At least I got to sport awesome shit-kickers! (1.5 hours of being reminded what it means to be a woman)

Off on my Sunday adventure – grocery shopping!  Woohoo – right?!  But, I’ve been manic and for some odd reason I don’t mind the hustle and bustle when I’m in that state of mind.  But of course it’s yet again that double-edged sword because though I am doing alright, what are the people around me feeling like?  I’m pretty forthright to begin with and when I’m manic it’s worse; that and I can’t help hearing the conversations around me (that heightened awareness and all) and before I think I blurt something out – “Oh you’ve never tried Wolf Chili before?  It’s really good.  I have a friend … blah blah blah.”   I talk to myself almost continuously and I am super happy to tell rude people how rude they are and why.

So there is the setting of the story; or rather my prelude to the true story.

It’s grocery shopping day … despite the bone crushing lower-back ache, the pounding headache and cramps, I get all ready to go slap in a fresh female apparatus as it is that time of the month.  Please make note it is a “super”.  I get into my little blue car and go-kart the five-minute drive to the grocery store.  As I pull into a parking place my mind nags, “Should you stop by the bathroom before you start shopping?”  In which I respond, “No, it’s been 5 minutes, don’t be paranoid.”

So I casually (but not tortoise-like) stroll back to the rear of the store where I usually start my shopping; making note of a couple of items that are on sale in the main aisle.  I choose 10 yogurts … and no I didn’t sit and ponder forever … then I get that feeling.  That uh-oh I think the dam’s about to break feeling.  So I haul butt up to the front of the store (why oh why can’t they still have the rear restrooms for their customers?), drop my cart with the greeter and hit the restroom.  “Yes,” I’m thinking as I push the door open, “I made it – there MIGHT be a dime spot in my underwear, but no catastrophe.”
The door open now, I see how wrong I am.  Turning to the lady standing there I ask, “Both stalls full?”  (Of course they were!)  So I stand as still as possible and wait and wait and UG, how it feels like forever!

Finally one stall is open, the woman before me steps in … I wait … I wait … my minds mouthing off, “Oh geez, of course the lady in the other stall has to be taking a dump.”
She’s finally finished, picks her purse up from the floor (I won’t even go into how disgusting I think that is – she probably sets it on her kitchen table when she gets home.), then I hear, “I’m stuck.”

Great!  Really?  Stuck?

By the way it’s over now, I’m hit, but the longer I wait the worse it is.

She finally gets out and I jet in like a dog after a steak.  There certainly was enough blood to involve a steak.  Through the panties and through the jeans, but not visible to others – I think.

I will be damned if I am going all the way home to have to come all the way back to shop.  “Quick, think quickly, what to do?”  I have a tampon, but I don’t have a pad in my purse and of course places of business quit catering to their female customers long ago.  Yes really, those machines are just there for decoration; I promise you they are empty.  So I shove a strategically folded wad of toilet paper between my undies and jeans to prevent my jeans from soaking up anymore of the mess, clean up the best I can, wash up and say a “thank you” for the fact that I have on a mid-length coat to cover my butt.  Even though it was not visible I would have been far more paranoid and uncomfortable if my rear was exposed.

Back at it … moving right along … I could not have been more an hour and a half total from the time I left the house.

Now I’m bringing bags in.  This time there was no nagging feeling.  As I walk in with my hands full the dam breaks – my brand new jeans, my brand new underwear, and ug the mess.  So my groceries sit while I do a complete clean up and wardrobe change.  Ya know, it was probably for the best, all the good actresses change outfits for each scene.

Well ring my bell, I freaking love being a middle-aged woman whose body has gone haywire!

BUT at least I got to sport awesome shit-kickers while I played my Wonder Woman role yet again – getting it done and dealing with whatever comes along in the meantime!

The Invisible Battle

It can be so darn difficult to deal with others when I am manic.  Ha!  I bet they are all saying the same thing about me.

I am “prickly” during a state of mania that elevates beyond hypo-mania.  By prickly I mean easily annoyed by things that normally I could just look beyond.  And of course once I’m agitated, my tongue can get sharp and my judgment not as clear as it could be.

