This is the writing of the girl who just dropped all of the 14 credit hours she had registered for. Every class I woke up for this week and attended, gone, with the click of a button. How simple, how easy, how depressing.
When I left FSU in January I left with the firm goal of re-attending school come the Fall semester, by then I figured I would have everything under control, my bipolar would be in check, and I would have no difficulties succeeding. Unfortunately, as with everything else, life hasn’t gone as planned.
Today I went back to the psychiatrist with bated breath, as he determined the fate of my semester. Not necessarily determined, even, but set me on the right course. The depakote worked wonders for my mood, on the other hand it made my stomach go nuts, and I puked it all over the driveway. Yeah, probably not the lemonade. Now I will try Latuda, which could take up to a month to actually kick in. Hence, here I am, college class-less, without any solid thing to do. I have maybes and what ifs for volunteer service and whatnot.
I’d like to take this time to be super creative and write a Jenny Lawson type memoir, poignant and riotously funny. However, whilst most people say their bipolar leaves them creative, mine leaves me drained and empty feeling. My thoughts are cluttered.
I think for now I’ll sleep.