I could feel the anger brewing inside me, like a fire that had been put out however embers still remained in the coals. Your words were like a long slice with a sharp blade on a piece of crystal, strong enough to make a shallow groove but the pressure resounded within.
Maybe your medications are not right
I am not wanting to be honest with myself, let alone you, about whether the Olanzapine is doing its job. The alternative of increasing my Lithium would mean my hopes to breastfeed are shattered before they even got a peek into the picture. I am attached to breastfeeding because I have bottle fed and this is the way that feels bets for me. I am shattered (take a breath and don’t cry, it is okay) because none of this feels like it is my choice. I have no power, autonomy or choice in what is going on. I feel like it is just the medics making decisions based on what they think this monkey needs, and damn to the breast.
It is really upsetting.
So all of this is going on behind my argument with you about whether the stickers in the kid’s room look good or not, and your words cut into me saying the same things that the doctors say – but what is best for you is… I storm out, slam the two doors between us and begin to tear the navy blue lightning bolt stickers from the wall, frustrated tears welling up and a large lump in my throat. Removing the stickers did not make me feel better so I return to the room and scream abuse at you about how everything that is going wrong in our lives at the moment is your fault. Still no response so I leave again and begin the hurl the sticker charts into the garage to make a pile for the rubbish.
It feels like someone else is in control. I have no say in this moment, these angry outbursts the fire from within, in the same way that I have no control over the medications during pregnancy and beyond. Why is no-one listening to me? Why can’t you just let me have the shitty wall stickers in their over-the-top layout across the room? After the moment had passed and (I can’t remember how it ended or how I calmed down) I later had some Ativan because I just wanted to feel relaxed, just for a moment. Of course the same could not be said for my second dose later in the evening that was pure exhaustion and upset. I wanted to fee at peace and switch off.
I am having some bad thoughts at the moment, mainly about running away and using my medications to relax rather than my meditation and writing. Although I write to decompress and what not, I am finding it hard to stay motivated. And I am almost to the point of questioning the validity of what I am doing here. As in, I feel that because I have put my identity out there that now I need to limit ‘the truth’ to what I think will reflect okay on me, do you know what I mean? This means that I am not finding as much freedom in writing lately. There is more to story than what I am willing to say, but if I had kept my identity anonymous then there would be more scope, do you know what I mean?
So the fire will continue to burn, I will keep making mistakes and the world will go on. But I am not sure how long I can keep this beast burning away underneath, and how far I can hide the fear that perhaps I am, as Mr A said, requiring a rework of my medications. Why can’t I just get through this like a normal mother, worrying about her iron and folate levels instead of this poisonous salt called Lithium that can affect the heart development and cause preterm labour. Why can’t I focus on looking beautiful instead of not fitting in chairs and worrying about breaking furniture because I’ve gained over 20 kilograms due to the Olanzapine? And why can’t my husband relax and enjoy rather than be focussed on his potentially combustible wife who might be once again, travelling down the hole of worrisome never-ending cycles of aggression and depression and her mania comes on again.