Monday, September 1, 2008

Day 21 on Lexapro.

written one day later.

This morning when I woke, I felt great. Those were the words that were rolling feverishly through my mind:

I feel great.

Somehow, I had a lot of energy and didn’t even feel the need to go back to bed. I was able to easily prepare breakfast for Em and pick up a little around the house.

Yes. I felt great.

Then, another of my favorite sopranos called to check on me. Again, I was thrilled. Energy began to course outrageously through my veins. Talking a mile a minute, I told her everything about the breakdown and my past bipolar history…even though I think she had heard it all before. I’m sure she wanted to be supportive, so she listened anyway, pleasant person that she is. As, we talked, I found myself pacing frenetically around the house…making lap after lap…through the kitchen and around the living room…into my bedroom and bathroom…where I would turn and restart the path over again.

I think this went on for two and a half hours.

Then, I crashed. My body was exhausted. I could barely stand up any longer.

So, I laid down and went to sleep.

When I woke, the mysterious energy had returned. On this day, everything with Em got taken care of effectively and promptly. It was easy for me to adhere to the routines I have been setting in place. The energy I felt was amazing.

When she went to bed, I set about to cleaning. I scrubbed her bathroom like it hadn’t been cleaned in months. I was even on the floor, scrubbing the hardwood…dusting the baseboards…frenetically obsessing over every detail. Then I moved to my closet and finally my bedroom. My bedroom was a wreck. In my exhaustive state mid- and post-breakdown, I had not been able to keep house effectively. The things I found lying about were ridiculous.

Cupcake wrappers…crumbs from who knows what…a peppermint…

What a mess. I cleaned up the trash and vacuumed the floor…then, with the excess energy, I found myself dumping out the contents of my cedar chest…in an effort to reorganize something that didn’t need reorganizing. Somewhere in the middle of that project, as I sat, surrounded my sequined and shoulder padded prom dress, letter jacket, and letters from my grandmother, I knew I had gotten myself in too deep.

This energy wasn’t real.

Dammit.

Nonetheless, it still coursed rapidly through my veins. And I began to get very tired. So, my body was exhausted…but my systems were racing. In my mind, I knew I needed to stop. It made sense to just stop. But, another part of me was convinced that if I didn’t finish everything I had racing through my head, then something bad would happen. Nothing tragically bad…aside from the possibility of becoming very frenzied and nervous. But that was enough to keep me going.

This night, when I went to bed, my body in some ways felt like an empty shell. A very heavy and burdened empty shell. Within the shell, the phantom energy still raced frenetically. Such an odd sensation. Energy that was not real…but I had tried to milk it of its full capacity anyway.

My apartment hadn’t been clean in so long.

As I lay in bed, I feared my body would crash. I thought the next morning when I woke, I would be more exhausted than I could stand. I had utilized resources I didn’t have. And I was starting to not feel well. The energy was getting out of control and beginning to affect my mind and heart rate. With the help of Tylenol PM, I fell asleep.

This day marked the onset of the first solely manic episode I was able to isolate in recent memory.