15,092 Days Alive
1 Interview Tuesday Morning
I have had a bad day. Post-manic episode depression is no joke. Literally discussing someone else’s unexpected loss of their beloved kitty cat made me nearly break down crying.
I’m not doing okay. I know that it is likely that I will just be able to ride this out and level out in a few days to weeks. I tried to get some writing done in the wake of the hypergraphic session, but I was barely able to squeak out about 150 words. I hate how useless I feel after manic episodes.
It has been a while since I had a multi-day manic swing. I hate it. I feel great and then can barely function. And, of course, this is all happening while I am uninsured so I cant exactly be seen for psych issues when I have no health insurance and there are months-long waiting lists unless I am actively attempting to shuffle myself off the mortal coil. Which I’m not.
And! Icing on the yucky cake: my gallbladder is hurting again, I have heartburn from the red sauce that was dinner, I’m cramping like a motherfucker, and all I really want is some cinnamon candy. Like hot tamales or cinnamon bears or some red hots. My brain wants candy dopamine like…now.
Anyway, I am going to bed in self defense because I am annoying myself being awake.
Take your meds, folks.
