When Good Diagnoses Go Bad

Sometimes when I’m desperate that people know “I used to be skinny, I swear” I’ll often jump right into telling them how when I got my bipolar diagnosis they threw a bunch of drugs at me that made me gain a lot of weight very quickly. Also I started using a steroidal nasal spray (that no one told me not to use every day for 2 1/2 years) around the same time.

My appetite soared, I got more busy with my professional life, I got married and moved out, and suddenly I’m 60-70 (ish? timelines are hard) pounds heaver than I’ve ever been.

Even my fingers got fat. I look at my hands and I have slobby fat person hands. 10% of my clothes still fit, and I’m constantly wondering just how my thighs compare to all the other thighs. Who has the bigger thighs? Life’s biggest question. (I do. Easy answer.)

Now I’m looking at old selfies I had taken back at the weights I wish I still was wondering how the fuck I didn’t just enjoy it (because eating disorders), and I’m realizing that this recovered/fat me just isn’t sustainable.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it, and I’m going to do my best to not fall back into the super-disordered behaviors, but I’m so full of self hatred I could scream. Bipolar made me fat.

Also my school life is shit and work life is hard and personal life is 50/50 shit/hard and I just. And I just.

LESS THAN A WEEK UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY and I don’t feel festive at all. Goddamn life circumstances.

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What CAN’T I do?

This is a topic that doesn’t come up on my blog very often. Mostly it’s just because it’s very difficult to describe what’s going on. The more “downer” experiences are somehow easier to write about than the manic ones.

Right now, I’m in what the psychiatrists call “mania.” Mine is more of a hypomania, but that’s because I’m bipolar II. Fascinating.

I noticed it really kicking in last week, because I started staying up later, thinking I could accomplish more on less sleep and in less time, and planning. I always plan a lot more when I’m hypomanic. Like, months and months and sometimes years in advance. For tiny little things like grocery trips and what gym schedule I think will work the best. Things that are difficult to stick to. I make goals for myself I won’t keep once the depression comes back.

On top of that, I’ve put in so much overtime at work that my managers are consistently telling me to take a day off. But I don’t even feel the overtime right now! 80 hours and I feel like I just had a whole week off. I have to take breaks a lot because I can’t focus and what was I doing wouldn’t this work better? Yes this. Let’s do this. We do this now.

There are so many thoughts in my head the only way I can think to describe it is a lightning storm over the entire planet and every lightning strike hits a transformer and all the sparks ignite huge fires across the globe and everything’s blowing up and exploding and it should be exhausting but I don’t feel it.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS NEW THING SEE THIS THING LOOK AT IT DO YOU SEE IT MATT LOOK LOOK WHAT I DID LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS OTHER THING NOW ARE YOU LISTENING MATT THIS WILL CHANGE OUR LIVES.

Luckily it doesn’t normally last long. I know the crash will be intense, because it always is. But I’m prepared, and have the tools, for when it happens. I may even sleep for a day. Who knows?

I’ve been staying up late, planning, reading, learning, wanting, needing, expanding, and no human should be sleep deprived and so productive.

I’m sorry I’m so bad at explaining it, but I do feel like it’d be worth mentioning this idea on this blog of mine that mostly just features my psychoses.

Blogging is oddly therapeutic, you guys. I recommend it. A lot.

Speaking of the things I do while I’m manic: social media. I post so much more to social media! Like someone how my “friends” will start to actually care what I do on a daily sometimes more-than-daily basis? As if. But I post it all anyway.

I’m overall very, very thankful that I have a very manageable experience with this particular disorder. Bipolar is very nasty, and for some it’s downright debilitating. I just don’t have it all that bad. The depressions are the hard part.

You know, come to think about it, the hypomanic might even explain the weird visual/auditory sensations I’ve been having. Seriously. I’ve been seeing things? But not really seeing. Just like, sensing? It’s so weird. I can’t even write about it. This is the worst blog in the world. I wonder if like not-quite-hallucinations are part of manic episodes. I should google that.

That’d be a lot more comforting than what I was feared was going on. For a while I just thought it might be sleep deprivation. I know for a fact that that can make you hallucinate.

I think this more recent swing into I CAN DO ANYTHING MODE has been going on for just a little under a month now.

Brains are weird.

Happy Sunday:)

But, You Know, Whatever.

My bones are cold. There’s a constant, aching chill, and find myself shivering then try to stop myself. But I can’t feel warm.

My jaw hurts from the pressures of keeping it together. The urge to sob and scream and burst into hysterics all mingled into my ready smile should someone look my way.

It’s always the corner of my eye. Or not so much the corner, but just barely beyond perceptibility. Dark shapes, light shapes. Metamorphosing into some terrible nightmare fodder. Humanoid, demanoid. “It’s just my imagination” I tell the slowly-growing shadow. My jaw aches.

