My body’s in rebellion (and my mind has taken up the cause)

It’s mutiny–mutiny, I tell you.

I don’t get it; I’ve been exercising and eating better. I’ve been trying to take care of myself. I’ve been doing all the right things, right? So why do my joints feel like a combination of arthritis pain, morning joint stiffness, and bruising?

At first I thought that the exercise was a large factor in it, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve been exercising on a fairly regular basis for months now, so theoretically my body should be like, “Yeah, man, I got this.” Instead, my body’s saying, “Fuck you. Fuck you nine ways to Sunday.” I hurt–a lot–and I have a hard time moving around. Standing sucks, sitting sucks, walking sucks, lying down sucks, and stairs? Yeah, my body really says “fuck you” when it comes to stairs.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just my body that was on strike. Unfortunately, my mind has decided to join right on in and picket alongside. I am sleeping less and less since the exercise started, and I find myself almost afraid to sleep–and I have no idea why. What the hell would cause my mind to not want to sleep? It’s not like I’m weak and sickly to the point of needing to be afraid of falling asleep–on the contrary, I’d like to think that, despite the aching, I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years. I should be sleeping like a champ, yet here I am, lying in bed with my laptop, hoping I don’t doze off. What the hell?

Maybe my old friend Mania has decided to pay a visit. It could explain why I’m able to keep up with the exercise despite the exhaustion, and it could explain why my switch is stuck in the “on” position. If so, that sucks. I don’t really want to think that all this progress is just due to my mood being out of whack,

Aaaand exhaustion won. Before I even could finish the above sentence (and don’t ask me what I was going to say), I woke up with the laptop still in my lap and a groggy feeling comparable to being a tad drunk. I put the computer away and lay back down and managed to get some more sleep before it was time to feed the Rory monster. Still sore as hell though, and it wasn’t nearly enough sleep to “catch up.”

One of these days my stupid body will sort itself out. One of these days…


They creak and groan, they scratch and scrape

They make the hairs raise on my nape

They cut, they slice, they tear, they rend

What they begin brings me to end

They know my dreams, they know my fears

They whisper nightmares in my ears

Day in, day out, they scream inside

And from these things I cannot hide

I try to run, try to get free

From demons born inside of me

I bite, I chew, I scratch and scrape

I ponder both my life and fate

I cry, I sob, I’m beyond words

I live in prison, trapped by nerves

Blurred lines

I very nearly did it again. No matter how much sleep I get or how well-rested I am, it seems that whenever I wake from a dream my body has difficulty fully waking up–which results in a lingering dream state that both confuses and disorients me.

Dreams are weird things. They are often completely nonsensical, yet while you’re in the dream it all makes perfect sense. Problem is, when I am in that asleep-yet-not-asleep state between dreaming and waking I tend to get “stuck” in dreamland. I will actually begin to physically engage in whatever task Dream Me was doing. This makes for some strange mornings.

This morning I woke up with an urgent need to log in to Facebook and write several posts. The content I wanted to write was fuzzy and odd, but I had to write it; after all, it was something that I’d been charged to do in a group I co-admin. Or on a page. Or both. Or maybe neither. Thankfully the posts I felt compelled to write were harmless, mere welcoming posts for people who had joined the page/group/whatever, but it’s kind of disturbing to think I very nearly actually typed up these posts. The same thing happened a couple of mornings ago, when I dreamed about something I had to do with both my phone and my husband’s; by the time I fully woke, I had my phone in my hand and was on the way to the other side of the room to get my husband’s phone.

It doesn’t help that I have a history of sleepwalking and other sleep-related activities. My body doesn’t know when to quit, I guess, so it literally dreams up stuff to do. It can quit that at any time, thank you very much.

I suppose it’s off to the doctor at some point. Surely there’s some kind of medicine to help me that will stave off these hyper-vivid dreams. It would be nice to get a full night’s sleep–and to wake up fully aware of what I’m doing. I don’t really dig this sense of urgency that compels me to continue in the vein of the dream I was having. The disorientation is so bad that once I finally do wake up all the way I can’t get back to sleep.

