I have already written on how this winter has been hard. The medical treatment of my bipolar disorder is falling apart; I am suffering from side effects of having been on the meds for so long; I have other medical problems like Fibromyalgia, degenerative eye disease, and tooth/sinus infections; I'm just not doing well.
For a while I was manically throwing everything into feeling better: getting on a healthy eating kick; following a walking training plan for the intent of running one day; changing doctors from a trainee to an internal medicine specialist; cleaning up my studio with the intent of painting again; getting back on the dating site in hopes of meeting someone; ...writing this blog.
None of it has worked. And as bipolar disorder would have it, I am no longer manic but hopelessly depressed. Looking back on the past week or so I see I have been getting my affairs in order; I quit my part time job; I gave away most of my paintings; I plan to give away my photography; I do not want or need it anymore.
Down through the years I have tried painting (never went anywhere), writing (never went anywhere), I was a programmer for 22 years (career aborted due to severe depression), I raised two children (but I have given both of them bipolar disorder.) One person has commented on my blog (bless her heart.) I am defeated.
Last night I gave my son my bottle of Lorazepam for safe keeping. He did not take it. I think he felt by not taking it he was diffusing the situation. I felt not only defeated but dismissed. I do not blame him. He is young and not a professional at handling such situations.
This is not good. I am alone in the house. The bottle of pills is back in the bedside table drawer.
It is raining and cold.
I could call my psychiatrist or a friend or one of my children. Or I could just check out the emergency room.
I do not want to die and cause all that trauma to my children and friends. I just want to feel better. I do not want to live this life anymore. I want it to change.