The good, the bad and the crazy ugly!

Well folks today is day 24. My back is feeling significantly better thank you Dr. Evans! Nothing like pulling you pelvis out of place to put a kink in your week! How is the juicing going you ask? Well thank you for asking and it is going pretty darn tooting well. I was previously worried about Seattle, but you know what? Screw it! I'm going to have fun, I'm going to drink juice and I'm not going to eat anything that Henry cooks and I am A-Ok with that! And if I were to fall off the wagon I'm not going to punish myself. One juice at a time folks, one juice at a time!
So the bad and the crazy ugly...

Nothing terrible really. Just frustrated with myself. I have become a very self aware person and I get so mad at myself when I do shit I know I shouldn't do or don't do shit I know I should. So what has it been like 4 months since I was officially labeled certifiable nutty? I was doing awesome, the pills make the world okay, everything is pretty even. Nothing superbly awesome except spending time with my family and nothing superbly awful except the fight with my sister while I was down there. Just steady life going at a smooth pace. So what do I do? I stopped taking my meds. I always do this and I'm sure most crazies (sorry if the term offends you) out there agree that they too have done this before. We're doing well everything is fine nothing major no deep lingering depression, life isn't horrible, life is liveable and so we stop taking our meds. Because why? Because we're better! Isn't that what you do when you're better from something that is ailing you? You have a cough, you take cough medicine til it's gone. You have a headache you take aspirin and it goes away so you stop. So that's what I did. I felt better, I didn't feel like a homicidal maniac, I didn't feel like a depressed shlub, I wasn't manic at all so I would skip a dose here skip a dose there. Until I realized that more days than not I wasn't taking my meds. And for a while it's been ok. Then I hurt my back and I was glad for the excuse that kept me from having to go biking cause honestly it felt like a terrible chore. And then I decided maybe if I changed my bike seat I'll like it better, so I did, and I didn't. It started with this awful feeling like I was just going to have a tantrum. I was uncomfortable, it was hard to ride and I was also feeling a little panicky. So I bowed out and rode home. Yesterday Mike and I had planned to go to the gym. We ride, we work out, we go home. And as a matter of fact last time we did that I had a similar reaction. Streets were a mess because of Eugene Celebration. I was tired and hungry and seconds from having a tantrum. Mike suggested we get soup at Cornucopia and that put me at ease. How awful of me! Yesterday was the worst. I behaved like a spoiled, bratty, obnoxious brat and had I been a child I would have surely deserved a good spanking. Mike graciously changed the seat on my bike and decided to give me a different one. It is one of those seats that has just the butt pads, it's supposed to be good to keep pressure off the groin.



So I try it out and it felt a little weird but I thought I'd get used to it and we took off on our ride. It just didn't feel right. I was having a hard time pedaling and getting really frustrated. By the time we made it near REI I was near a full on melt down. We stopped Mike bought a tool to raise my seat and we kept going. It felt a little better but I just couldn't figure out how to sit on this damn seat! We made it to the gym, did our back breaking work out and tried to pedal home for dinner. I was so tired and so uncomfortable and so goddamn demented that I just had had enough! I got off the bike in the middle of the bike path and started walking the bike all the while cursing the damn thing. Mike tried to get me to swap bikes with him but I was beyond listening to reason. I just wanted to destroy the bike. I wanted to take a mallet to it and some explosives and run it over a few times and then finally only after being thoroughly satisfied with my destructiveness would I push its remains into the river. See, I told you I was beyond reason. Mike refused to leave and ride ahead of me which was really just aggravating me more. I wanted to be left alone and while I understand his obvious concern, me alone in a dark park where we have at times heard loud arguments between transients, I didn't care. There have been times when we're riding and he is blocks ahead of me with Joel so why was that night so special? I got back on my bike and pedaled as angrily as I could. Once over the bridge I kept trying to pedal but I was tired, my butt hurt, I wasn't getting anywhere and my blood was boiling. I kept stopping and walking my bike and begging Mike to ride ahead just to get himself home. He wouldn't budge. About a mile and a half from home I stopped  got off my bike and started to walk again. That was it that's where I was done and there was Mike hovering around and I just lost it. I threw my bike against the pavement as hard as I could and started yelling for him to just go home. He might have asked what the eff was my problem but he got on his bike and rode off ahead of me. I realized I had his keys which just upset me more so I got on and made my way home as quickly as I could. I pushed my bike up the stairs and went inside throwing myself into my bed and broke down. A big mess of sobs and snot. It feels pretty awful to be so angry especially when it is no ones fault and under normal circumstances I would have just riden home and complained about the damn thing. I fell asleep and woke up to Mike saying there was food behind me and not to roll over on it. He had gone out of his way to get me a fresh salad with ranch dressing no less! It's a no no but I know he wanted to make me feel better and he heated up some soup that he carefully prettied up with a few sprigs of basil. I felt like such a low piece of crap. I ate my food quietly and walked out to say I was sorry and thank you. But it turned into an enourmous mess of snot and tears. That man deserves to be named a saint. He is the only person who has seen me at my absolute worst and still held me and kissed my forehead instead of walking out like any normal person should have.
Mental illness is awful. Awful for those who deal with it and sometimes worse for those to are tasked with the job caring for that person. It is such a struggle to keep any sort of balance, to stay calm and be understanding. I'm sure Mike has wanted to lock me in a room until I come to my senses. I'm sure he's wanted to walk out and just be done with it. I couldn't blame him one bit. Somedays I want to run away from me. Those are the days when I realize it's been a while since I had my meds. Those are the days when I want to kick my own ass because I know better. I know my body and the warning signs and I just ignore them because I'm too lazy to walk in the kitchen and pour a glass of anything to take my pills with. Depression sucks, being manic is worse if you ask me. I'd be more pleasant if I just moped around. I lash out angrily against the people I love more often than towards those I could give a damn less about.
So to all of you out there who are reading this I'm sorry! I love you dearly and if I've been mean to you, it's only cause I love you! (and I'm crazy) Oh and Mike Jones, don't try to run cause I'll find you and then cut you.