All in all, it’s a big hot mess. The lines between dreaming and waking are all jacked up, and if I don’t figure out what’s causing it I could end up doing something ridiculous before I realize I’m not asleep anymore.


I’ve gotten to that bend in the roller coaster again. I’d been fairly flat and level lately, but I suspect that the tracks are on a downslope as I get more and more sensitive to little things that shouldn’t bug me.

My biggest frustration stems from new knowledge that’s coming in that is slowing me down when it comes to utilization of said knowledge. I know, in theory, how to do these new things, but in practice I’m failing–big time. My mind is trying to apply the things I’ve learned and in the process I’m tripping all over myself…sometimes literally. I know that it’s a learning curve and I just have to be patient and keep practicing, but try telling that to me. I’m sure as hell not listening to it.

I’m also getting more sensitive, or maybe more paranoid, about what people think of me. Every time I hear derisive laughter and I don’t know what the people are talking about, I assume it must be about me. They’re making fun of someone and I’m weird, so they must be making fun of me. It’s not anything or anyone specific and it’s not logical in any way, but the thoughts come just the same.

These insecurities are really hitting me harder than they should, so I know it’s just my mind getting out of control again. Knowing that and pushing the insecurities aside are two different animals though; I can tell myself all day long that I’m worrying over nothing–it won’t make a difference. I’ll still find myself on the verge of tears for no good reason.

It’ll pass eventually–it always does–but it’s frustrating as hell when this part of my brain cycle hits.

Social malfunction

No post yesterday (weird how I posted for the Ides of March but not St. Paddy’s Day!), but that was because I spent most of the day either at work or celebrating with some friends and their friends.

Now, I’m admittedly a quite socially awkward individual. I don’t “get” a lot of social situations. Like, for instance, the barbecue last night. I spent a lot of time sitting/standing around and staring because I ended up in a room with people talking about subjects I either didn’t understand or had nothing to contribute to. And I didn’t know how to go to the other room where the other half of the group was chatting because, like, wouldn’t it be rude to be sitting there and then just get up and walk away for no reason? Or how do you cut into a conversation to say “Hey, no offense, but I want to see what’s going on over in the other room.” Like, I’m pretty sure that would be rude, too. Wouldn’t it?

The true irony? I was mainly among geeks, some of whom I’ve known for a while, some of whom I’d just met, but geeks = family, in a way. I don’t know if non-geeks can understand it, but geeks tend to get me better than the average human. Many of them understand social anxiety and such. So none of the people who knew me would probably have minded if I’d just randomly gotten up without a word and wandered off. And I certainly hope they didn’t mind me not participating in the conversation much. Or kind of awkwardly playing with my phone. Or trying to subtly cover my ears when the overload of sensory input from several people talking at once at a rather high volume got to be too much. I really didn’t want to cover my ears–I’m 99% sure that is rude–but sometimes I just can’t deal. It’s hard to explain.

Another irony: I had a major panic attack on another St Patrick’s Day several years ago due to that same kind of sensory overload. I was at a game shop playing Pathfinder, and there were several different tables of people playing different Pathfinder scenarios (as well as a couple other games going on). The volume levels of the voices were high and the overlapping conversations, and I freaked the fuck out. Too many people talking at once too loudly. I had to close my eyes to focus on the voices of the people at my table so I could keep playing, but it finally got so bad that I had to leave the game and go out to the car and cry for a bit because I was just freaking out too much. It was kind of embarrassing, but my husband was super cool about it and didn’t give me a hard time.  He understood because he knows me so well, so he let me have my moment of bawling and covered for me.

Last night I wasn’t quite at that point, but it was a close one. I really really really wanted out. Like a fight-or-flight response kind of thing.

Why are social situations so goddamn hard? There should be, like, a manual or something. Come to think of it, there probably is a manual. There are self-help books for damn near everything these days.

