I Pulled a Knife On a Guy This Morning.

Didn't open it, but pulled it. He cut in line, and things escalated verbally. I didn't pull it as a show of force--I don't even think he ever saw it. The people in line behind us did. He did feel me grab his arm and jerk him so he'd look at me.

I am digressing, and I hate it. And it scares me. I'm also hallucinating. I can't breathe recently--nasal passages or something--and whenever I just sit still with no thought on what I'm doing or will do, I see and feel myself abducted and tied, duct tape over my mouth. Of course, I can't breathe through my nose, so I panic like I'm in a claustrophobic situation. When I "come to," I can't breathe enough to calm down.

Either of those things will get me locked up again, so I keep going like nothing's wrong and don't tell the docs.

I just want to feel better. Life is like having a headcold Nyquil won't get rid of. So now you're tired and spacey from the meds, and tired and spacey from the headcold, and you're just waiting for the cold to go away.

When you're bipolar, you always have that "cold". Sometimes it doesn't go away. Blech. Life is kind of miserable right now, even after an awesome anniversary weekend, and a picture my son drew in class of me and him holding hands.

Thank goodness for my little girl and son, and the things they do. Bipolar can't be cured, but it can be fought, and they help me fight it.