It isn’t from the possibility of a mild concussion, either (although I’m confused about that as well). It started before that.
This state I’ve been in and out of, and looking through things I’ve honestly probably been in and out of it for at least five months, the more I think back, the more that seems right. That was the time I felt the mania starting to creep and build, and finally copped to the fact that I couldn’t handle it without pharmaceutical intervention. Pensacola, and whenever exactly it was my mixed state started – more than a month ago – came at me seemingly out of nowhere. And that isn’t how I work. Not after all of these years of awareness and hyper-vigilance.
But if I think about never really being properly medicated from the start, it’s no wonder the other things came (seemingly) out of nowhere, building to what I wish I could say was the apogee of my frenzy. But I can’t. Because I still don’t have a psychiatrist, right now I’m not even sure if I have a primary. And even if I had both, for me there is not such thing as “properly medicated,” or even just “properly treated,” at least not by society’s or the medical community’s standards.
I have a friend who always tells me to not make the mistake of thinking I’m “terminally unique.” I have news for her and anyone else reading this. I am. I’ve been through all of the meds in all of their dosages and combinations, I’ve been through behavioral therapies and electroconvulsive therapy and naturalistic therapy and anything I’ve not been through is because I was evaluated and found not to be a suitable candidate.
I may be in misery right now, I’m not even sure, things change so rapidly within. But if I am in misery? So? This is me. For better or for worse, I was made this way by whatever or whomever, and I don’t just mean the manic-depression and related disorders. I mean the intolerance and non-responsiveness to medication, I mean the fact that I spend more time (and do a better job of) analyzing psychotherapists than they do me, I mean the whole she-bang.
People with mental disorders so often get the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” or “just snap out of it” approach by ignorant assholes who are unable or unwilling to recognize that these are legitimate medical issues, and those statements are tantamount to telling someone with cancer to wish it away. I get that, believe me I get that, if anyone in the world does. Bear that in mind.
I’m out of options. I’ll keep looking for another shrink, but he won’t be able to “fix” me any more than the others could. If I’m lucky I’ll find one who will help me to manage myself on my terms. Because I do need to pull myself up by my bootstraps. Not because I haven’t been trying hard enough thus far – dear Jesus, no – but because life has left me with no other option. There just literally isn’t anything else for me to do.
Manic-depression won the last round. It does sometimes, you know. The dragons. But I learned some things. I learned a lot of things which I’m still sorting through, things which will help me fight smarter in rounds to come.
So I guess that is the one thing I am certain about. I haven’t come away from this round bloodied, beaten, and bruised to no purpose.
I just pray I have time to get cleaned up and gather myself before I hear the bell that tells me I have to come out of my corner and back into the ring.
Moral of the story: The proof is in the pudding, if you have a sensitive and well-trained palate.
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