One thing I remember about myself before the meds was how clean I wanted everything. I was quite the nag when it came to getting things done... and the right way. I was afraid I'd go back to that - the intense, irritable, anal, perfectionist.
It's hard to recognize what's me and what isn't. I want things clean, these days. Not that I didn't, before, but now, it's as if I've become fed up by the laziness of my family. I got pretty intense with one of my kids, last night, about their habit of just leaving the mess after they're done with whatever. I think all in my family are guilty of this in some form or another. I know I am.
I guess what I'm saying is, once upon a time, my mom said the meds I was on at the time (different ones) made it seem like I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. Things that were crappy, around me, didn't phase me. All was well. I remember the moment I realized I had anxiety issues - it was when I noticed they were gone. (The first time I took the meds, I'm on, now.)
What I can't stand the thought of, is people in my family not taking me seriously or blaming my determination to end their laziness as a result of me going off my meds. I hate that so very, very much. Not much angers me more than having to defend myself and trying to convince others of my sanity. All too often do I wish I could just leave them all, behind. Unfortunately, that is not really an option, as I actually do love these people and I have the guide of a strong and not-often-silent conscience.
I am a passionate person. I experience extreme emotions. I'm impulsive and trusting and unrelenting. And I like things clean. I think the meds were definitely making me more lax about certain things. More tolerant, maybe? Or, less uptight, I guess would be the right way to say that. I found myself not caring about messes. I also found myself being lazy. I stopped caring about getting dressed or showering or pretty much anything. Once in a while, I would snap out of it and have a major cleaning/getting things done frenzy. I recognized those as my manic moments. Maybe they weren't. Maybe those were just the times when my brain would break through the medicine fog and catch up on the things I would normally do. I was active and cared and moved. It was great! I looked forward to those moments. I also recognized that one tiny thing could set me off... meaning, one little thing would make me sad, then a flood of emotions would break though the medicine dam and I would feel all the sorrow and stress and guilt I seemed to have been avoiding or whatever, all at once. I think the meds have been dulling who I really am. And I think the major influxes of emotions were what led me to believe I was bipolar.
I really am glad I'm learning this all, now. It's been quite a journey of healing.