Rapid Cycling occurs when a person with bipolar disorder (manic depression) experiences four or more mood swings or episodes in a twelve-month period. The term ultra-rapid cycling may be applied to those who cycle through episodes within a month or less. Ultradian refers to distinct episodes within a twenty-four hour period.
-LAST NIGHT-
Here is what is currently playing on a loop in my brain. I will do my best to describe everything exactly as it is and as specifically as I am able. Here we go:
Two measures, the very same two, from a flute solo I tracked for an instrumental piece I composed months ago but remastered over the past week.
The face of a girl I saw and admired in a play last night, smiling with that one crooked tooth poking forward.
The air flow system in this apartment is shabby. It's an old house. The cats will die if I don't perfect it. I am going to open the living room transom and turn the box fan in the other direction. I can't lose another cat.
This is the end you see.
I hurt so bad that I want to be dead. I could never commit suicide. One tenth of a percent of my soul, the piece that the other 99.9% won't let sell out, would have to organize a coup and take over the current regime for that to happen. But if I were dead, I would be doing so many people a favor: my doctor (no more annoying "these meds aren't working" visits to put up with); my partner (doesn't he deserve better?); my family (that will show them that they should pay better attention to their own...they have rewritten the past and this will be the cold splash of water that wakes them up); my employer (I can't be trusted, I'm a huge embarassing failure). The world at large, really. So can't something be arranged to snuff me out? If I were rich I'd pay for a suicide hit. I wonder if that has ever been done before?
-YESTERDAY FROM TODAY-
I finally got to sleep at around 7:00 AM yesterday morning. My partner and I were up during a lightning storm at 3:30 AM discussing much of what I posted above. We've determined that Valproic Acid, my current medication, is working about as well as the Clonopin did (which I stopped taking after it bit me back two weeks ago. I had such violent panic attacks that I left work one day and haven't gone back.) and therefore tomorrow I am going back to the clinic to annoy my doctor. Somehow that put me at ease, just knowing that I would wake up and call and make an appointment. I finally turned my brain off by sheer will well after sunrise and slept until 11:30.
I have decided not to continue to take the Valproic Acid. My partner ordered me not to take it anymore. He told me I am his world. He cried when I told him I wanted to be dead. He told me that the cats would be fine regardless, that I'm a good and trusted pet owner, that our last cat died from circumstances beyond our control. I love him. I haven't touched the VA all day and feel better than I have in weeks. Mind over matter?
What matter?
My mind is what is the matter.
For the past two weeks, perhaps longer, I have been unable to sit still while in the apartment. I have been so concerned about the air flow that I am constantly opening transoms only to close them again, redirecting box fans only to move them into other rooms every five minutes, changing the direction of the ceiling fans to the point of complete and utter obsession. It has been exhaustive. It has been hell. My partner noticed it, mentioning it during our 3:30 AM talk.
I also burn and reburn CD's obsessively, constantly remastering tracks to the point where I ruin them.
I haven't eaten much, though. I somehow fit into my partner's size 32 shorts today, where only a month ago I was wearing 34's. I like it, but it seems dramatic. Everything seems fucking dramatic.
(Finally getting tired again feels pretty good.)
I forced myself to leave the apartment at dusk and walk to my partner's restaurant for a couple of drinks. I had a nice cell phone conversation with my friend, B, on the walk down and we decided to meet at the restaurant so I could judge her new hair color. It's not that I'm an expert on such things. I just tell it like it is. (And it didn't look half bad. Thank God it's a rinse. Only 147 more washes to go.)
Tonight I was very gregarious, goofy, animated, conversational. I had three whiskey seven's and a shot of Jameson's Irish. B and I bought a bag of pot and ran into three people who were in the play we saw. Luckily they were 3 of the 5 actors we liked. We smoked a bowl and cut out.
I got in touch with another friend, R, earlier today. She and I have been friends since we were 13. We performed in our first musical together. She, too, has issues with depression. She offered a quote from (oddly enough) Sylvia Plath: "I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am. I am. I am." It soothed me. I wish I saw her more. We only live an hour apart.
I called work today and they are willing to have me back. They have been concerned and "meaning to call" but luckily I beat them to it, made some excuses and solidified my return this September. I can find part time work until then for sure. At least I have something to look forward to.
I'm tired, my buzz has worn off, and I have to see Dr. S tomorrow at the clinic. I like him, and that's half the battle won already.
Yours,
Jake
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