People who equate truth with fact are missing the point.

In the Forests of the Night

I am tired. Tired in the extreme. Tired enough to be a little concerned about driving.

Not half as tired as Carter, though.

Spring is flat lousy for some people with bipolar. No one really knows why; longer days, more sun, or some other reason (and don’t most of us feel a lift of mood and an increase of energy this time of year?), but for many people with mood disorders, Carter included, mania comes into the house and makes itself at home in the spring.

Spring also causes a decrease in the levels of mood stabilizing medicine in Carter’s blood. Lithium is a salt, and as the weather gets warmer, he drinks more water and sweats more, thus moving lithium through his body faster and allowing his blood levels to drop below their optimum therapeutic level.

Hence, suffering.

Carter is miserable with his inability to sleep (he’s averaging 6 hours a night for the past two weeks, with a few nights as short as 2-3 hours).

We’re miserable with his inability to stop talking and spinning.

No, seriously, he talks. Constantly. Without ceasing, literally. If he runs out of actual things to say, he does nonsense rifs composed mostly of curse words and slang scatological terms. In the bathtub, he sing-songs endlessly I’m gonna poop your ass! I’m gonna fart your butt! Poopy butt! Poopy butt! I know you have a poopy butt! Which is actually kind of funny for a few minutes, until it makes me beg Brian to saw my ears off with a rusty table knife.

And what does that even mean, poop your ass? I should probably know, since he says it at least 70 times a day.

Worse is that he’s terrified to go to school because he knows he’s barely holding himself together. Except that’s not exactly true; he hasn’t been violent, or even especially destructive, but he feels out of control and his anxiety is through the roof, so he’s afraid he will hurt a classmate or (much worse in his mind), say something to hurt his favorite teacher’s feelings.

I remember all too well the horrors of 3 years ago, and I know that, while Carter’s illness is active right now and it’s nothing anyone would call fun, it’s also a far cry from the worst we’ve endured. Carter barely remembers the worst of that time (thank God for slippery memories and the ways they sometimes protect us) and doesn’t enjoy the perspective that I do.

Although if I’m being honest, I will admit that at 3 am, perspective is bullshit.

Sleep is one of the purest, simplest pleasures in life, not to mention essential for happy, healthy daytime functioning. He deserves to enjoy more of it. I’ll be calling his psychiatrist tomorrow. If you pray, feel free to say a few words in favor of his doctor having an inspired idea that will get Carter sleeping again!

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