Hello, people. And you too, bots.
I just reached the age when the brain has developed as much as it's going to. I'm not on any meds right now (other than my medical marijuana which I have been prescribed), but I do make sure to take vitamins and eat a lot of greens and raw foods. Exercise is lacking lately, but when I ran every morning I was often teetering on a manic episode.
The bipolar symptoms first showed up during puberty, and ever since then I've been a psychiatric case. The thing is, in all my time spent in various levels of hospitalization and meeting hundreds of psych patients (the kind that aren't ever fit to reenter society / the kind that are tucked away simply because there's nothing else that can be done with them / the kind most good folks on the internet like yourself will be lucky enough to never know existed) - I see bipolar discussed a lot online like people really know about it. The labels that psychiatry has for these mental diseases are really quite broad. More like Categories of Crazy. Sure, some breed of batshit is characterized by distinct mood swings and psychotic features, but each type of crazy is entirely branded and unique to the diseased. As such, the symptoms can express in an infinite variety of ways. Brain imbalances and fucked up experiences are entirely unpredictable, and the doctors prescribing these drugs have NO idea what happens inside the patients head when the patient takes them! They are stabbing in the dark, as their profession has no other way. The side effects are indescribable, and then trying to at a doctor that's heard it before and tells you "oh that is normal."
The thing is, I am always at war with myself on the matter - whether or not I'm really as crazy as the doctor's seem to have thought at one point. Do I have a thought process disorder that makes me believe a reality that isn't what everyone else perceives? Or was it all those hallucinogens I took that got me hospitalized after 18 that solidified that diagnosis? Was it just the situation? The drugs? Or is this - me?
Before, as a juvenile, my issues were seen in the light of defiance. But then, acid entered the chat. Sure, as a teen, I had my suicidal ideations. But what percentage of teenagers hasn't? For years after my hospitalizations, I always chalked it up to hormones and drugs. But then, coronavirus hit.
I had been fairly stable for two years on my own, juggling a job and bills, working side gigs to build a freelance career. I was going to the gym, drinking a green smoothie every morning, fucking doing yoga every morning and night (first thing/last thing), probiotics - you get it. I tried. Hard. I wanted so bad to not be this crazy girl. I wanted to have my life together. But then, this virus came out of Wuhan and I saw that first headline, my stomach fell through the floor. No cure... People dying in droves... People carrying it without knowing it and killing their loved ones... It was too much. All of a sudden, I was out of work.
Welp, it's a long story after that. Quite painful and complicated to type out, but... I was pepper sprayed three times by the cops at the peak of my psychotic break. I definitely suffered brain damage the way I thrashed around and my wrist is still sore if I carry a heavy item a certain way. The thing is, I did take acid this time too. It was the first time I've tripped (on acid, not shrooms or DMT) in years. But, you know how I'm sure it wasn't the drugs that initiated this episode? I dropped that tab while standing on restricted property in a government aerospace parking lot because I believed Elon Musk was calling me on a mission away from earth. My genuine belief was that the acid would allow me to separate from my body and "blast off" to join the Greater Energy that binds us all, coming back with more insight than ever before. I had completely snapped before that hallucinogenic ever touched my gums, and from there I went from the moon to fucking pluto.
So fast forward back to now. I'm sitting here at 5:30am because I cannot sleep. Last Monday night/Tuesday morning I also could not sleep. This is a huge red flag for me because I should be exhausted, and these are warning signs that my large depression dip for the last half of quarantine has started it's gradual upswing into the beginnings of a manic season. Just in time for summer. Ha!
Honestly, my life seems hopeless the older I get. I know I'm gifted because of my creative talents, but I feel like since all my efforts could be squandered by the trigger of an unknown external force with no notice, what's the point of trying again? Over and over, I've picked myself up and brushed off my reputation. This last time was very, very public. I went somewhat viral in my hometown on social media and complete strangers recognized me. It's been... A humbling journey.
Anyway, I should try to sleep. Thanks for getting this far. And please, for the love of all things holy, if you are exhibiting a mental disease or your genetics pose a high risk - Do. Not. Reproduce.
