For those who might care. Or rubberneckers to the trainwreck, as the case may be.
TL;DR: Morgan is bipolar; it sucks.
Two hospitalizations, in two psych units, this year. Plus 'partial hospitalization,' a few weeks ago. A day program with lots of group therapy, basically. Toward the end of my allotted time there, I started crying hysterically at the beginning of the day -- partly because I was there, mostly because I cry a lot these days -- and after declining an in-patient stay, was discharged a few days early.
I'd been getting worse there, anyway, not better.
There have been various trials of various medications. We're not even halfway through the roster yet. And I'm liking the current candidates... in theory. In practice, I'm not convinced they're doing anything yet. But we're still working on getting the lamictal up to full strength. Apparently if you start taking it without a very gradual ramp-up, there's a chance of a potentially-lethal rash developing. I'm not entirely clear on how a rash can BE lethal, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.
Not that death is something that scares me much. Except that I don't like how attractive it seems, sometimes.
I'm not suicidal. But I'm not-suicidal in a more... active... way than most people have to be.
I'm trying to be active, more generally. It helps. I go to a gym now, although it calls itself a 'wellness center.' And it's $5 a month, for people who are already clients of the health network that runs it. Mostly mentally challenged people, though I imagine there are a few other crazy people mixed in. And some eccentrics who don't mind the company.
I had my first aikido class yesterday. I didn't fall apart. Enough stress was showing at the seams that people were very kind and reassuring, though. They all seem very nice, and aikido seems like it will be wonderful to practice. And there are classes every other day. Having something to look forward to in the near-term future is important, right now.
I'm applying for disability. Which I hate to do... but the only reason I still have the fraction of a job that I have, and the hope of eventually increasing that fraction, is because I have an extraordinarily understanding boss. He's willing to work with my limitations in a way that very few people would be. But there's no guarantee he'll be able to give me enough work to live on.
I still believe that I can, and will, get better. But bipolar disorder being what it is, I suspect I will also get worse. Stability is the goal... but it's a distant glimmer that might be a mirage, at this point.
In lieu of condolences, I would very much appreciate cute pictures of baby animals and/or owls.
And thanks for listening.
