Tag Archives: vitamins

desperately seeking malakoa

I haven’t been well lately.  I felt like I had an ax chop my heart in to four efficient slices.  If you do it right, that’s the way trees come on down.  I feel nausea right now and it’s because I took my multi-vitamin without enough food.  I had goat’s cheese and cherries for breakfast.  Enough for all the tiny pills I take, but not for those big ‘ole vitamins.  I got gummi vitamin-B complexes and those got rid of most of my vomiting.  I was throwing up most mornings. (Like, five mornings a week.)  The strange thing is that it never came to me to stop taking the pills.  They were making me sick, but I still saw them as my life boat.  I never thought that I could just drop them.  If I didn’t take them I most surely would die,  and would take my daughter with me.  There are folks out there who can be bipolar and not take meds, but I am utterly convinced I will never be one of them.

My husband has said for a while that I can be awfully cruel when I’m having an episode.  I say and do things that no one should do.  I fought off that thought because I wanted to have my own life and feelings apart from being manic depressive.  Why is it it’s my illness and not just me? Can’t I be a jerk now and again.

It turns out, no.  I cannot be that kind of jerk now and again.  

Oh, I can be selfish and eat all the ice cream left in the freezer.  I can turn the radio up really high without thinking about who can hear it and I can get in fights and make plans to get the heck out of here.  But that is not what he meant.

We had a very nice fight about two, maybe three, weeks ago.  I remember very little about it.  A few days afterwards we were arguing (rather than fighting) and he replayed some of the things I said to him.


I kind of remembered some of the topics we covered, but it was like being very drunk.  I am sort of present, but I couldn’t remember whose lap I sat on or even who I spent the evening with.  I don’t remember the beginning nor when I crossed over to the monster I become while full blown manic.  I was not an angry drunk, just a curious one.  I can’t say that I am not an angry manic depressive.  

I said things no one should ever say and at the time I meant every single word of it.  If my husband treated me the way I treated him he would be long gone, no question.

never want to do that to him or anyone else.  There are signs before I get to those places.  I start snapping at people and mad enough to plan on running away from home.  In these bizarre fantasies my daughter comes with me; I promised her I would never leave her behind and I wouldn’t.  Those plans are born of imbalanced chemicals.  My husband is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination but he is good to me and good to our daughter most of the time.  He doesn’t deserve to hear the things I said.  

Just a few days ago, he said to me, “I desperately want to stay married to you.”  For the life of me I can’t figure out why.  I am (or have been – if I’ve really changed I don’t know yet.) abusive and lazy.  I do nothing around the house for days (weeks) at a time.  The list of what I do and what I am that is cruel, and wrong goes on and on and about a third of this is caused by my mental illnesses.  

 2/3 = 66%

Am I worth it?


That time of night

You remember “Sorting my pills” my mental illness epic. If you are a good little mental health patient, no doubt you have a menagerie of pills to take every morning and night. (I love the word menagerie.) My husband had a crush on a girl, and she called it her, “happy salad.” Honestly, I thought that was stupid, but he didn’t. If you laughed, I won’t hold it against you.

As of today I declared myself sick of it. I take a drug, that I won’t name, to help with the nausea. Often I take the pills only to vomit them back up. This is especially true of the vitamins, I just puke them. For two years I took them with water. That was miserable but I was in love with my medication. I hadn’t been okay forever. It was the fifth grade that brought me my first manic episode. I’ve talked about it before so I won’t get into it too much now, but I think I speak the truth when I sat I hadn’t had much peace since then. Ups and downs, mostly downs, I was able to function at a good level. I was tortured. Even the manic phases that some of us manic depressives love came mixed with deep depressions. At the end I was so depressed I could not function. At night, my brains suggested different ways to kill my daughter. During the day I could do nothing more than sleep, leaving that same, eighteen month daughter untended. It was the worse part of my life, so far.

But medicine saved us. I was in the hospital sitting at the nurses station and during the time of night when the thoughts rushed it, they came just the same, except they slowed down and stopped. Years before when I was evaluated I was encouraged to see a psychiatrist and take medicine and I was adamant that I would not do so. Just a few years later it saved my life. I am a bit of a pusher, now. I recommend and de-recommend psychiatrists, and know a lot about anti-depressants and mood stabilizers.

To be honest with you, I am getting to resent all these pills. I resent all the colors and shapes. I hate sorting them and cutting them in half. This has always slightly annoyed me but in the last few months the irritation has gotten worse. Then there is the flavor. I’ve tried taking them with juice, which is way better than water, but it still tastes very bad and filling my mouth with juice, popping in the pills and trying to swallow all that at once sometimes leads to choking. It’s still the best method I’ve found, yet. I had a friend who brushed her hair so she would have positive associations having to do with her meds time. If I were to do that, and I’ve tried that kind of thing before, I would not have a positive association with the pills, but would gain a negative associate to the positive things. I would look at the hair brush and feel like I was going to throw up.

I know pills work for me. I have had weeks, even months of feeling good. That is not something that happened before I got on meds. A lot of psychiatric patients remember fondly the days before they were on medication. I do not delude myself. Usually it is a suicide attempt that brings them in to the hospital. They remember, inaccurately, that they were doing just fine before. “You must mean aside from the suicide attempt, right?”