I'm edgy, overwhelmed, frantic, restless, constantly trying to keep myself busy, going a mile-a-minute until I hit a speedbump and crash. There's a ball of nervous energy bouncing around my stomach, shooting out to my limbs.
But none of that explains it either.
I saw the GP yesterday. She asked me how I'd been, and I just shrugged and mumbled "I don't know", fidgeting and staring at the floor. Through more questions and broken sentences I told her about some of the feelings in the last paragraph, that I didn't feel stable, and in the past week or so I've felt like I'm in a manic episode.
I'd spoken with mum about it a few days prior. She'd noticed the changes in my behavior too, and helped fill in the blanks with the GP. It feels impossible to explain what's going on when I feel like this, and it frustrates the hell out of me.
The GP congratulated me on my awareness, and upped my Seroquel from 100mg at night to 200mg, plus starting on 100mg in the morning. So, a total increase from 100mg to 300mg.
Then she asked about my lungs. Overall I'm in a lot less pain than I was pre-diagnosis, though I still have a lot of problems with coughing/phlegm/breathing in general. She kept using words that made me cringe, like 'lung disease' and 'acute infection'. It's all slipped to the back of my mind so easily recently. I'm smoking about 10-15% of what I was though, which is huge, and I have my check up with the respiratory physician in two weeks. The GP warned me that he will growl since I haven't quit smoking completely. Sigh, oh well.
Right at the end of the appointment, she said she had to weigh me again on the way out. I grumbled that I'm seeing the dietician in four days, and was it really necessary? Apparently so. This week I again wore heavier/warmer clothes and drank extra coffee beforehand, which I purposely avoid when I'm seeing the dietician, so she'll really not have much of a clue what my weight's been doing over the past fortnight.
Three more days until routine sets back in, and I'll be weighed at the right time of day, wearing the right clothes, by the right person.
I've spent too many hours writing and checking and re-writing this, and I'll never get it 'right' anyway. It feels like my head's about to explode, so I'll just leave it here. Time to pass what's left of the day at my sewing machine.