Jacked Up

That’s my new term for being, well, a little hypomanic.

Actually, I’ve been jacked-up for the past week or so. I’ve got too much energy, I’m not sleeping well, I’m restless and distractible, and today I’ve started two blog posts at once. It’s also after 1 PM and I haven’t even thought about food yet, even though I’ve been awake since 8. And even though I know I should, I haven’t called my psychiatrist yet because…..um, he’s been out of town and this is certainly not an emergency.

Yes, I know he made me promise to call if I felt myself getting even a little bit high, and I know I’m rationalizing why I don’t need to. That’s a good bit of insight I didn’t have before; maybe I’m getting better at recognizing when things are headed that way.

However, I’ve also been excited about my new job, and the fact that it’s summer  makes hypomania my default mode. Situational stuff does not always a bipolar episode make, and not every little blip on the radar needs to be medicated. I’m on plenty of meds as it is, and I’m pretty sure I can ride this out on my own.

Truth is, I don’t WANT to call. For some reason I can’t name, I’m kind of, well, embarrassed about this. It’s soooo not a crisis, and I have this thing about not bugging doctors for minor issues (even though this one actually wants me to). In fact, I have to pretty much have one foot in the grave—or on the steps leading “downstairs”—before I’ll holler for help.

Then again, maybe I should let HIM make the determination as to whether this needs to be addressed or not. As anyone who knows a bipolar person has realized, we are not the best judges of the seriousness of a given situation when something’s not right (oh, hey—there’s another nugget of wisdom! Go me!!). And I know how upset he’s going to be if I’m still jacked-up when I go in for my appointment next week, or even if I tell him that I was…..and it WILL come out in session. I’ve never been able to lie to the man—all he has to do is look at me with a certain expression and I spill my guts. I’d make a lousy spy.

So here I sit, typing this post and still dithering about whether or not I’m going to call. Part of me knows I really need to, not only because I promised, but because this is more likely to get out of control and become full-blown mania the longer I ignore the warning signs. It doesn’t always go bad, which tends to lull me into a false sense of security and almost makes it worth the risk, because I really do love my jacked-upness. But the absolute LAST thing I need right now is a manic episode—not when I’ve just started a new job and need all the brain-power I can muster to learn what I need to know to function competently.

On the other hand, I know that all of this IS situational, and it, too, shall pass. And I’d feel silly if I called and he told me not to worry about it.

To call, or not to call…….that is the question. Just wish I knew the right answer.

Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

4 thoughts on “Jacked Up

    1. Not to worry….another friend of mine guilted me into calling, so I did. He’s busy today so I may not hear from him till tomorrow—I told the office gal it’s NOT an emergency—but I decided to be a good girl and do what I’d tell you to do. 😉


  1. Yeah, he got back to me at the end of the day, emergency or no….he’s awesome like that. That’s why I never worry about getting over-amped—he worries enough for the both of us!


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