Getting the Real Answer

“How are you?”

“How are you doing?”

“How are things?”

“How is your day going?”

Innocuous little questions, right?  They’re just a transitional phrase used to get to the next part of the desired conversation.  Usually, that is.  I often don’t know when I should respond with “terrible” or “fine.”  My tendency to lead towards fine is there, but at the same time, if I’m not quite honest, more is expected out of me in the ensuing conversation than I may be able to give.

Of course, if your therapist or your pdoc is asking, you’re going to tell it like it is.  Hopefully, anyway.  I went back to see Dr. Wizard today and explained to him my symptoms.  Continued depression, brain fog, returned crying spells, poor sleep, and racing thoughts.  He decided to keep the Geodon where it’s at (180mg) and increase the Abilify (now 10mg).  He also prescribed more sleeping medication (the same stuff as before) except at twice the strength.  He says, depending on how my July 9th appointment goes, we will lower the Geodon some more and raise the Abilify.  It was in my best interests during this conversation to be as candid with the good doc as possible.

Now I get back to town and I run into work to do a couple quick errands.  One of the employees (who knows where I was last week) asked me how I was doing and I gave him the standard, “hanging in there,” answer.  It wasn’t appropriate in that situation to tell him how shitty I feel, but at the same time it would be rude to blow a lie into  his face about how great I’m feeling.  I did my two little errands and ran off — it was hard to be there with customers and worrying if the customers will speak to me and how I will respond.  I’m just not ready to be back yet.  I hope I will be soon; just not yet.

Then I ran into the Big Dawg.  He also wanted to know how I was doing, so I said, “crappy, but I will be fine.”  Of course, this is some variation on the truth.  I do feel crappy, but everything will turn out in the long run.  He seemed happy to see me out and about, so I didn’t want to burst his bubble too terribly much.  At the same time I didn’t want to give him false hope, because the chances of him seeing me in a crying jag in the near future are pretty high.

By the time I got to Mom’s house, I was teetering on the edge.  I told her all about how bad I felt and how non-functional I was and of course, I cried.  Cried my eyes out and whined and cried some more.  Thank goodness at this point she is used to it and doesn’t freak out when this happens.  She told me to “chillax” for awhile and she was going to do some planting in her garden.  The theory was that we were going to get to the grocery store for me today.  I hope we do, because I don’t have any food, but at the same time, I am dreading it.

When my blog demands the questions, “how are you?”, sometimes I just lie and make things sound better than they really are.  Sometimes I am honest, too honest, and I feel exposed.  Today is one of those days I will be honest.

I am sleep-deprived and sleepy, all at the same time.  I am feeling positive that I was able to see my therapist yesterday and Dr. Wizard today.  I am hopeful that these med changes will be great ones and I”m hoping like hell I don’t have to go into the hospital again.  My brain feels foggy and like I can’t pay attention, and driving is almost scary at this point.  I have very little ability to concentrate.  I feel sad, depressed, out-of-sorts.  I feel kind of like someone close to me just died and I am going through a grieving process.  I am anxious and skittish.  I feel afraid for what lies ahead, in the short term and long term.

I spent the entire 45 minute drive to therapy yesterday replaying conversations with DSB in my head and thinking that maybe it’s MY fault that he treated me the way he did and that I should have done something differently so he would have stayed.  Except, I didn’t want him to stay is what I finally realized.  Why he should come up at a time like this, I don’t know.  Maybe because he was here the last time the shit hit the fan.  Perhaps.

I feel guilty because I am barely reading any blogs, but will start doing more of that when I am able.  I know everyone is writing great stuff, so if you see that I came by and liked something but didn’t comment, it’s not personal.  I am just unable to string a few words together sometimes, but I want you to know that I stopped by.

I feel guilty I am not working, am not cooking, am not cleaning, am not doing much of anything.  I feel like a leech on my parents, but they continue to assure me this is not the case.  I feel like I am harrassing the mental health center, and while this may be true, I am in need of help and I will fight for it.

Because there’s one thing I do have, out of all the negative emotions and feelings, I still have FIGHT left within myself and I will not let bipolar disorder get one over on me at this point.