It had been six weeks since I saw my doctor last, the longest I have gone without seeing my psychiatrist in the past. Everything had been going ok during the time between visits until it wasn’t ok. And it was the instability that I had experienced in the previous weeks that had me worried about my appointment. I guess worry is not the right word, I was not scared, nor experiencing anxiety, but it was more like waiting for the impending doom.
During the month of May I was on top of the world. Life was grand and wonderful. Every day was filled with metaphorical unicorns and sparkly rainbows. I was energetic, and my mood could be described as optimistic and pleasant. I was making cake after cake and when I wasn’t making cakes, I was reading about them and practicing my techniques. I was in heaven. There were concerts and outings with friends. A house that was actually clean and made from scratch dinners nearly every night. I happily went to the store to buy groceries and enjoyed driving around in my manual transmission little baby car (Honda Civic Coupe). I thought that I was living the life. I thought this is what recovery felt like and I could get used to this. That this is what I had been working towards and how victorious it felt to have achieved this. It wasn’t until the depression hit that I realized I was suffering from a mild case of mania. It was disguised as just one amazing day after another and lacked my normal mania symptoms.
With the depression came the lethargy and fatigue. As well as the anxiety, “stinking thinking”, and overall unhappiness.
The day of my appointment, I was feeling up, like hyper kind of up. Which made me mad. It’s great that the depression was starting to fade but bouncing right back up made it very clear that I was experiencing a mixed episode and that this was indeed the Bipolar and not just some good days followed by some bad days.
I sat in front of my doctor and I explained what was going on since I had seen her last. She commented that she could tell I was tense and agitated. I admitted that I was and how annoyed I was with this entire process. I explained that I just wanted to be stable and that I get so pissed off when I travel between the poles. Why can’t a good day be a good day? I went on to explain my frustration with the hormone replacement therapy that I also juggle and how each time I get a treatment, something happens, and I get unbalanced. I babbled some more and resorted back to expressing again, for the umpteenth time, that I was very frustrated.
I left the office with a prescription to increase my lithium, which I was expecting. I made it to my car, and I cried. It’s absurd for me to think that my life is unfair as many others have it far worse than me. But, you know, I am just tired of being up and down. It gets exhausting. It pisses me off that we are making plans for a summer road trip and I don’t know where I am going to be, will I be stable, or manic or depressed? I can’t NOT make plans, but it’s like everything that I do end up making, I make with an asterisk in my mind, because there’s that chance that I won’t be in a place where I will be able to enjoy what is planned.
The facts have shown me that I have experienced longer periods of stability over the last year. It also has shown me that my hormones play an ENORMOUS roll in my mental health and stability. I am in a far better place than I have been in the past, even prior to diagnosis and treatment. The instability will pass, and I will achieve stability again. I will get through this. I will persevere. I will press on.