Maybe you’ve noticed that this is my third post today. I guess it’s technically not today anymore because it’s past midnight. If you follow my blog, you know that I rarely, if ever, post more than once a day. That’s because people don’t like to get bombarded with posts, and are less likely to read them, judging from my scientific sample size of one.
I’ve had my evening drug cocktail, and when it didn’t seem to be going anywhere I used my adjuvant, which is a secret recipe having to do with Ouzo and Absinthe. Yes, I am well aware that this is frowned upon by mainstream psychiatry, but I have never had much truck with mainstream anything and I don’t imagine I’ll start now.
I just took another milligram of Ativan, and I might just take another to keep it company. Tomorrow morning is trashed already, so why not do whatever it takes to waltz off to dreamland without accidentally killing myself? That would be so hard on the fam. I’ll be careful, I promise.
All of the above points clearly to hypomania. I’ve seen it coming for a couple of days. I’ve been unusually creative, played my fiddle until my bow hand gave out, finally started and finished the first painting in a series I’ve been visualizing for several years, and spent way, way more time on Facebook and Twitter than was good for me, even though it is for a good cause.
Hmm, I just gave myself an idea. Why not get out of bed after taking that second Ativan and play my fiddle until a) I fall asleep or b) the sun comes up? I will think about it for another ten minutes, and if I’m still wide awake, that’s what I’ll do. Hope you are all having a peaceful, blissful sleep…
Postscript: after rattling around the house aimlessly I realized with a flash of insight that I had forgotten to take my quetiapine, the antipsychotic that puts me to sleep like a hammer, usually. In fact I normally must take it by 9 pm if I am to make it out of bed by 10 am. It affects me like that. And my doctors get a kick out of the baby dose I take, 50 mg, but it’s what does the trick. So now I’ve taken it, we’ll see if it can head this train off at the pass, to mix some metaphors. Shaken, not stirred.