Writing about going crazy while going crazy is difficult, because while a part of me wants to take you all along for the ride, that crazy, anxious part still wants to pretend that I'm actually supermom.
Last month, at my shrink's, we talked about increasing my dosage. By that point I already knew that I was on the path to relapse, but convinced the good doctor to keep me on the same dosage a bit longer so that I could work through some of my issues "on my own." At the time it seemed really important that I learn to cope where I was - part of that still stands. I reasoned then that I did not want to forever be dependant on (more and more) medication to be functional, but now I see that it has instead served to show me that I do need the meds, for now, to keep growing the way I had been. I also have learned how very capable I am. This stretch has been the longest of my recovery, but it has also been the least extreme. It actually feels pretty close to "normal."
I am learning a lot about myself. Some of it very not pretty, some of it really cool - it has been quite the ride. I will increase my meds this month when I see my doctor again, I have already begun to figure out what I need in terms of social and personal time, as well as what I need to do to hold up my end of the family. I think because this spell has been so drawn out and milder, I have had a chance to put the tools I have collected to the test and I have also been humbled.
I have a long, long way to go, and the next time I start to sound like I think I have it all figured out, I want someone to knock me upside the head. Unless I do have it all figured out - in which case you bitches had better take notes.