Finally, finally, I’m making progress in my journey to help. I’ve met with a psychologist and my family doctor. It’s still going to be several more months before I can get in to see a psychiatrist (wtf is up with that, seriously!?), and I’ve got a scrip in hand for some MUCH needed anti-depressants.
Bipolar disorder is so bizarre. I spent years convincing myself I was absolutely fine (usually when I was manic), but now that I’ve admitted that I’m not, it’s like everything is twenty bajillion times more intense. Maybe I’m finally starting to let myself feel all the awful things I’ve been swatting away for all these years.
Like, how shit is it that I’ve normalized suicidal thoughts/attempts all this time? How is it that I let myself believe that everybody thinks and does these things. News flash bae…they don’t.
Sorry this post is so rambly and incoherent — the struggle is too real at the moment. Between the grotesquely dark thoughts, and the shaking, stomach ache, and headache from the anxiety, I’m amazed I’m still upright today.
Here’s hoping the Celexa evens things out (and doesn’t make them way worse).