I've spoken about my issues with depression and general mental kookiness a few times - but as much as I like the idea of talking about it casually, rather than importantly, I often wonder how much is too much. Especially on a blog devoted to acting more like a silly asshole than a person on some journey somewhere. That said, I'm talking about it again! Weeeee.
To recap - and for the benefit of anyone who wants to commiserate - it's been called major depression with psychotic features, ptsd, and borderline personality disorder (BPD). It's sort of wonderful, like Kimbra's mash-up of Grizzly Bear's Two Weeks and Tears For Fears' Head Over Heels, except not actually that much fun all the time. (please play it right now, though)
With the boring diagnostic explanations out of the way, let's talk about my moods lately. I feel pretty fucking nuts - they are just all over the damned place. Ordinarily, when I feel that way - when I feel this unpredictable - something stressful or horrible is happening in my life, which is not the case right now. At least I don't think so?
I'm in cognitive behavioral therapy, which can be summed up by saying that most of my sessions involve me talking about something stupid my brain invented and having my therapist say, "Do you have evidence for this being true, dumb-ass?" It's a good fit for me, because my therapist is really smart about what she does, and man - I might as well have a Masters degree in making my own life difficult. Sometimes I can distract her with threats to write a haiku instead of do my work, but she's on to my shenanigans.
My brain feels ... hot sometimes, and I've been getting some major jamais vu, which can be disconcerting if you're the person experiencing it, and probably a fun time to watch someone experience, if you're a sadist or maybe my friend Greg (the sadist).
For example, I've slept in the same bed for nearly a year, and recently I keep waking and opening my eyes to stare into the door of my closet and thinking, "wtf, wtf. where am I? whose shit is that?"
For about four days straight, I was convinced someone had changed my pillow. It physically felt wrong to me. It was too fluffy, and it didn't seem to crush down the way it annoyingly did before, forcing me to flip it several times a night. Then, all of a sudden, "Hey, my pillow is back! I love my dumb pillow, it's so crushy. I have flip it over now, it's being too crushy." Missed you, pillow.
Now, in general, I like me. It can be really fun to live in a mind that was prevented from remaining in bed the night before last due to the gigglings because I remembered that Husband had questioned the moistness of Tom Hanks' face in a picture I have on my computer, and postulated he might be a boil-in-bag version - that stuff is kinda okay. But 15-minute intervals between extreme mood swings (such as cackling wildly about some honestly not that hilarious thing I said about a trampoline, then needing to crawl in bed at 4:30 in the afternoon because my brain feels too warm) when I've got kids to raise and shit to act normal for can be a damned drag.
I've also been getting that weird phantom smoke smell from back when I was on Topamax (for migraines) so I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't just that medication causing it on its own, since it's been about two years since I took it.
Also, I think I must have some sort of weird version of OCD, because I scratch my scalp obsessively when my hands are idle, especially when I'm unable to sleep - to the point that a lot of the hair at my crown is only a few inches long. It's just so fucking soothing, the best thing. I love it.
You know, I feel like I had more of a point when I started this, but other than explaining why I claimed to be shitting whole, undigested Skittles the other night on my Facebook page (it amused me!) and why I was asking my son if my grapes liked me (it amused me!), I can't think of one anymore.
Anyway, I love every single one of you fools who devotes any amount of their surely better-spent time to reading this blargh. I often think about you in dirty ways, unless you're related to me, or my therapist, because I don't want it to get all weird between us.
Happy Tuesday. I need a nap already.