The first bio of my Bipolar ends on a really optimistic note. which was true at the time. I think i wrote it sometime back in march 2003, around that time anyway. the months and years seem to be melting into one another these days. i have lost a lot of my perspective relative to space / time.

Anyway. i wanted to write some sort of update, since a few of you have been asking me what happened next and where my personal journal went.
I had to take my journal down as i was receiving abuse, some people are so immature it is hard to believe.

the what happened next is what im going to write now. well try to anyhow.

March - april time of year - spring, its a nice time of year i suppose. were comming out of the perpetual darkness that seems to overhang the winter months. according to the experts this is the time when people feel least depressed. the garden is blooming and so are our emotions. im not sure mine were though.
I seemed to have come to a standstill. i had put every last bit of faith and hope in the mood stabilizers i had recently been given and i was excited about the prospect of getting on with my life. it didnt happen. everything went wrong again. i had put my faith in a chemical cure and i didnt get the results i wanted. i want that kind of life where i get up at 7am, shower, dress, put my make up and suit on and drive to work for 9am. do a fantastically wonderful & satisfying job and arrive home at 6pm to cook a gormet meal for my family. you know all that garb. all that fucking crap i'd thought was the way it was supposed to be, supposed to be to make you happy.
well as it didnt happen i got angry. i got frustrated and miserable and depressed and downright hellish. again.
and i lied through my teeth, i told therapy that i was feeling great! going for walks on my own not being so isolated feeling happier even eating normally! how they thought they'd hit the jackpot that time.
case closed, patient cured.
I started drinking.
Come on, by this point in my life i'd been on every drug combination for psychiatric conditions ever invented. id been through intense therapy, nutrionists, psychologists, shrinks, nurses, doctors the whole sharabang. i cant even begin to count how many appointments i have every week. So, i lost hope in it all. in having a life where i was not disabled or depressed. every option had been tryed and had failed. so i thought fuck it. and started to drink - whilst still taking all my medication.
it wasnt a good plan. the alcohol and medicine combined sent me into rages. i was enraged more at myself than anyone else, because i did not want to be like this. i wanted help. i wanted it to stop.
i spent days in bed, so depressed that i couldnt move and didnt really want to anyway. i mean why get up when life is so miserable anyway? what is the point? what is the point of even remembering to breathe. it is too much effort for someone as miserable as me.

On july 18th 2003 at around 11am i took and overdose of my anti-psychotic medicine.
it makes you sleepy you see, and i thought that just going to sleep and never waking up would be a good way to die.
I took 300mg + of the medicine, these pretty, round little sugar coated tablets; put my favorite song on repeat on my stereo and lay down peacefully on my bed waiting for the wash of sleepiness to take over my mind and put me and my nightmare to rest at last.

not too long after that, i felt very, very ill and proceeded to throw up in the bathroom. by then all the medication had been absorbed into my system and my stomach's reaction was just a nuisence.
after throwing up water, blood and stomach acid for a good 15 minutes i rang a friend and admitted what id done. 45 minutes later i was in the emergency room (after throwing up in my friends car all the way there) being made to drink charcoal, having an IV fitted in my arm, injections in my butt, my clothes confiscated in favor of a hosptal robe and generally not knowing what the fucking hell is really going on as i keep 'going to the white place' and falling asleep.
The medicine id taken causes you to feel drowsy at a normal dose. at the elevated dose i had taken it caused my heart rate to sink and my blood pressure to drop dangerously low to the point where the doctors had to tip me upside down on my bed to keep enough blood & oxygen to my brain in the hope that it wouldnt be deprived of its essentials.

When i regained my alertness, i decide that i didnt need to be in the hospital anymore and proceeded to sign myself out against medical advice.
The head doctor told me 'you wont be able to stand up with a blood pressure that low let alone walk out of here'
but i did. and was insanely proud of the fact i had proved her wrong. i mean, what was i proving to myself? i have no idea.
That night i went out drinking as if nothing had happened. as if i had not nearly died that morning.

In the following weeks i joined Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) online. I had decided that the drinking had to stop as alcohol had too many calories in and i was fat enough as it was.
The drinking stopped and the dieting began. and hasnt stopped yet.

My doctor got wind of my distress, well it wasnt hard to notice really, with my greay hair, no make up, dirty clothes and skinniness - and incresed all my medicines to combat the 'black wave' i experience along with the terrible psychosis.
its the psychosis that scares me more than anything else in my life. that combined with the degree of depression i experience tears my mind apart.

Im still waiting for my perfect life, job, family to appear.
I think im going to have a long wait. I just dont fit into the idea of perfect really, no matter how hard i try or how much medicine i take, my craziness just keeps spilling out of the neat little mold i try to place it in.

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Medicine costs a bomb, help me out?