A Bit Strange — More Crunch, Less Smoosh

The last bit has been so very up and down, my moods so quickly changeable, intense.  Many tears shed, even more maniacal laughter.  Sarcasm sharper than sharp, my brain is afire and I find myself plucking “damn, that’s good!” phrases and one-liners from it at random, and feeling prideful, in a sense, that my brain is so damn wonderful.  The up and down is fast becoming more of an “up” and hopefully, not a “too up” up.  If you had to ask me right this second how I will feel tomorrow, I really wouldn’t know where to begin but would bet on “elevated.”

Memories have been haunting me lately.  I attribute it to listening to a lot of different music, and also on the fact that my brain is whirring along faster than ever with the subtraction of a very sedating sleep medication that I decided I no longer wanted to take.  Belsomra…that stuff is of the devil himself.  So, I took myself off the “anti-nightmare” medication Clonidine, as well, because it just wasn’t working.  As my psychiatrist often says, no point taking something that doesn’t work.

I happen to know things are getting better (or at least more interesting) for my mental health because I can identify so closely with the word photos in this post.

I had a really great day today.  I made it back to the gym and my water-walking, I helped my mom roll almost three dozen burritos, LarBear and I have been clicking along, and I have all this new-found energy.  Great things build upon itty bitty good things, I have found, throughout life.  If I can just get started, I can be dangerous.  I’m like a snowball coming down the top of the hill that just keeps gaining new snow and getting bigger and wilder and faster.  Hmmm, this does not make it sound so positive, but it does FEEL positive.

I am working really hard in DBT on judgement.  Judgement of self, but other people, too.  First focusing on my own self-judgement, and the rest will follow.  I am trying not to judge my quick thoughts and upbeat mood and newfound energy, and to just accept them as they are, not try to label.

That’s hard, and if you have any kind of disorder in your life, you know that.  You know the SIGNS, man!  The warning signals.  I am glad the cycling isn’t so rapid right at the moment, but I WILL keep an eye on things if I continue to get racier in my brain and louder in the mouth.  I am so stinking tired of med changes and most days would like to get rid of them altogether, but the constant TWEAK that seems necessary is annoying.

I really must listen to one more song, smoke one more cigarette, drink a little more Crystal Lite, and try to go to bed.  I have a full day of things tomorrow, because I WILL be doing things, while I have the energy, seeing as it seems to be so fleeting.

via

 

 

Collection of Thoughts

 

In the past, I struggled with nightmares.  Trauma-induced nightmares that would wake me up, breathless and sweating.  I’m pleased to say that with a good healthy kick of Prazosin, and years of therapy, I don’t have those dreams often anymore.  Now when I dream, it is usually right around the end of the world and I am fighting.  With guns.  And saving people.  And looking for my dogs.  And my sister.  These aren’t nightmares, per say, but they are unpleasant.  I also have a lot of dreams about showing up places inappropriately dressed.  I don’t believe in dream interpretation, but I can imagine what some people would say about that.  It is funny, though, to only  have two types of dreams:  end of the world dreams and inappropriately naked dreams.  I’d like a little more variety.

 

 

I like this.  It spoke to me, but I didn’t hear it.  OK, kidding, obviously.  There is so much truth in this quote, though.

DSB:  What’s for dinner?

Me:  *silence*

DSB:  What’s wrong?  What happened?

Me:  *silence*

DSB:  Do you not want to talk about it right now?

Me:  *nodding head*

DSB:  Come see me when you’re fit to have this conversation, because we ARE having this conversation.

And what I was trying to do was keep from crying, but he thought I was mad about something.  Sometimes the tears come for no reason, and they will not go away.  And he doesn’t get that, even when I explain it.  Emotional times around my household lately.

 

 

Word to you, Mr. Oscar Wilde.  When I was growing up, I wrote tons of poetry.  Now, I can’t even read it.  It’s to the point where, if a poem shows up in my reader, I just delete it.  I can’t go there.  All that time I spent gushing out my emotions on paper, in poetry form — that time is over and long gone and, while I wish I could still write like that, I appreciate the medicated and unable-to-write-or-read-poetry version of Rosa better.  But Mr. Wilde is right, I am living it.  You can’t read it or see it, but it lives on.

 

Amen to that.  I’ve been through times when I’ve had tons of “friends,” who really I could probably only call acquaintances, and some not even that.  Now I have a very very few friends, and they mean more to me, and are more to me, than any 790 Facebook friends I used to have.  It’s funny who we choose to share our life with, and I think the better quality comes from sharing it less, but sharing it with people who get it more.