at the gas station.  She keeps me calm-keeps the anxiety at bay.

I’m starting to get scared when I’m out-and there’s no particular reason for it.  No trigger.  I just am.  I see Jane Monday-but that feels like weeks away today.  I don’t see Kathy until June-and that feels like years away.  She’s gotten so may patients now, but she’s a great psych nurse.  It’s just frustrating.  The same with Jane.  I NEED to talk to her, even if I’m beating a dead horse, because I can’t seem to get off the round-about of anything and everything and nothing.  And that scares me, too.  Why am I so obsessed about this?!  Maybe it’s time to write and burn..I wish I could record and burn because my pen would NOT be able to keep up with my thoughts.

I know I’m not in a good place because I want to shop, and I want to spend money on myself.  I splurged on the watch I bought.  I thought it was $20, and I got it for $5.  A steal, I know.  Now I’m looking for a pair of nude ballet flats along with a pair of nude peep-toe pumps, but I don’t want those damn platform heels.  My fucking bad ankle can’t take that shit.  I want more makeup that I won’t wear.  I HAVE to buy Rolling Stone tickets because it’s the fucking ROLLING STONES.  AND THEY’RE GONNA BE AT THE FUCKING TRACK!  I wanna take my NSLM to see Shinedown in August.  I wanna plan M’s** birthday party-and her birthday is in August.  I wanna plan our trip to Florida and fly and get a car and WTF BRAIN?!

I’m in a REALLY BAD WAY.  I’m alone tonight.  I wanna text Cute Neighbor Guy, or October, or God Forbid Florida.  I need some fucking support right now.  I need a fucking filter-I need someone to be my brakes and stop me from fucking up bad tonight…..

My phone is turned back off.  I’m thinking of locking it in my glove-box of my car that’s in the garage and locking the god damned door…yeah, it’s REALLY BAD tonight.

Rapid cycling/mixed episodes ain’t no joke.

I want off the fucking crazy train.


*My cousin’s version of vomit after a night of drinking..I’ve used it for years.



(Sorry for typos and grammar mess-ups…my meds kicked in and I’m loopy as hell)