So, on my meds I go into spirals of Nope that I can thankfully recognize by now as Not Normal in the scheme of things, and while it doesn't make them leave faster, it makes them not as bad. Because I can recognize that it's not me being evil and bad and wrong, it's literally my brain trying to kill me. The last week I've been without my medication, and withdrawal twitches/ being able to hear and feel my eyes move/ hypersensitivities etc. there's the strong regression to how I used to be 24/7. which is actually those downward spirals, but much more intense. Earlier, I documented about a half hour of them because I realized I was doing goddamn parkour, and looking back.. I'm realizing that I still have all these thoughts and feelings and just as intensely, but my meds help me not focus on them as much so it's easier to just go "well, yeah, I'm a horrible piece of shit but what else is new, pass the chicken". Copypasta from my tumblr post, since that was the liveblog of my brain. Me in the span of thirty minutes: I am exhausted. Today I hopefully get my meds back and can head back towards 'normal' again but.. Shit man, seeing it all written out and realizing that I always feel that way is kind of upsetting? I know bpd is the whole reason for my "who the fuck am I, what am I, am I even real?? I can't tell what I'm supposed to be doing, let me just be a character instead, at least I can play the part then" feels. I just wish I knew how to get past them and.. you know, have some sense of self, because if I'm told to Journal, Breathe, and Meditate one more fucking time I am going to punch someone in the fucking throat. Bonus of knowing who Ryn is: I'd be able to doodle myself or make a simple damned fursona without going "wait, that's not right" about everything from my shape to positive parts of my personality. Because I know SOMETHING is there. I know it's got to be. I've never been able to accurately physically describe my body aside from eye color and my hair and which teeth are ruined. I'm an eldritch abomination, in a kawaii way, but it'd be fun to be able to be something more tangible like normal people can.
I got to go to the doc and got my meds. I've got to go back AGAIN before we move so she'll secure me more refills. I literally had to spend 20 minutes explaining that, yes, my medication DOES help my brain and NO I am not interested in changing off of it to another one or fucking with the dosage much. I already was lowering it and this is the amount that works. Thank you, Ma'am. I had to explain that BPD most likely was in my family, judging from my mom. Looking back I can peg her as more on the volatile emotions and manipulation edge, while I'm sitting cozy with the anxiety, paranoia, and schizotypal hallucinations at bedtime and occasionally in public. I had to explain that, yes, the diagnosis is the most accurate one I've gotten so far. There may be more brainweird in there that another professional can guide me through, but this seems to hit right in the correct ballpark when paired with the ocd and the depression and such. I had to hear that, despite everyone in that office refusing treatment and telling me to wait till I'm in the states, I should have been getting tests run. That as a high risk patient, potentially I should have been treated upstairs or directed to a high risk dentist in the city personally, BEFORE all my fucking teeth have broken and I live in constant fear of infection. I got to do my party trick: standing up and going from a 120 (high, but I was sitting upright for a while and had walked there) to about 150ish immediately and watch her face go pale as a damned ghost. I did all this while in withdrawals, and on about 2 hours of sleep, full zombie mode. I came home and passed out for 2 hours, would have been longer but Cat was being a Cat. Am now dosed, fed, and exhausted but recovering. ...What a fucking day.
