Time to get back on the Zyprexa.
I used a client's computer to write a post and didn't think about clearing the browser's history. ARGH!
So I've begun to worry that someone else who may have used the machine (another caregiver perhaps) has discovered my little secret. This being in the closet business is hard to maintain and keeps me on edge. I worry that people who know me will suddenly treat me differently. Fear me. Reject me. Ignore me. Shun me. Close the door and throw away the key. There's nothing I can do.
How do I explain that the day I learned my diagnosis and the day my son was born have been the two happiest days of my life?
How do I say that the medication just smooths out the ragged edges of my personality? That I am only able to leave home every day because I take my meds? That the world is no longer a terrifying place? That those super enthusiastic, pun cracking, mind-going-mile-a-minute, demonstrably affectionate, face lifted up to soak in the light of the sun or the moon, really excited to be here moments are hypomania? That I am only a danger to myself, not to others? That without the meds I will come up with any excuse to stay away from everyone, to stay in the bed, to ignore the phone and email, to sit in a dark corner hugging my knees or curl up as though awaiting a rebirth? That I was sketched in pencil and the best thing that could happen is to be erased?
Things are starting to get better. And I have committed self-sabotage. I thought I was past that.
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