Today I had surgery for endometriosis and a cyst on my ovary. Naturally, this required anaesthesia.
I cannot stress enough how glad I am that my surgery is over. Finally done. No more lingering in the back of my mind. And hopefully, soon I will be pain free. Boy, oh boy, I can’t wait to be pain free!
Now the only problem here besides the pain is, I’m not allowed to take my diazepam for sleep tonight. They said I will easily fall asleep. But they were wrong. I’ve been in bed for 2 hours now, and I don’t even feel slightly tired.
Which creates the other problem – Bipolar.
When I don’t get enough sleep, it affects my Bipolar greatly. Until I get proper sleep, I am all messed up. Rapid cycling happens sometimes. But mostly I just get incredibly irritable and overly emotional. I don’t really know what to do about this. I’m thinking I will just try to sleep during the day tomorrow. Who knows what to do in these situations though. I really can’t afford the lack of sleep.
Plus the fact I’ve had a painful surgery means I’m very sooky too.
But oh well, such is life, I suppose.
Monthly Archives: October 2014
Curse this fucking memory of mine.
Every day I forget things. Mostly small things, but they all seem to add up quite quickly. Then there’s the occasions where I forget big things.
Tonight (and the previous month) is one of those times. You see, I have a surgery on Friday and an important part of it is to simply pick up a prescription. Simple task, yes?
No; not for me.
I completely forgot about it. My surgery it on Friday and it’s late Wednesday night. I got the script from a specialist with barely any time, so I can’t simply go in and get a replacement.
I don’t know what to do and I am beating myself up about it.
I feel so fucking stupid.
As I’ve gotten older, my memory has become worse and worse. I don’t know what causes it. Bipolar? Panic Disorder? Medications?
Whatever it is, it’s damaging my life. I get so hard on myself when I forget things, and that happens every day of my life.
I can’t keep beating myself up for something that’s out of my control but I need to fix it for my own sake.
She wriggled her toes in the millions of tiny grains of white sand beneath her. She undressed and breathed in the sea air. It was so refreshing, she loved the smell of the ocean.
Then she began to walk towards the water. She noticed the beauty in the day; the shining sun, the few clouds and the slight gust of wind. As she approached the water, waves crashed into her. They were hard and rocked her body quite a lot, but she loved them so. She looked down and could still see her feet in the gorgeous clear blue ocean.
It was pure bliss for her, nothing more and nothing less.
When you start to feel that all too familiar nausea.
When you start to panic and your thoughts begin to collide into one another.
When your chest grows tighter by the second, making it feel like you have been gripped by the devil.
When your breath grows short.
When everything starts to spiral out of control.
When it feels like you’re choking on every word you try to spit out.
When you tremble, in a state of fear and panic.
When you simply just can’t take the anxiety anymore.
We’re all the same, but different. We’re all running from something.
Whether it be a mediocre life or whether it be ourselves.
We’re all trying our hardest to get away from something in our lives.
That job you hate, that relationship that’s falling apart, the face in the mirror, those people who have torn you down.
We run so far that we become new people, and so fast that nobody knows how we really feel. We run through life forgetting that we don’t have much time here.
We take for granted the present and focus on developing our future; not knowing that we’re not actually living at all anymore.
When I was young I was always a little different. I was an extremely shy and intelligent, good girl. I was sweet but crippled with social anxiety. I often used to go to the sick bay at my primary schools due to “tummy aches” which I now identify with anxiety. Nausea is a huge part of my anxiety. I can recall a few episodes of extreme anger in which I lost control of myself totally. I was so young, I didn’t know what was going on, I just thought I was normal. Years later, at age 14 I had a large breakdown. I was sick a lot and became severely depressed. One night as I was quietly crying away in my room, I decided it was time to speak up. I approached my mother with tears in my eyes, sobbing and trying to speak. I managed to get out the sentence “I want to die and I don’t know why.”
I was immediately taken to a psychologist. The psychologist decided I had anxiety and depression and gave me medication for the anxiety.
Things were fine, for a while, but by the time I was 16 I was a totally different person. I was acting out, I had left school due to lack of attendance affecting my ability to pass the year. I was losing my mind and I could feel it. It wasn’t depression though, it was different. I was now a drug doing, heavily drinking girl that spent every cent she earned on whatever she damn well pleased. I partied so much, I was a social butterfly and met so many people. But then I crashed. Hard.
