Being bipolar is a funny thing.
Obviously there are days where everything is fine. Hunky-dory.
Where I can function and forget that I have this chemical imbalance in my brain that makes it hard to regulate my moods.
Then there are days where I hardly sleep and clean the house and read all the books and talk to everyone and be social and am so damn productive.
This is not that time.
Stress brings on the anxiety, which turns into depression eventually.
But now it's what's called a mixed episode.
Where I'm full of energy but can't focus or breathe and I just cry all the time and panic.
The panic turns into trying to control everything but failing.
Which turns into more anxiety.
I used to cut in high school.
Long before I ever knew what manic depression even was.
Hell, before I even knew what depression was.
Those scars are long gone thankfully. I know others who still live with them.
I stopped a long time ago.
My medication helped me.
Video games helped me. Killing Zerg or The Flood truly helps relieve the tension. Helps me to hyper focus on the task at hand while my brain calms down.
Cue my current Candy Crush addiction.
I'm not cutting again per se. More like digging my nails into my arms.
Trying not to break skin and leave the marks which will turn into scars now that I'm older.
I am getting married in 17 days after all.
It's bad enough my legs are bruised from work and my general clumsiness.
But the panic and the anxiety.
Yes a lot of my stress is gone now that we figured everything out.
All we really need to do is get our marriage license.
And clean the apartment.
But I can't shake the stress.
I can't stop crying and panicking.
Normally I can hide it at work.
Throwing myself into uber customer service lady.
But I'm distracted and even my coworkers see it.
"Kelly are you ok?"
"What can I do to help?"
And what I really want to say is
"I want to go home and learn how to breathe."
But I need the money, so I don't ask. I stay.
Sometimes I suffer throughout the day.
Other times I can fake it until my anxiety goes away.
Today is not a faking kind of day.
My chest is tight.
It's hard to breathe.
I'm on the verge of tears.
I'm overwhelmed with trying to clean.
17 days. 17 days 17 days...
that I can't start anything.
A closet is cleaned though.
And I'm working through a pile of magazines that have been sitting here for months.
But that's it.
we need to order a wedding cake.
Perhaps actually get wedding bands...
And I don't like asking for help.
I hate it.
Makes me think I'm weak.
Because I'm not weak.
I've gotten through worse, right?
Past suicide attempts.
Past abusive relationships.
Past revelations of family members.
I can get through this.
But it's so goddamn hard.