Difficult…

At times it can be difficult for me to handle my medications.  Because of the damage to my liver I am only on two medications.  Latuda, which I take daily, and Lexapro, and anti -depressant that I only take in the event of depression.  Otherwise, I rely heavily on physical activity and stimulation for my mind.  Numbers help a lot.  Anything with numbers, like playing dice, or doing math.  (I love math.)

The difficulty comes when I am not sure if I am in a depression, or if the feelings I have are a result of intrusive thoughts and nightmares.  It can be harmful for me to take anti-depressants if I am not depressed, as it would send me into a dis-phoric mania.

How do I tell the difference?  Well, it starts with my interest in things I like to do.  If I have none, it is most likely depression.  If I have interest, especially if it is a strong desire to do something I like to do, then I know it is not depression.  I also know it could turn into depression, which scares me.  Of course, being afraid of depression is depressing and so I have to alleviate my fear and simply observe the feelings I am going through.  Are my reactions to things those of a depressed person.  No.

Not now.  Right now and for the past few weeks since that miserable occurrence with my sister, I have been having intrusive thoughts, although no nightmares.  I do wake up thinking about my sons, which I usually do, but it is a stressful feeling recently.  Almost a panic.  Everything that has happened in the past four years is up front in my mind.  My sister wanted to talk about these things and I did talk with her for a few days until I told her no more.

It has become less and less, but this morning I woke up and it was like a tornado in my mind.  It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings then.  Not quite awake, but coming back to reality from some dream I don’t remember.  And I am thinking of my son at this point, my youngest, and my heart is aching and I am angry and I am stumbling to the door to go outside and smoke a cigarette, which invariably makes me sick.  I come back in and sit on the couch, but it’s misery, so I go back to bed and let myself cry.

And then is the reprieve.  Like grief, coming in waves. Is that what it is?  Grief?

I miss my sons.

 

Bi-Polar, ADHD, PTSD

 

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