I’m quick, though. They’ve always told me I have “wit.” So while in the company of others I laugh and I joke and wow so normal until a moment’s silence and I remember everything terrible that’s ever been and ever will be while the shape in the doorway grins at me and reaches out then I think of a clever response and get a few laughs.

Silence is painful. There’s a hum, and it’s not just from all the concerts. I know. It physically hurts. Drives me to tears when I wake at night. Because they’re trying to reach me. That faint hum before the speech, the dying to say what can’t be said and I’m afraid of what they’ll say. So I put the pillow over my head try and snuggle up to the warm mass who snores and moves away from me and I’m forever left alone in my head with these new ghosts and the old ghosts who won’t leave me to a moment’s peace.

When I drink my cheap, fruity liquor I’m too engrossed in my phone and trying not to have drunk face that it’s peaceful for a moment. But heaven forbid I have to pee or go somewhere else alone because they follow me and they take advantage of my fear and my tears and they laugh and I have to pretend I’m not scared out of my goddamn mind because no one likes a drama queen.

I’ve hallucinated before. It’s been years. And I’m terrified.

I’ve been desperately trying not to be so whiney or dramatic (hence the infrequent posts) and even to friends I’m like eh I’m depressed but whatever but damn it even as I type this they’re brushing me on the shoulder and trying to whisper in my ear and I shudder and try and remember where I was in my thought.

And I thought being coherent was difficult before.

Is this the bipolar? The dissociation? The stress? Have all the many, many, long years of too-frequent nightmares started following me into daily life, desperate to be heeded?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It’s almost the anniversary of my last utter descent. Makes me think it’s bipolar. I made a promise it’s almost impossible not to think about. Even now my pants are sticking to my hips and my sleeve to my arms and my jaw hurts and my usual hurts hurt because everything hurts but it’s “just stress.”

But you know lol everything fine it’s good 🙂  how’re you?

Video Games and Dissociation Disorder-A Clarification

This post was by far my most popular. It still gets hits all the time. I feel like I’m cheating people out of scientific research. All my posts are whiny hubbub.

Sorry to people who come here for that blog post. But thanks for reading.

As for as my experience regarding the content, I still experience this frequently. Dissociation disorder is one of the more forefront factors in my daily life. Unfortunately. I know when it’s happening like coming up for air after diving for hours. I realize “oh hey this day feels funny I’m so gone lol what’s a blue mean” and then back under I go.

These days usually house my extreme actions. Also they’re related to the mania (thanks bipolar) and lead to the over-zealous goals that are never accomplished and lead to the ever-present feelings of failure and worthlessness. Just, dissociation in general I guess. Also binge eating and basic poor impulse control. 

It’s a curious phenomena I don’t see referenced very often. Either it’s under-diagnosed, not usually an issue for people, or just kind of rare. I see borderline personality disorder a lot more often. Which is another one of the boxes I get to tick on health history forms. Now that’s a weird issue. Usually associated with the “temper tantrums” (my stepmom called them that when I was in high school. Really it was just a long-beaded-timeline full of acute psychoses) we think people who “just want attention” portray.

Anyway, this is why I have to usually put aside time to watch movies, play video games, or read books during the day. I have such a difficult time processing reality as reality at any given time as is, adding to that by incorporating unusual narratives, intense emotions, or generalized anxiety just exacerbate my already pathetic-ness.

What was I talking about?

Criticizing Nostalgia

*Contains BMI-related numbers. I don’t normally make trigger warning announcements, but I also do not usually mention my own BMIs. Do with my warning what you will.*

Admonishing my reverie for my bathroom scale’s golden days. The slightest of gravitational strains. The purest state of ingesting.

I have never been truly sick. That is to say, I’ve never been “on death’s door” because of my eating disorder. I’ve only ever flirted with the idea of living dangerously. My blood tests and vertigo were terrible. My pallor profound and my eating only precise. But I always skated away when doctors and therapists started to wonder. Dodged and ducked my way into an EDNOS diagnosis and unmonitored food trays during most of my psychiatric ward stays. That’s good, right? It’s kind of bad. It’s bad-good. They didn’t even make sure I didn’t purge. *high five?!?

I’ve only ever maintained a normal or slightly under normal weight. BMI of 17, rest in peace. Now that I’m fat and old I can’t help but look back and miss it. I don’t miss the crying and the late night, long-winded workouts before I was old enough for my own gym membership. I don’t miss passing out or almost getting caught sneaking out to the gym.

That’s right. At 15ish I snuck out to go the gym. When I wasn’t secretly boozing. Ahem.

When I could see my ribs and my hipbones protruded too much to lie on my belly at night I didn’t even get to appreciate it. Even a few years back when I was BMI 21 I didn’t have a belly “pooch” wearing spandex running clothes and I could wear TANK TOPS without hating my life. TANK TOPS. And shorts. Ugh, I miss shorts.

And swimming! Haven’t swam in years. Last time was in a gym. Before that?…. I don’t even remember. Probably childhood.