Hello, people. And you too, bots.I just reached the age when the brain has developed as much as it's going to. I'm not on any meds right now (other than my medical marijuana which I have been prescribed), but I do make sure to take vitamins and eat a lot of greens and raw foods. Exercise is lacking lately, but when I ran every morning I was often teetering on a manic episode.The bipolar symptoms first showed up during puberty, and ever since then I've been a psychiatric case. The thing is, in all my time spent in various levels of hospitalization and meeting hundreds of psych patients (the kind that aren't ever fit to reenter society / the kind that are tucked away simply because there's nothing else that can be done with them / the kind most good folks on the internet like yourself will be lucky enough to never know existed) - I see bipolar discussed a lot online like people really know about it. The labels that psychiatry has for these mental diseases are really quite broad. More like Categories of Crazy. Sure, some breed of batshit is characterized by distinct mood swings and psychotic features, but each type of crazy is entirely branded and unique to the diseased. As such, the symptoms can express in an infinite variety of ways. Brain imbalances and fucked up experiences are entirely unpredictable, and the doctors prescribing these drugs have NO idea what happens inside the patients head when the patient takes them! They are stabbing in the dark, as their profession has no other way. The side effects are indescribable, and then trying to at a doctor that's heard it before and tells you "oh that is normal."The thing is, I am always at war with myself on the matter - whether or not I'm really as crazy as the doctor's seem to have thought at one point. Do I have a thought process disorder that makes me believe a reality that isn't what everyone else perceives? Or was it all those hallucinogens I took that got me hospitalized after 18 that solidified that diagnosis? Was it just the situation? The drugs? Or is this - me?Before, as a juvenile, my issues were seen in the light of defiance. But then, acid entered the chat. Sure, as a teen, I had my suicidal ideations. But what percentage of teenagers hasn't? For years after my hospitalizations, I always chalked it up to hormones and drugs. But then, coronavirus hit.I had been fairly stable for two years on my own, juggling a job and bills, working side gigs to build a freelance career. I was going to the gym, drinking a green smoothie every morning, fucking doing yoga every morning and night (first thing/last thing), probiotics - you get it. I tried. Hard. I wanted so bad to not be this crazy girl. I wanted to have my life together. But then, this virus came out of Wuhan and I saw that first headline, my stomach fell through the floor. No cure... People dying in droves... People carrying it without knowing it and killing their loved ones... It was too much. All of a sudden, I was out of work.Welp, it's a long story after that. Quite painful and complicated to type out, but... I was pepper sprayed three times by the cops at the peak of my psychotic break. I definitely suffered brain damage the way I thrashed around and my wrist is still sore if I carry a heavy item a certain way. The thing is, I did take acid this time too. It was the first time I've tripped (on acid, not shrooms or DMT) in years. But, you know how I'm sure it wasn't the drugs that initiated this episode? I dropped that tab while standing on restricted property in a government aerospace parking lot because I believed Elon Musk was calling me on a mission away from earth. My genuine belief was that the acid would allow me to separate from my body and "blast off" to join the Greater Energy that binds us all, coming back with more insight than ever before. I had completely snapped before that hallucinogenic ever touched my gums, and from there I went from the moon to fucking pluto.So fast forward back to now. I'm sitting here at 5:30am because I cannot sleep. Last Monday night/Tuesday morning I also could not sleep. This is a huge red flag for me because I should be exhausted, and these are warning signs that my large depression dip for the last half of quarantine has started it's gradual upswing into the beginnings of a manic season. Just in time for summer. Ha!Honestly, my life seems hopeless the older I get. I know I'm gifted because of my creative talents, but I feel like since all my efforts could be squandered by the trigger of an unknown external force with no notice, what's the point of trying again? Over and over, I've picked myself up and brushed off my reputation. This last time was very, very public. I went somewhat viral in my hometown on social media and complete strangers recognized me. It's been... A humbling journey.Anyway, I should try to sleep. Thanks for getting this far. And please, for the love of all things holy, if you are exhibiting a mental disease or your genetics pose a high risk - Do. Not. Reproduce. https://ift.tt/eA8V8J https://ift.tt/3syXB0T
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