My ideas at work are the best. Without a doubt.
I work really fast.
I look amazing.
I don’t need to sleep that much.
I get restless if I don’t do anything but I can work for hours without a break.
I’m impossible to stop when I start talking.
I keep buy random stuff that I NEED.
I’m clearly going manic. It is in the early earlier stages so no need to panic yet. Maybe a small change of medicine will help?
So they prescribed more abilify to me at the hospital. And now I feel nauseated during the day. Not so cool. Oxapax works better but really, I would kind of rather go without. I mean, I just hate that I love when I feel awesome.
Including fish oil for my shattered brain, vitamins so my hair does fall off, and vitamin D because of the Scandinavian weather.
I got the question I had hoped I could avoid at my interview yesterday: why have you been unemployed for so long?
The situation was this: I was on skype for an interview for a course in personal development and leadership for young women. I have had mixed thoughts about the course. On the one hand, I would love to learn more about leadership and be supported on my road from illness to self-esteem. One the other hand, I am worried that there will be too much ‘communication through song’ and similar activities. But finally I decided that I would like to go and I was invited for the interview. It went fine until the doomsday question. “Why have you been unemployed for so long?” The honesty reply is that I have been ill for a year and that the past six months I have struggle with the fact that it is difficult to get a job as a graduate. So that was what I said. Was it the right answer? I don’t know. Was it honest? That was exactly what it was. Now I’ll just wait for the result.
Over and out.
It is freezing outside and the leafs are playing around in the strong wind. I am sitting inside. It is chilly here too. In front of me are two girls. They are asking me questions. Questions about my illness. I don’t talk a lot about it these days since I am much better. But it is nice to talk about it. It is nice to explain to somebody who is not a psychologist or doctor. It is somehow nice to say I felt this and that, this time was a hard one, these were the breaking points where I changed from mania to depression, etc. They asked me about reactions to my illness. My relatives have been nice and supporting. I had never got through without them. Never. So I told them and that is the truth.
Over and out.
I hate it, but I have started using oxapax again. Everything was going so well for a period. Actually it is still going fine if I simply accept that I need some help from time to time.
These days I am applying for jobs. Maybe it is a bit too stressful, or maybe it is because I constantly need a project to keep me going. A little sewing, some knitting, a little academic writing, anything really. If not I get insanely bored and unfocused.
Benzos help, smoking helps. Both habits that I want to get rid of, but that is not so easy as I wish it would be.
Right now I am in a cafe trying to get myself together and focus on anything really. It has been possible so I believe I will get there again. I believe in optimism – for you and me. We will get there somehow.
Over and out.
Tonight I dreamt that I stole a pair of gloves. I woke up full of guilt. My first thought was “is it always going to be like this? That I overreact and overanalyse everything. Have I done that previously?” Second thought: “Do I have any oxapax left?”
The answer to the last question is not given since I finished at the hospital earlier this month. My own gp is not happy about handing them out to me.
But why so I still need it? My brains know but the rest of me do no accept this. We wanna be free and happy. That is all we have ever wanted.
And it wasn’t a problem. Not at all. I managed time with my husband and time a alone. Not a single tear was shredded. Not a single panic attack. Not even in the airport where I used to panic. All together a pretty awesome holiday from my perspective.
The picture is dawn in the Sahara.