It began with Pensacola, I can tell you that.  I can’t tell you how long before or what specifically tripped it, but I can look back and say it was probably beginning of August when it all started to brew.

I will now state for the record, I would not take back that trip, nor any of what it triggered for ANYTHING in this world.

The first discrete incident that I can recall was deciding to hell with what my parents can or cannot help me with, I am making this trip, and I am doing it on my own.  I had the money for the ticket (barely), it was just intended to go towards bills.  But a shift in priorities occurred, a profound one, and I decided seeing my family and being in an environment of unconditional love and support was the most important thing for me – far more important than credit cards I couldn’t pay off at the moment anyway.

And then there was the trip itself.  That trip was wonderful and amazing and everything I needed.  It was also the first taste of pure euphoric mania I had in years.  I had my incredible cousins and their magical children and I was in paradise and I didn’t have to make any decisions – but I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t realize I was going.  I won’t rehash the finer points here, if you’re interested read How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Sort Of), with especial attention to And On The Next Day She Got Manic.

I took a med, and for about five days it brought me down, then it shot me back up through the roof, so I was given a different med, and things were okay again.  I thought.  Mistakenly.

This latest, most intense episode, this mixed period that I detailed ten days ago, when it had already been going on for quite some time, in the post It Was The Worst Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times - I cannot honestly tell you at what point it became acute.

I could make a convincing argument for sometime between the tenth of October, when I wrote Ruby And Lulu – At Long Last We Meet!, my last substantive post not discussing my recent difficulties, and the fifteenth (My Brain Is In The Shop).  But I could also make a compelling case for that day itself.

When I wrote My Brain Is In The Shop, I honestly thought it was utter nonsense, complete gibberish that made no sense at all.  That was truly what I thought in my mind.  The ravings of a madwoman – or at least one unable to communicate “coherently and lucidly,” those were the specific words I used.  Now I re-read it, and while it isn’t my finest work ever, it certainly is something one could accuse a rational mind of producing.  Logical directed, to be sure.  I seemed to be suffering an odd reversal of psychosis:  Instead of writing gibberish that made sense in my head, I was writing sense that was gibberish in my head.  Maybe it was an attempt for my brain to keep some sort of record, as was the next day’s post (It Was The Worst Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times) - but from there on I gave up.  No.  I didn’t give up.

I think I had been drifting very near the edges of the map, and drifting and drifting, more and more, and after I got all of that out was when I was finally pulled off.  It has not been a nice time for me, as my limited posting has indicated.  There has been a great deal of conflict and confusion and pain involved.

That is another post in and of itself, and it belongs somewhere else, I think.  I’m going to go try to write it, just give me an hour. . .

So it’s written, but I can’t publish and put the link for that one in this post until I publish this post (as the link for it needs to go in that post – it’s actually more confusing than it sounds).  So to my subscribers, you’ll have to visit this blog itself to get it, as I will have to publish this post, publish the other post (which will be on A Canvas Of The Minds, no surprise there), then come back and edit this post to add the link right here: I Am Disabled.

Moral of the story:  (God, I am so too spent for this tonight.)  A post for everything and each post in its place.

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