A part of me wants to find out what happens if I miss two doses of meds. A more sensible part of me is reminding me that that is a REALLY bad idea. Remember what happened last time you stopped medication? That you haven’t quite recovered from six months after you started? Yeah, don’t stop the meds. The thing is I’m so tired all the time. I need a naps most days and even then I’m sleeping around 12 hours at night. It is possible that I’m depressed. I certainly don’t feel right, whatever ‘right’ is. The nihilism is still hovering around of course, I’m not expecting it to go away quickly. What I NEED is a project. I don’t have anything I’m working on at the moment and I ALWAYS have a project on (or 7+ if my mood is high).
I have a few projects I never finished that I could restart: mounds of yarn to crochet stuff, a half-finished bag, some rainbow owls; a novel, on how wonderful everything is; a giant painting, inked and ready for colour. I was also all for learning things – I started learning Dutch and how to code a website. The coding has actually been useful as I’ve built a whole website using HTML, CSS and Joomla (as well as two half-complete ones). I’m still on my MA course, but I started that in a euthymic mood and not on impulse, so I don’t think that counts as a stupid-brain project.
My mum asked what I was feeling when I was so high it scared me, when I was so high I had to go back on medication or I would explode. The best analogy I can think of was that it’s like spending far too long at a funfair. So much fun, so many colours, sounds, tastes, people, wondrous feelings, but after a few months you find you want to go home, and settle down under the duvet with a cup of tea and a book. But you can’t, because you’re trapped in the funfair. Each day is the merry-go-round of trying to function, failing, trying to achieve at least one thing. Each day is the rollercoaster – your mood is so high that you go through periods of abject fear and others of pure exhilaration. There are so many lights – each one so beautiful you want to cry, you could die happy just because of this light bulb on your ceiling that is as breathtaking as any aurora. You get lost staring at it, burning out your retinas, just trying to understand and feeling that perfect connection with everyone in history who has ever stared at a light bulb, everyone who has ever used one in a school project. All those people at the funfair are the same – you have that perfect connection with each of them. You want to talk to everyone, hear their life stories, write books about them, but all those stimuli make it hard to hold a thought, hard to get a sentence out.
So this is why I’m not even going to trial missing two doses of meds. I have missed a single dose by accident one night, but nothing happened except a small increase in the intensity of the voices.