Even when I met the standard for “thin” I thought I was too big for the world. But I guess that’s usually in people with a literal disease preventing them from knowing their relative size.

Did you know there’s a euphoria that can come with not eating as much as you should? No wonder eating disorders (restriction, mostly) are such a slippery slope after recovery.

None of this was supposed to mean much. I just wish I could go back in time with a decent body and/or get skinny again.

Damnit.

The Recovery Shame

I’m ’bout to get real real with you guys. It’s been a while since I’ve made a post, and it’s because I thought about being less personal. But I just want to be frank with you guys.

I hate being “recovered.”

I’m making a pause now to let you readers who don’t know me imagine what I mean by recovered. Do I mean from drugs? Gambling? Porn?

It’s all 3.

No it’s not.

It’s eating disorders.

Now, I put the word recovered in quotes up there because though I don’t partake in the daily activities of an actively disordered eater anymore, I still have so many thoughts and bad feelings and bad self-esteem surrounding me that I feel like a cheaty faced loser saying I’m legitimately recovered. I’m more like, I don’t know, in remission. The behaviors aren’t there lately (purge free since May?) but it’s very much an undercurrent.

I’m sure lots, maybe most, of the humans who have recovered from an eating disorder of any kind often think “man, I could easily go back to that. That’d be great. I could be so skinny. Eh, nah.” But what I think a lot of the time isn’t “I could go back” so much as it’s “I should go back.”

Cuz I get a lot of hate. I hate being recovered because I’m chubby now. I shouldn’t care that I’m chubby. I should embrace it and whatever and be happy I’m healthy (not really but whatever) and whatever.

But I’m really upset.

I fucking hate myself.

And there are people who see me at work who may notice the panic in my eyes when I pass the snack bar, who may notice I eat lunch 3 times, and there are friends who I accidentally admit to having 2 separate dinners to… but they wonder why because I’m too fat and I obviously eat too much.

There are those IN THE SAME HOUSEHOLD AS ME who comment on what I eat being unhealthy or that I eat too much or that I should exercise more/better.

These comments come from a good place but damn. Let me pretend to be a normal American. Jesus.

I hate it. And I hate it.

I hate being a regular chubby first-world unhealthy loser. I hate liking fast food and beer. I hate thinking about food ALL THE TIME whether I’m trying to lose weight or not.

I hate how I let the idea of being a happy healthy person made me fat.

I’m legitimately overweight now. And it makes me so sad. And I try not to let it. I think, hey. I don’t have like serious weight-related issues, right? I’m fine? I’m smaller than some people, right? Does that matter? Should I even make that comparison? God what should I do? What is normal? WHAT IS RIGHT WHAT IS HEALTHY WHAT AM I DOING I’M KIDDING MYSELF I GOT FAT.

I meet new people and I just know they’re judging me for being fat. Like you don’t know me! I was skinny once, too! Shut up! Shut up those thoughts! Stop it!

This could be a post about how fat-shaming is bad but it’s not that it’s me hating myself for letting myself get to a non-disordered weight.

It was so much easier not kidding myself into thinking I had a healthy mind.

Right now, I’d take the bloodshot eyes, the inflamed esophageal lining, and the lying and wasting over this shame and remorse.

 

Snuggly Wuggly

Remember back in the day when I made that post about how my daily routines really helped my depression?

Well why in the hell doesn’t that apply to me anymore?!

Since I’ve moved in with Matt my “routines” have been all over the place. Sure, I wake up for work at roughly the same time everyday, but it’s mostly a hectic mess just trying to get to work on time. I have a basic order of things, but the order of things doesn’t include breakfast or checking my stories or touching the cat or appreciating the pretty colors and bird sounds that come with early morning…

I’m a hectic spazoid now. Mostly because I can’t make myself get out of bed. I’m a nasty, habitual snoozer. I never really used to be except on weekends… Now I snooze 3, 4, sometimes up to 5 times before I actually start waking up. And “waking up” is basically just checking myfitnesspal food plan for the day and putting off GETTING OUT OF BED as long as possible.

Man this is unhealthy. I am in a rush every morning and I hate it but even when I try to change (set my alarm later so I can’t snooze as long, make Matt help me wake up, pop a mint in my mouth after the first alarm, etc) the efforts are usually futile. It’s frustrating.

Somehow, someway, I will become good at mornings again. It’d be so cool to have breakfast/cat/crossword puzzle time in the morning again.

To be fair, it was a lot easier when I worked at the restaurant at 10:45 in the morning versus my now 8:20 in the morning. Especially considering 8 was when I would wake up. I do NOT see myself waking up at 5:30 just to enjoy the mornings. Though, it’d be kind of nice…

At least I’ve been getting to work on time more consistently recently. Yay small victories.

This room smells like a mix of chocolate mint candle and bowl of caesar salad from dinner I’ve yet to clean up. I’d better hop to it.

Peace.