Vocabulary Vixen

July 23, 2009

All hell broke loose, and I spit in its face

Heather had a particularly wonderful post today. It was heartfelt, poignant, and brilliant. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

I’ve had a particularly rough week, starting last Saturday in my new solo Supervisory role.

Quick recap:

1 – Car broken into. Not worth anything, nothing stolen, still unnerving.
2 – 1st day as Supervisor: scheduled to work with MAJOR pain in the butt. Don’t know what I did to her in a past life. Maybe I stole her car? Did everything I possibly could to be nice, only to get no eye contact. No contact, period, actually.
Period *really* started. After four days of spotting. I was ten days late to begin with when spotting started. Suspected pregnancy. Took pregnancy test, came out faintly positive. Took one yesterday, as bleeding was ending, no longer positive.
3 – 2nd day: Pain in the butt coworker again.
4 – Monday: not normal “restart” b/c of working on weekend. Tired. Took 1.5 hours to count the drawer.
5 – Tuesday: Blur. Don’t remember much.
6 – Wednesday: Actually had a decent day at work, was happy about this. I “felt” a little off, though.

And then that brings us to yesterday night. Already, the load is intense. I’m trying to juggle the new responsibilities of Supervisor, learning new things (two things that I *LOVE* to do!), but I had to deal with a whole bunch of other bullshit at the exact same moment in time. Had I had one or two less things going on, I think I would have been okay.

Sometime, over the past two days, I missed my medication. And then I fell apart under the pressure and all hell broke loose. I love my husband dearly. I love him more than life itself. He has been here for me in the good times, the bad times, and the really ugly times. My problems are rough on him. Mental illness sucks for everybody involved, and I would not be surprised one day that if, like Jon Armstrong, my husband will end up in therapy for PTSD from having to deal with me.

I knew it was going to be a rough week, so I was doing everything in my power to prevent last night’s breakdown. I still managed to head off some of the worst of it, and recognize that I was cracking under the pressure, and that all things irrational flooding into my brain were a result of the stress and lack of medication, NOT a flaw in my character. . . Though my brain would have had you think that I’m seriously fucked up. Oops. Well, yeah, maybe, but it’s my crappy brain chemistry, NOT me. Now that I’ve been able to differentiate the two, it’s making these breakdowns a lot easier to deal with. The duration is shorter, though still intense, and the recovery is much quicker. It is still not without some huge, glaring problems, but I am making improvements. I know what the problem is, and I know what to do to correct the problem, and work on it better next time.

ALL of that being said, it still sucked. I completely, totally, and utterly lost it. I’d been trying to prevent it, and as soon as I started feeling it, I started yelling at myself: “No, no, nonononononono, nOOOOOO! DON’T DO THIS!!!” But then, being unmedicated, my brain went tumbling off of a cliff. In a matter of an hour, my brain went flying off into left field about:
“how useless, stupid, and insane I am, and why should I really exist because of this bullshit? I’m just a burden to myself, J, and society. I shouldn’t be allowed to breed anyway. They gave me the promotion because they were desperate, how could they do it because of any skill? I’m just an idiot.”

Yeah, that was fun. NOT.

I did my best to contain the explosion zone, and if I am going to find ANYTHING positive about this most recent freak-out, it’s that I succeeded, for the most part, in keeping this contained. I managed to keep it together so as not to physically lash out at my husband, or any objects around me. Yes, I lashed out, or in, physically, and I’m paying for it today. But, what I’m keeping in mind is that IT COULD HAVE BEEN MUCH, MUCH WORSE. My recovery has been a lot quicker this time than times past, mainly because I’ve got knowledge on my side for this one. I’ve done this so often and learned so much, that I know what to do to lessen the impact of it. My goal is to avoid these completely one day by STAYING medicated, REMEMBERING TO STAY MEDICATED, and generally taking good care of myself when I find that there’s a lot going on and I’m VERY stressed out. I *almost* made it this time. Almost, not quite, but almost. It’s two steps forward, one step back. It’s still progress.

I am ever-thankful and appreciative of a husband that has stuck by me, through thick and thin, for the past 8 years.
I declare my undying love and gratitude for his patience with me through the bad times. I love him, even those times when I want nothing more than to smash him in the nose, I love him so much it hurts. I would say that I can’t imagine the impact I have on him, or the toll that I’m taking, but I’ve got a feeling that I know. I’m trying to save a little love for myself. Some days, it’s easier than others, though.

It’s a lot of work trying to manage mental illness. It’s a lot of work trying to keep it all together. There are blocks in the way, but I always managed jump over them, or crawl around them. I’m still here. I’m still writing. I’m working through these deep-rooted behavior patterns and I am more determined now than ever to BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF MY ISSUES! Figuratively, of course. I’ve done enough of the mental (and physical) boxing ring. These have been happening more frequently lately, but the difference is that I’ve been allowing them to happen by slowing my busy life down for a second. This means that although they are more frequent, they are less severe. I’m allowing myself to feel these things, instead of avoiding them like the plague until they are “RIGHT HERE, OH MY GOD, HERE ARE MY ISSUES AND I’M GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW!!!” I’m not working three jobs anymore, just one. Just one so I can take the time to focus on getting better, and getting healthy. I want to live my life. I want to love my life. I want to feel the love in my life. It’s been awfully hard, but even though I’m having these bouts of mental breakdown, there are also bouts of happiness that are in between. Not just mere function, then breakdown. There *is* light, and it’s undulating with more regularity and it’s brighter.

It’s an event. Nothing more. I’m not giving up. I *WILL* win my war. There’s still work to do, but I’m getting there. Inch by inch. Bit by excruciating bit. I pick myself up again, brush myself off, and keep moving forward.

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