Saturday, February 13, 2016

Paranoia--What the actual fuck, man?

The sun is creeping over the floor boards in the most perfect shadow casting direction. The weather is warm, an Indian Summer type of day. I am seated in my chair on the balcony of my home, sipping coffee, as the wind whips through the alley below.

Today I am calm. 

Since beginning my new medication I have experienced laughter, determination, fear, tears, insomnia, a dabble of depression and paranoia. 

I can openly admit that I'm riding the roller coaster that is rapid cycling with hypo-mania at its peaks.

I've spent a ton of money this past week. I'm wearing $500 Georgio Armani framed glasses that I convinced myself I needed to have after my eye exam. It's a brilliant experience, though, being able to see in high defintion. I've purchased clothes, shoes, more shoes, more clothes and a plethora of Bath & Body Works. I've spent at least $1,000 I do not have all while riding this wave of freedom. 

After work a few days ago I took my family to dinner. We hit up the local barbecue joint and I dug into a rack of sauce slathered ribs with a mountain of creamy coleslaw, and beans on the side. 


Several bites in, my surroundings began to annoy me to the point that I began to have the feeling of being watched. This was new to me. I checked out the light fixtures (an obsession of mine) and took note of all the little switches and gadgets throughout the restaurant. "They" were watching me and I had to leave. I began to sob uncontrollably and made my way out the door. 

I remember being unreasonably cold towards my husband. Why is he still with me? I'm a fucking wreck more than half the time. Maybe if I'm a complete stone-cold bitch, he'll finally walk out on me. Then I won't have to keep apologizing for my behavior and I could end this once and for all. Without as much guilt. 

Once home, I climbed into bed and drew the blanket up to my chin. I created a mound to block my view of the doorway. My apartment has fire sprinklers and alarms throughout each room. "They" continued to watch. 

I broke down. My husband didn't know what to do but try to calm me. I swallowed a few anxiety pills to take the edge off, but this was beyond anxiety. This was paranoia. 

I lay in bed as voices I never heard before began telling me what I should go and do....

Swallow the contents of the bottles.
Everyone is asleep now.
Go out on the balcony.
Climb on the top railing.
Jump. 

I live on he third floor. 

I ended up texting with a friend of mine. He talked me off the ledge. I'm still here because of him. I was ready to listen and follow through but he kept me grounded. 

I never want that feeling to return. 

I'm not a religious person on any level. I'm actually an atheist. I think I choose this path so I don't have a big guy upstairs to blame for giving me more than I can handle. I want to believe. I want to bow down to this being in my haste and ask...Why? What the actual fuck, man?

Everyday Health reports:

Statistics are sobering: As many as 15 percent of people with bipolar disorder will die by their own hands, half will attempt to, and nearly 80 percent will contemplate doing so. 

That is quite sobering, isn't it?

2 comments:

  1. As part of the 50%, very sobering...

    I'm glad for your friend, the world needs you and other mental health advocates like you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Jim. It's readers like you who point that out and make me want to continue raising awareness. Another day down...on to tomorrow!

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