I went to a psychiatrist this time as I distrusted psychologists due to my previous experience. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. What I had been experiencing was Mania, and my world was about to flipped upside down. I had so much to learn, so I did. I tapped into the intelligent side of myself and learnt as much as I possibly could about my newly diagnosed Disorder. I began medication which didn’t work, so I stopped taking them. Then I was put on another medication which made me extremely suicidal, I lost hope. I gave up on helping myself for years. I didn’t take medication, nor see doctors to help me. I just let Bipolar Disorder rule my life. It wasn’t until I had a long term relationship break up and a series of unfortunate and unspeakable events occurred that I got treatment. In that time, I was more depressed than ever before. I had a mental breakdown. I wrote, like I had been doing since I was 14. It made me feel better, like I was letting everything out. And I complied to treatment. I went to hell and back finding the right medications for me. Most made my fragile body sick or suicidal. But I kept on trying. I fell in love again and moved from my home town to the capital city of my state. It was here that things really changed for me. I was having episodes of fainting and I was on an extremely unhealthy drug cocktail, prescribed by a psychiatrist who would no longer return my calls. I met my new psychiatrist and he found the solution to my Bipolar medication problems, as well as diagnosed me with Panic Disorder and Agoraphobia. Everything made sense after that.
And now here I am.
Still in recovery, still writing, still fighting. xx
I recently reached over 200 followers.
I never expected for this many people to want to read what I write. I didn’t think anyone would be interested at all, to be completely honest. But somehow along the way, I’ve found a group of people who truly care, who can connect with me on a level that most can’t, simply by just relating to me and my story.
I’ve got hella love for my readers.
However I realised that I’ve posted so much that a lot of people don’t know my story. They don’t know how all of this began for me. So I’m going to write another post on my story, I’m sorry if it is repetitive to the older readers but the whole point of my blog is to get it out there.
And some days she just wanted to stop it all.
Not suicide, no, she loved life too much for that right now. There was still to much to be done.
She just wanted it to go away. She wanted to run back to who she was. Before the doctors changed her. Sure, they made the demons weaker and her stronger, but she lost herself on the same road.
She wanted to feel like she had a voice again, for her speech now is filled with stuttering and she gets too choked up to finish sentences. She can’t breathe cos she tries to get everything out so quickly. But it’s not what she really wants to say.
No one will ever know what she really wants to say.
They may have changed her identity, but one thing remains; she is a vault.
Nothing escapes her. She could confide in you for hours and you still wouldn’t know how she really feels.
Can’t sleep, I’m too busy chasing dreams
Ah, bed time.
The time of day I look forward to every day. That sounds sad, but it’s not. It’s when I’m my most active – mentally. It’s when I think about my life, when I dream like no other time.
How I love to dream.
To get lost in my thoughts, in a different world filled with possibility and wonder. To feel completely relaxed and hopeful for the future. To lose my worries completely and focus on what could be. To think thoughts that can help me to feel more at peace, more spiritually enlightened.
It’s my time. My time to realise who I am and what I want.
Sleep may elude me, but I can handle it when it’s filled with blissful dreaming instead.
I’ve been a bit of a creative soul as of late.
Grand thoughts and things to say, but I have silenced myself. That, and the fact that I often have these thoughts at inconvenient times means I don’t write them down. I used to just write snippets of my thoughts in my notepad, that could possibly lead onto great posts, but by the time I get back to them, they are just meaningless words. Curse this memory of mine, it’s so short term.
The other reason which I have silenced myself is because of fear. The things I’ve been thinking lately are mostly about things I want to keep very private. It’s a shame, really.
There’s few things I love more than raw emotion – expressing it and reading it. I’m denying myself of that and great writing. I don’t know if people could relate to the things I’ve been thinking. I don’t know if people would like them. I don’t really care about that though, this blog is all about my personal experiences after all. I wish I had been a little more secretive about my blog sometimes, but I guess that’s what my private blog is for. Maybe I’ll gain the courage to share some more posts from there sometime soon, if I can’t gather my thoughts well enough to write a post of substance.