I’m scared. I’m really scared. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like my normal management strategy is working. I usually pop a Lorazepam and I drift back down. But it’s not working.
I’ve had Lorazepam every night for the last 12 nights and because it’s a controlled drug in England, I’m almost out. There’s no way my GP will write me another prescription this soon. I usually get through a pack a year; not a pack a fortnight.
Yesterday I hit my husband. That’s how I know how bad it’s become. I never lose my temper – I have hit him once before and that was when I originally sought help and ended up with a bipolar diagnosis. Once is too much. Twice is unforgivable.
For me to lose control is out of character; I don’t even shout when I’m mad. I don’t cry. I don’t yell. I have never once raised my child at my daughter. I do not appear stressed to most who meet me. I am calm and contained by nature.
But we were arguing in the car and I was scared of my mind and I had nowhere to escape to. When we argue, I remove myself from the situation. I was scared that I would crash the car with all the yelling he was doing. And then he called me “Psycho” and I flipped. I swung and punched him with all my might in the chest.
I feel disgusted with myself. It is never ok to display violence to someone you love. Never. And that is how I know that I’m not coming down anytime soon.
I’m scared. I’m lonely. No-one in my ‘real’ life understands. All of my girlfriends have run for the hills because they don’t/can’t understand the mania aspect of my illness. It hurts so much. It is times like this that I need them the most.
I just need time. Time to take a break from being me. Time to take a break from this life. I just need it to stop.