The post episode visit

This last visit with Dr. Z was the first since the “episode,” a crazy moment in my life where I temporarily lost grip with reality and had to spend a few weeks in the hospital before I could come back down and face the harsh reality again that I have an illness and I don’t know if I’ll ever be done with it. This last episode only took 3 or 4 days of restlessness and no sleep and I was as wild as a hyena. Add a few nights of not taking meds, and there I was again- Mr. Hyde. I’m really beginning to resent this fact about myself, in such a short time, I could go from Mr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. I worry that no matter how hard I try, I will never have a normal life.

Now the doc is trying to check me for diseases like Bartonella and Babesia, and I expect soon he will try and treat me for Lyme disease. It is quite something how the doc plans on “knowing” I have these diseases. Apparently if I have a Herx while taking the medication drops then indeed I have Bartonella. I think this is a ridiculous way to discover whether someone has a disease or not. It’s so subjective. So of course while I’m taking these drops, I’m thinking, “I’m never going to get a Herx from this.” And true enough after about a week and half of taking the drops I felt no change. Nothing. Nada. And that’s been my experience since the very beginning with this doctor. When he gave me other medications, he would always ask me if I felt any change, and invariably the answer was always no. I’m not very optimistic about a cure. I suppose if I was spiritually healed 100%, and Satan absolutely disappeared from my life altogether, then I could consider myself cured.

I recently wrote a 13 page treatise on how we could accomplish world peace, and I got a big head about what I wrote, and actually planned on paying the Union Newspaper $10,000 or whatever it would cost to put the article on the front page of the Union. I thought my article could jumpstart the peace talks in the middle east, and, ironically enough at the end of my letter, I wrote that Jesus had healed my bipolar, and I would never have another manic episode again. Sure enough, within a week I was mad as a hatter, driving like a madman through town, running into cars, telling policemen that if they shot a bullet at my head, I would stop the bullet with the power of my mind, and turn it into a flower or something. It’s like I have a split personality, and I even wonder today if it might be a potential diagnosis. I guess you could say I have a “Christopher personality” when my head is on straight and an Elijah personality, who becomes instantly 100% confident and believes his words are practically out of the mouth of God, a true prophet in this war torn world. I’m sick of the battle. Really sick of it.

And I don’t think anything the doc can prescribe me can fix the problem. I guess I’ll just have to manage it with meds, and hope that the next time I have a sleepless night, I will take note of it, and be leery of it, instead of telling others I had all the rest I need. That is just a very dangerous belief that I have held in the past, because sure enough, every time I don’t sleep for a couple days or more I become a hazard to myself and those around me.
Screw this shit. I’m sick of it. I’m angry at God for making me this way. And yet I keep coming back to him time and time again, and I keep getting burned. I fly off the handle so easily when I’m manic. The smallest thing can set me off on a wild tangent. Each time I return to God I think it will be different this time, but I know that the times when I feel closest to God are the times when I need to be most aware of my behavior because those are the times when I fly out of control. I hate it. This sucks. I’m sorry to everyone I’ve hurt along the way in this roller coaster thing called life. Me most of all. Because I get hurt and have to start back at ground zero every time this shit happens. I’m so weary of it. The ups and downs have dominated my life for the past 15 years, and I do not see an end in sight. I know sooner or later I’ll slip up with the meds, forget to take them, or maybe even refuse to take them giving others the explanation that meds are nothing but a placebo affect, and I’ve been healed of it through the power of Christ. Every time I feel healed and feel I no longer need to take meds, my life becomes a living hell. Well, I guess I’ve ranted and raved here long enough. I do not believe there is a bipolar cure. I’m gonna have to live with this damn illness for the rest of my life. (Sorry for the swear words)