|yet another mega storm|
Not that I'm averse to the idea of succumbing to taking an antipsychotic to stave off, or nip in the bud, a manic episode. I despise manic episodes. I would take being down for at least a weekend, and sick for a week to prevent mania. It can be so destructive. Yet another one this last summer, triggered by insomnia, and terrible ptsd-ridden memories of my second husband devolving into what became evident was truly horrendous, advancing alcoholism. 'Don't let a thief in your mouth to steal your brain', or your ticker. He was so cool...what the hell happened to him. That's a different story.
This summer was horrendous. I had a painful benign mass removed from a sensitive spot, the naval. I know, ha ha. Contemplating my navel, etc. But I'm ashamed to show my face. My life is in ruins, a wreck, once again. This last episode was as bad as when I was 17, only minus the traumatic hospitalisation...get me out of this dimension, off this planet, where's my spaceship, etc. There is too much suffering.