The Bloody Doors Off

The song was on the radio earlier and it was like I’d heard it for the first time. Strange how things like that happen.

I took a sick day today. Was far too stressed out last night and it was making me sick. So an ounce of prevention means Paul doesn’t go bat-shit cray-cray.

There are days I look at myself with incredulity. How did I change so much in the past two years? Where have all (the) cowboys gone, so to speak?

And yet. There’s always an ‘and yet’. My social life is soaring. Okay, if you call meeting women online and setting up for coffee dates, while still occasionally seeing L soaring (we’re both too casual and we’re fine with our arrangement). Right now I’m chatting with two people, one offered her number to call rather than text (so I’m calling later tonight), and I’m meeting someone for coffee on Monday.

Yeah, that’s one cowboy who stuck around.

And maybe. You’re gonna be the one who saves me.

If I could bottle that guy and use him the other 90% of my day.

Manic phase has begun. Technically, it’s been a couple of days. Makes resting harder but on the upside, I’m not curling into a ball on the couch.

Also, when I get manic, inspiration comes back. I wrote today. Let’s hope that continues. And I’m here blogging that I wrote, and that I’m feeling manic.

I blame the Abilify. Now that my dose has been upped. But shit, would I rather be depressed right now? What I’d rather is be even. Maybe this is the start of that.

It was the best of times, it became the worst of times.

Spent the day at the Blue Jay game with L, and even though they lost it was a fun outing. Big thanks to my brother for the tickets; shame he couldn’t have gone, I would’ve enjoyed the game with him too. Fifth row is nothing to sneeze at. Almost got beaned by a foul ball.

And now I’ve learned a friend’s father died. So now I feel like shit for having a good day. I know. Two separate things, nothing to do with each other. Coincidence.

But that’s what life is, it seems. Coincidences. I’m not gonna go further tonight. Too tired. And I need to pay my respects.

Tomorrow I go in for a preliminary assessment prior to booking a new sleep study.

I don’t know if my problems sleeping are a direct result of my downswing, or vice versa. I only know I’ve got to explore every option towards getting back to myself.

I’m tired of feeling like shit. Tired of doubting myself. It’s affecting my work, my relationships with friends and family.

It’s been 11 months. That’s weighing on me as well. Stupid to worry about this particular anniversary. I just want to push past it and say “see? it was in the past and that’s where it’s going to stay.”

and yet.

and yet.

I should take my pills and get some sleep. Ha.

Today they asked if I’d consider working longer days, or starting later.

I can’t. Physically and mentally, I can’t. By the time 8pm hits, I’m already shutting down. And I’ve got 90 minutes still to go.

I’m working on writing every day again. At least I opened up the page tonight and wrote this. It feels wrong that I haven’t. There’s a lot bottled up, and I promised myself this was the uncensored cork-popping, if you want a shitty metaphor.

I haven’t given up. I’ve lost the compass at the moment, and need to figure out which way’s north.

The short answer? No.

The slightly longer answer? Fuck, no.

Today is brutal. That I’m writing about it right now is a marvel.

Yesterday was bad, but I kicked my ass hard enough to go out later that night to join Mollie at the casino in Niagara Falls. It’s a run we’ve done in the past, and always had a good time. But last night. Long weekend, drunk idiots, too much stimuli. Couldn’t sleep a wink on the way home. Got in at 11 and crawled into bed for a four hour nap.

Or rather, that was the plan. I tossed and turned. I kept waking up. (This is why I take pills to knock me out at night.) The alarm finally went off and I crawled out from under the sheet.

It’s been downhill since. I know it’s a slide. I know, in the grand scheme of things, that it’s temporary. But right now, I feel like I’m breaking apart. And I’m still not tired enough to go to bed and forget about the past several hours. Inside, I’m screaming my head off. Outside, I’m a blank slate.

I need sleep. I need something. Escape. A break in the humidity. An uptick in pills. No, can’t think like that. I’ve got a pharmacy as it is.

It’s dark outside. It’s dark in here. Someone please shine a light.

This week’s been  punishing. Work had the hammer down with projects, and I still had problems processing. Friday was the worst; once the network went down for maintenance it screwed up my system completely (apparently all the desktops are linked so well with the networks that simple programs take five times as long to process anything, at least for me). But Saturday.

Yeah, I got lucky.

I was booked to work, and it was just me in Toronto, one guy in New York and one more in Chicago. And given I got a call earlier in the morning asking if I could come in a half-hour early to deal with the overflow from last night, I was worried. I’d been having panic attacks all week and it was threatening to roar up again. But damn, it was a holiday weekend and things slowed down. We cleared the queue by 6:30 and the rest of the shift was spent coasting.

If only the mood carried through today. I’m working on it.

Eh.

Trying to decide what constitutes ‘joy’, as in trying to find a bit of joy in each day to keep me from sinking lower into depression. So far, not a clue.