How Quickly Stability Can Change With Medication

FRIDAY, A COUPLE WEEKS AGO
I woke up to another day where I open my eyes, catch my thoughts, and then start bawling. Here I am, another day of nothing. Why? What cosmic source did I offend? To what purpose?

I am angry at myself. I never asked for this. I wonder...was there ever a time with no struggle? Was I ever hopeful and full of dreams as a child? Have I ever had just one good day?

Logically, my brain knows the truth. I was relatively stable for the longest period of my life just recently. June 2015 to last September. Stability from another inpatient stay. So, I ask myself, "What did stability feel like? I need that." I can't remember a single thing right now from when I didn't dread another day of wash, rinse, and repeat this hopelessness. The feeling of dread that today I must work, interact, make decisions, be there for others that depend on me. Another day of being forced to give when I am oh so empty and tired of my life. My existence. Another day of forced smiles and laughter and jokes to try and appear that I have it together enough to not freak people out. Another day of doing what I can to appear normal. Truly, I wonder how much longer am I supposed to try and be this diseased person? I have nothing left to give.

So I hide. I wish for death. Peace. It is a longing. How much longer til I give? I think I am immune to my med set. I am sitting waiting to see my pysch. It is just futile. So. Very. Futile. I can be stable again, but I will be awake each day vigilant for the next mood swing. One wrong word from someone and I fear the worst. One elated thought and I cringe. There is no real peace in stability. There is only dread. Dread of the humility of who I didn't ask to be. Despair that I will draw every breath and struggle to function at the basest of levels at some point again. And again. And again. 

I get angry. People expect me to want to breathe. When stable, they expect me to somehow make it last forever. They think bipolar is due to something I don't do right. Time and time again I disappoint them. And yet, they still think I should stay alive. They think I am selfish. They think I am dramatic. They think I just need to pray. Or suck it up. Not let it get to me. Do they really think that little of me? I can come to no other conclusion. Just look into my eyes. See the pain. See me broken. Drowning. See me trying all I can to be acceptable but failing. See that I do not want this. Give me peace.

TODAY
I moved off of Latuda and on to Vraylar. I am also weaning off Lamictal. Vraylar is the new med of choice and it pulled me right up by the medicinal bootstraps to stabilize me about three weeks ago. The thoughts above? They seem foreign. If they seem foreign to me now, I understand how they seem to a person without mental illness. They will seem completely absurd. But today I can tell you that isn't my problem. It is society's problem and I am here to try and kick it in the teeth. A good relationship with my pysch is imperative in my life. Journaling is important. Meds. Therapy. Sleep. Social outings. My children. My friends and family. They do the best they can to support me and I am grateful. I am grateful I can work. Busy is good for me. It keeps me out of my head. So, I have my guns ready. I am determined to hang on while I can and fight. Fight to better my life and have stability for even longer this time. I hope you do the same.

To balanced and productive days my friends,

Laura