THAT call to the psychiatrist

As you can see in my previous blog post, two days leading up to the mentioned birthday party I arranged for my sister, I planned everything, cooked all the food, painted the owls in the babies’ room (because I didn’t want people to think I do nothing at home), I forced, I mean SUGESSTED, my hubby put up the 6 family photos on our photo feature wall. Luckily my sister-in -law helped with the decor at the last minute because I got too involved with the food, and my mom-in-law helped with the platters as I ran out of time. I swear I was buzzing throughout. Two to three days, no sleep. The Seroquel wasn’t having much of an effect. I’m sure one may call me a bipolar zombie.

What was also happening in the background is the normal financial matters, like there’s only one breadwinner and the sudden breakdown of my husband’s car when we were on holiday. We were then forced to service and replace the [insert mechanical technical term i didn’t bother memorizing]. This put us back a couple of thousand rand. Then when we got the news that hubby’s car’s repairwork will cost double mine. These stresses are not talked about out loud. I mean we don’t randomly bring it up in conversation. Person A: Oh dude, my mom looks so hot now. She went for lipo. Person B: That’s great. Speaking of hot, my pockets are burning. My car is going to cost R10 000 to fix. Person A: okay. You get my drift. Those stresses are hidden tensions that can fuel arguments, or in my case, it adds coal to my slowly building manic fire.

[As a side note]: One thing I’d like to write about is how I have this uncanny ability to flip a switch and turn into anyone I believe my audience wants me to be… Like at my sister’s party nobody knew, nobody knew that I was on empty. Only I did. I don’t want to make my problems, your problem. Mental illness is such a burden to me, why would I want to put it on you? You know? So I twinkle and shine. The show must go on madam! Anyway. [Exit side note]

During the party. The speeches part was really intense. I became very emotional delivering my speech- I don’t know if it was the days’ work and all the love behind it. I just know it was painful. Is it a bipolar thing when emotions are so deep they are painful? When it hurts to breathe when you’re sad or when you so deeply connected to the memory of a moment?

Maybe it’s just me.

Seeing that I was on empty, the only quick fix was and always is alcohol (We don’t have chocolates in our house).

Ah, so I drank. I felt a different kind of buzz. Every sip took the edge off- brought me to that happy place. That place where you feel cozy, free and oh-so-courageous. In this case, not in a I-want-to-undress kind of way. Just you know, to keep the conversation and laughter flowing. And i I think my jokes are funnier too. It’s almost like it brings me to the surface for air, and my soul is delighted in it and dances on the lips of everyone’s smiles.

*Twinkle, twinkle little Yvette*

When everyone left, I took less Lithium and no Seroquel. They left around 4am so I felt there was no need for high doses, right? Later that SAME morning we had a birthday lunch to go to (My mom-in-law) and an airport send off. By the end of the weekend I was so cruising on hangover farts and sea air.

Instead of going down mentally- I stayed up. I thought it was great, at first. I mean who couldn’t do with some extra energy? It’s sexy. But when does this become unsexy? Uhm I know, I know! When you go to pour water in the kitchen and in the corner of your eye you, see someone, and then you see them walk past the corridor. I probably check the house three times a day when I’m alone (especially when the wind blows or when I am naked) when I’m in this state. Was it due to stress? Was it my meds?

I think I was running low on lithium and high on manic. Yes the energy levels were up, yes I was irritable, yes I probably had 5 business ideas written down, my memory was rotten and I became really paranoid about mice and spiders… I’d be on edge all day. Everything is HD I tell you. Poems? Easy. I’d break it to you in rhymes, I was spoken word. Then I read some blogs of some of my bipolar friends. Uhm, seems like I was on my way to loopy town. I didn’t want to be institutionalised. I was lucky I always shut my mouth went I went down that road. “It’s embarrassing,” I’d tell myself. So, to save me from that I decided to do my lithium levels. And then after not hearing anything from my doctor, I called. BRAVE move because she is the type to whip my ass if I stray. But a nice kind of whip. hehehe. Of course she was busy, she’s booked until March. I always have this problem- I think she’s probably so good that the whole of Cape Town want to see her. That sucks because I need her.

Results revealed that my levels were 0.5. She asked me if I’d been compliant. My response: “Semi-compliant. It was the festive season.” I told the truth and but tried to sugar coat it. “Alright, up your levels and wait for your session.” I couldn’t tell if it was in a bitter tone. I could lend her some sugar if she wanted.

I was relieved. She didn’t send me to the depression clinic.

But maybe she would if she read my blog.

She’d know that I’m typing this while hand-making each pirate invitation for Cayden’s party coming up in two weeks, planning to make everything myself again, covering his school books, ironing his shorts, designing his week schedule and his reward chart posters. All while feeding a husband and seeing to a teething baby and attention-seeking toddler.

Is motherhood driving me crazy? Or is the guilt I have for so many things I’ve done driving me to be perfect? Leaving me sick, bringing me closer to the doors of the clinic.

*How I wonder what you are*

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