OMG. I think my brain is seriously getting overloaded. Just so you know, voicemail is NOT the way to go if you want to reach me, aight? Text. Texting all the way. If I haven't called you back, I am so sorry. It's just that there are like 50 voice mails, and I get so overwhelmed and can't deal with it. But at the same time I feel the need to be surrounded by people. So just come over. Or just text me. And I'm so sorry.
So dude. This morning, I was all, "Dylan, come upstairs and take your pills!" His ADHD pills. And then I took out my two extra strength Tylenols, or as we like to call it around here, "I might as well take air" pills. And of course Dyl didn't come up, so I was like, "Dylan!!" and I got out two capri suns, one for him and one for me. P.S. Having cancer makes me not give a damn about what I eat. If I can grab it, I'm good. If I have to cook it, fugeddaboutit. I used to avoid processed foods like the plague, but now, I'm just so emotionally exhausted, it's all I can do to make Kraft Mac and Cheese for the ninos. And then eat a bowl myself. Just because it seems like the thing to do. No appetite. I always wished my clinical depression was the one where I lost my appetite. That hasn't ever been the case until the last week or so. Don't want to eat. Have to force myself to when I feel hunger. I do make sure to feed my kids, but...I don't know. I might need to move in with my parents sooner than later. I'm in a pretty dark place. When my kids fight, I just kind of glance their way and then turn away.
Sorry. Upbeat. Trying to keep this upbeat. So I got our capri suns out, and I was distracted, because my mind is a jumble of a million things right now, and I popped my Tylenols and sipped them down, and I realized that I took the ADHD pills and not the Tylenol. I texted my nursey-sciencey sisters and was like, "Should I make myself barf??" They both were like, "Dude, they're long dissolved by now. You're going to be really hyper."
And boy howdy. I felt like a million BUCKS. I was singing "Baby I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney and getting everyone ready for church. And I felt ZERO pain. ZERO. I felt invincible!! I was happy and funny and oh so witty and had so much ENERGY! I haven't had this much energy since I was 20! I felt euphoric! I was like, "Damn." I can see why people can get addicted to the stimulants. I've seen the narcotics, and I've now seen the stimulants.
Yet, through the hyper happiness, I knew it wasn't real, and I knew I hadn't eaten, and I was vaguely aware of that, but was too busy GETTING STUFF DONE to eat... I decided to take us to church.
I tried to really keep it toned down, and I'm reeeeally not sure I accomplished that. I feel like maybe I made like 20 comments in church?? Just so. obnoxious. And I was writing all this stuff down. And I was like, "These are such deep thoughts I'm having. I'll bet nobody has ever had these deep thoughts about the gospel before. The cosmos are all coming together. I'm seeing the great and divine plan. Ommmmmmm....." It was cray. I really usually always feel the spirit in church, but it's a calm peaceful feeling. This was like a little tornado happening on my chair. I wasn't a person. I was a tornado. A note-taking tornado.
And dude, it lasted FOREVER. I hoped it would get out of me by noon. Nope. Not until 4 p.m. And, as we all know what happens after a high, we CRASH. And I did. I've been crying for about 5 hours straight. My mom is coming over to sleep tonight. Because nights are...terrifying to me. I cry and cry myself to sleep. Every night. It's exhausting.
I have an appointment with my favorite psychiatrist. I'll talk to him about our options. Obviously, I'm in need of a little anti-depressant tweaking right now. After this is all over and I have my family with me again, perhaps I can come back down on dosage, but what I got ain't cutting it.
I think it's safe to say that reality has hit. HARD.
And that I'm going to be really careful from here on out. I hate feeling out of control. Ugh. I'd rather sit here bawling than have my hands shaking and talking so fast that my kids can't understand me. That wasn't me. And crying all day isn't usually me, either. I'm trapped in here, guys. I'm trying really hard to fight my way out. Be patient. Maybe if my mental state is more stable, then I can handle this better.
Sorry for the Debbie Downerness of this.
And sorry if your name is Debbie and that phrase offends you.