Coming back from the other side of my Bipolar Wonderland through medication, creativity, and moxie.
Days alive: 12,154
MegaLoad washers in use: 2
Cost for one basket of laundry: $6.25
Cost for one box of soap: $0.75
Hours slept: 6.5 hours
Full hampers of laundry to be done: 3
Hey, look at that. There is post on Sundays!
I’ve slept, but my anxiety is through the roof so far today. I don’t seem to be able to do anything right. And Steph is somehow more sunburnt than I am so I can’t be affectionate at all without bothering her.
I feel like a colossal inconvenience in general right now.
Days alive: 12,153
Hours slept: 7.5
Bathing suits worn: 1
Calories in my iced coffee: 73
I don’t feel all the way human as of just yet. My bones still ache and I’m still rather mentally stuck in fast forward. But it’s better than it has been. It’s better and I am glad.
I’ve been two days straight without sleep now. As in, two solid days awake. The new medication is really screwing with me.
Days alive: 12,149.5
Hours awake: 45 and change.
I was hoping to sleep well tonight. Not so, I guess. New med still screwing with my sleep schedule. Maybe I’ll get some rest tomorrow night.
It was a chill, restful evening after a stomach churning levels of stressful day at work. I’m hoping things will get better soon. I keep wildly vacillating between braking into tears and being so bloody manic/upbeat/cheerful I want to strangle myself just to save everyone else from it.
In other news, I found this gorgeous feather outside of work today. 
I don’t know diddly squat about birds, so I haven’t the foggiest what it could belong to other than “bird”.
Anyway. I’m going to try to sleep at least a little. Or just stare at the inside of my eyelids until my alarm goes off.
Days alive: 12,148
Current number of ebooks: 4,182
Hours slept: about four
Number of lipsticks I own: 81 (estimated. I actually have no idea because I can’t find them all.)
I haven’t been sleeping. So I’ve done a bit of research. I know a little more about my diagnosis. Still not happy about it, but I can’t seem to quite put into words why I am so upset. It’s frustrating because I try to explain that while I understand that life may be a little easier with treatment now that a specific problem/source has been identified, but I still don’t like the diagnosis at all.
Postmark Wonderland 