The Cycle Begins Again

I'm sitting here trying to figure out exactly why it is that I won't take the medication I need to stop how I feel. I don't have an answer.

Holy shit, I feel like hell. It's been like this since yesterday when we started driving back towards home after a trip away for the weekend. It was a wonderful trip....calm, relaxing and full of love and laughter. But inevitably, I have to come back to the stresses and strains of what is here, and part of the stupidity of it all is that I don't seem capable of dealing with it.

My chest hurts ... I'm not sure if it hurts because of the smog or because I'm so wound up that if you poke me, I'll explode. My hands are shaking; at first I thought they were shaking because of a hypoglycemic episode, until I realized that it was continuing after I ate. My concentration is shot to hell. I alternate between tears and desperation, but ... desperation for what?

Help lies in a bottle upstairs. I don't want it and I don't know why. Everything I've ever read about borderlines and bipolars and medications tells me that THIS IS WHEN TO GO TAKE IT. Yet here I sit, trying to justify my reasoning for maintaining the insanity that's threatening to take over entirely.

I've resented medication from Day One. While a rational mind understands that it's an aid, what I see mostly is a puppetmaster in a bottle. Feel down? Take a pill, come back up. Going up? Take a pill, go back down. Getting desperate? Take a pill, level off. Don't, by any means, allow yourself to feel legitimate emotion! At least, that's how it feels to ME; unfortunately, what it LOOKS like to the outside world when I'm feeling that "legitimate emotion" is pretty much utter madness.

So the question becomes:

Do I warn my husband before he gets home, or just let him walk into the damned storm??