But I fucking hate self-help books. So I’ll just suck it up, buttercup, and get over myself.


You ever have that “spot” that’s yours? Whether it be on the bed, the couch, your favorite diner, there’s a spot that’s just for you.

I really wish I wasn’t so possessive of my “spot.”

Here’s the thing: every Saturday, my husband and I go to my parents’ house to do laundry and visit with my family. Mom has a couch in her study where we sit and watch TV, usually while doing other things on our phones or tablets, or, in my case, my laptop. I prefer the right side of the couch because the mouse can rest on the arm of the couch and I’m not straining my wrist by having it on the couch cushion.

Here’s the other thing: my husband also prefers the right side of the couch. And he’s a take-it-if-you-want-it kinda guy.

Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except I am very, very territorial. And it gets my hackles raised when someone’s in my “spot.” I also take it personally. Like, my-feelings-get-hurt kind of personal.

Yeah, I admit it. I get upset when my husband claims the right side of the couch. I feel like he’s doing it specifically to upset me, to get on my nerves. I know that he has his own reason for preferring that side of the couch, but it doesn’t matter to the territorial me. That me thinks he’s just being mean..

It’s not just here. At home I’m the same way. I feel like he’s being disrespectful when he sets his tablet on my side of the bed, or when he throws his blanket on my side of the bed, or when he takes something that’s “mine” to use. It’s all “ours,” not “mine” or “his,” but I can’t get the animal side of me to stop thinking of it that way.

Even when it’s not something that’s “mine,” if I’m using it I get possessive. I was using my mom’s throw blanket; I left the room to go put a load in the dryer, and when I returned he had it on. It wasn’t even something that belongs to me–I just flipped out inside. I almost started crying at one point because my feelings were so hurt. What the fuck, brain? What kind of way is that to act?

I tell myself its the Leo in me, that I’m territorial because of that…but who am I kidding. I’m no astrologist. I don’t even know if I believe in psychological profiling based on date of birth. Do I have a fondness for fire? Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s because I’m a sun sign. It could just be that I’ve got a little pyromania deep down inside. So my territorial nature might have nothing to do with being born under the sign of a lion. Most likely has nothing to do with it, in fact.

I guess it’s just something I’ll have to get over eventually. Maybe not today…but eventually. I’ll have to accept that it’s not a personal affront if my husband sets the remote on my side of the bed. It’s not him being mean if he takes “my” side of the couch. It’s me being overly territorial and overly sensitive.

I need to man up and get over myself.

Health of a different sort

It’s that time again! Yep, I have my 3-month psychiatrist checkup today.

How fast those three months fly by. Wasn’t it just yesterday I was there? Okay, maybe it hasn’t flown by quite that fast…but it doesn’t seem like three months.

I’d like to think I’ve been doing okay. Aside from not having the motivation to work on cosplay, which I don’t think is related to the bipolar disorder, I think I’ve been doing okay. I haven’t had any severe manic or depressive states that I can recall since my last visit. Been pretty stable.

There is one thing I want to discuss with my doctor, though: a new weight loss prescription I saw a commercial for not too long ago. It’s a combination of two psychiatric drugs, and I’ve been on one of these drugs before. I really think it could help me cut my cravings and stop just stuffing my face all the time.

I don’t trust most (okay, all) over-the-counter weight loss supplements/drugs. A lot of it isn’t FDA regulated like prescription meds are, and there’s no telling how they’d react with my prescription medicines. I’d rather, if my doctor would allow, take the new prescription and try that. So fingers crossed!

I saw my rheumatologist the other day and learned that she thinks I need a chest x-ray. Yep, the cough is still here, though it’s getting better every day, and she is I think concerned that it could be related to one of my RA meds. Fun. Except x-rays can be expensive. And it’s the beginning of the year, so of course I haven’t even come close to meeting my deductible. Yuck.

We’ll see how the cough does in the next week. If it’s still there, I might get that x-pensive ray. Maybe. We’ll see.