Who is a rock star who made it through a full day at work without crawling under her desk and hiding?
That’s right–this girl.
There were a couple of moments when I wanted to, but the point is…I didn’t.
So, therefore, today was a success.
I’ve decided that expectations shouldn’t be too high, at the moment.
I really am feeling better today.
I made myself go to bed at a reasonable hour last night, got in 8 and half hours of good sleep, and ate breakfast before coming into work. My anxiety level has dropped from an 7 to a 5, and it’s–thankfully–intermittent. Every now and then I’ll start ruminating over something I may or may not have done to offend someone, or I’ll start worrying about things I largely have no control over.
Like whether or not another family member is going to experience a catastrophic illness. Or drop dead. Or if I’ll have enough PTO to take off from work, if they do. Or whether I’ll get sick/depressed/manic and have to take time off, for that, and then won’t have the PTO. What if I get fired? Or need major dental work done before the wedding (I keep dreaming about my teeth) . And if so, will Michael and I be able to afford the wedding we are planning? Or have a wedding at all? What if the headache I’ve had all day is indicative of something horribly wrong, like an aneurysm?
Crazytown, right? But it all sounds pretty reasonable when it’s in my head.
At least today’s anxiety is focused inward and not outward, I guess? I was not pleasant to be around yesterday. Nope. I sure wasn’t.
Poor Michael. He very patiently tolerates my temper tantrums when I discover that the cats have eaten my earphones, and he’s nice enough to buy me a new pair right before we go to the gym.
“Tell you what…I’ll get the more expensive ones for myself, and leave them in my gym locker. You can have the cheaper ones because, let’s be honest–you’re just going to go home and feed them to the cats,” he says.
And all he says when I snark at complete strangers, or punch the hoods of cars is, “Maybe you can try to use your filter? I don’t want them to come take you away from me.”
Poor Michael. I think he got more than he bargained for, with me. And that doesn’t seem fair. I’ve said this to him and he’s reassured me that he knew I was crazy before he proposed. I’m a lucky girl.
I hope this rapid cycling bullshit will subside, once things in my life settle down a bit. I’d love to get back to having only one or two major mood episodes a year. Who knows if that’s even possible? It sure would be nice, though. The Gnome told me bipolar disorder changes as we get older. So, if this is how my brain is going to work from now on, then I hope I’ll be able to develop the skills to manage it.
My goals for the remainder of the week?
Three meals a day, at regular times. In bed by 11pm, and up by 7:45am. No alcohol.
These seem like reasonable enough goals, right?