You can also call this post Jacked Up, Part II.
After consulting with a couple of friends who basically guilted me into it (“You don’t want to make your doctor think you don’t trust him enough to let him handle this”), I did give the office a jingle later in the afternoon. I told the assistant that it was most definitely NOT a four-alarm emergency—hell, I don’t even consider it an emergency at all—but damned if the good doctor didn’t get back to me right after his last patient of the day.
He didn’t waste any time getting right down to it, either. Didn’t even ask me how I was. What he wanted to know was, “Did you buy another yellow shirt?”
There’s a story behind that. Last summer during the notorious manic episode when I spent a thousand bucks in Wal-Mart (in TWO trips, not one), I bought this neon yellow tank top that was at least two sizes too big for me, and worse, it had a ginormous neon pink, orange, and green toucan splashed all over the front of it. All I was thinking at the time was how awesome it would look with my tan; however, when I got all the stuff home I promptly hid most of it way in the back of the walk-in where nobody would find it, and I didn’t even SEE the shirt again until late autumn.
When I did run across it, I was aghast: what the hell had ever possessed me to buy that?! I mean, a freaking TOUCAN?! Well, I knew, but…..Anyway, when I’d gotten over the embarrassment, I finally showed the hideous garment to my family, friends, and even my pdoc, all of whom viewed it with an equal degree of revulsion and amusement. Eventually we all had a good laugh over it, including my pdoc, who will more than likely never let me live it down.
Anyway, he asked about sleep (do we know any more jokes?), any impulsivity (not really, unless you count the random crap I keep posting on Facebook and forgetting that friends from work can see it), and spending (thankfully I’m as poor as Job’s turkey right now). I’m just glad he didn’t ask about hypersexuality, because that’s REALLY been an issue of late and I’ve been having to take a ton of cold showers.
Naturally, I tried to make light of everything and I know my speech was pressured and a little abrupt, which in retrospect wasn’t very nice and for which I will apologize Wednesday when he’s back in the clinic. I realize that as a psychiatrist he’s used to far nastier patients than me, but he’s not used to ME being rude and I feel bad. Maybe that’s why, unlike most times in the past when I’ve been a little hypo, he took this one much more seriously than I expected and promptly instructed me to double up on the antipsychotic (again) to see if that would bring me down.
I think HE thinks I’m more manic than I think I am; at any rate, he ain’t messing around with it. I do know I’m having a hell of a time shutting up—this is my third blog post in 24 hours and I’ve got another one cooking—and I can’t stop tapping my feet and fingers. Thankfully the extra AP is only for a week; I’m half afraid I’ll get zombified on the higher dose and have trouble getting to work in the morning.
But then, I suppose it’s better than making a total ass of myself galumphing through the halls, being loud and yappy as I am prone to do when I’m in this condition, and not being able to concentrate on what I’m learning. Who knows, maybe I AM more whack-a-doodles than I thought I was…….and to think I’d been doing so well. Shit.