I also talk louder, have more to say, am far more inappropriate, and speak a million miles a minute – with having more to say I tend to blurt out things at people as they walk by, etc.  Perhaps it is payback for annoying me?

Nah; it cannot be payback when usually I don’t even notice I’m doing it.

I think that is typical for a Beeper not to notice – what we notice is that we feel good – strong – justified – energetic – and somewhat narcissistic, so why would we notice?  We wouldn’t, until it caused some hitch.

I’ve known that I’ve been riding the hypo-manic wave most days since I’ve been put on this last batch of meds.  I never really worried about it – never really even considered that not only should I not be low, but I should not be continually that high either while I am medicated.  It felt GREAT, so my mind says, “Yes your meds are working.”  In a way they were, just not as well as they should be.

After some time has passed, my body has adjusted and I (again unidentifiably to myself) began to stay more in the manic area of my roller coaster.  Just as easy for me, but no so easily endured by those around me.

My husband mentioned that he didn’t think my mood stabilizer was working.  I thought about it for a minute and realized that he may be right.  I might not feel like I am snarky, short, pessimistic, or any other manic symptom that I might have at the time, but that doesn’t mean I am not.

Then within the same week (also ironically the week that followed a VERY stressful week – which kind of jacked the mania up), I get pulled aside at work and given the we realize you are having issues with your medication, but you are disrupting people and need to try harder to be quiet speech.

That “smack” broke a damn and I cried for quite a while – trying not to make it noticeable, but not discouraging it either – I needed to expel the emotions I was experiencing at this time.
You see, I try so damn hard day in and day out, that when someone tells me it isn’t good enough it hurts!  It brings on that overwhelming feeling that I will never be truly understood by anyone other than a fellow Beeper.  That no one will ever be able to truly know what a battle this condition is – a NEVER-ENDING battle.  Sometimes it’s easier than others, but make not mistake about it, it is a battle that will be life long.

I have a call into the doctor – the earliest I can get in is March.  And truthfully, who knows what might happen from there because that appointment will inevitably be the beginning of adjusting medications.  I don’t know yet if that will mean trying to increase my current mood stabilizer (which we dropped down about a year ago b/c of the insane insomnia and me needing to be able to function as a mother and employee) or starting a new one.  Either way, anything could happen.

Sit back and enjoy the ride – right?  Well that’s what I try to tell myself, but really, modifying treatment scares me and makes me more of a wreck than, well, than all the other things that make me a wreck – I won’t list them – besides they don’t always stay the same it depends on my “state”.

I’m clear I’m clear …

I felt the funk lifting as of this morning, but now I can definitely say I’m in the clear (at this time).  How do I know this … because I just ate an entire Jimmy John’s Italian Nightclub Sub all by myself – the entire thing!

Unlike a lot of people I talk to, I do not eat more while I’m depressed.  I usually have zero-zip-nada desire to eat – not hungry, don’t care what’s good for me, and I definitely don’t have the motivation to get up and make something.  (Now if I’m stressed/frazzled I will definitely turn to food for a relief – specifically ice cream.)

So when I enjoyed every single bite of an 8 inch sub, it was confirmed; I’ve dug myself out of this hole.  Either that or I cycled again – so I suppose “I made it through until the next shift” would be a more accurate statement.

I also don’t feel like someone took the energy vacuum to me anymore.

So onto bigger and much better things!

Bigger & better she says?

Well someone brought it to my attention how much I ignore me since I have become another.  I kind of already knew that, but I figured if I wasn’t bothered by it (not more than a nag here and there when I see something I like, look at it, and then put it back because me feeling pretty isn’t as important as my son), then it wasn’t really an issue, per say.

However, it was brought to my attention that others do notice and it does affect more than just my pocket-book.  And when I think about it, I suppose sometimes it is important to do what makes you feel “pretty” because it does affect your behavior and confidence level … which in turn affects those that love you.

So what’s she going to do about it?  I’m going to go see my BFF for a much-needed muse recharge and having her take me out to some consignment shops in her area to see if we can’t put some Sandy back into Sandy.

Wish me luck!