Why didn't I think to make a hat for my animals, too?

Saturday was a no good day. I was all keyed up with anxiety and depression at the same time. I wrote what I wrote in the morning and it just didn’t get any better. It got worse.

I call that particular mixture of crappy brain fail side effects “twiggy,” because as a writer, I assign silly names to everything. Or maybe just as a crazy person I assign silly names to everything. Either way, silly names will be assigned.

Twiggy is different from depression or anxiety on their own. It is the heightened anxiety and hyper-awareness of PTSD and anxiety disorder mixed with the woe-is-me-ness of depression.

Twiggy is dangerous. It’s the state of mind where I am capable of doing really dumb things and making terrible decisions. To be perfectly honest, if I was ever going to kill myself or someone else, it would happen while I was twiggy. It is one of the worst mixtures that my brain is capable of putting me through–worse even than the deepest, blackest depression.

When I get twiggy, I cannot get comfortable. I can’t concentrate. I can’t communicate. I can’t express myself. I can’t sleep or eat or do much of anything. I can’t lie down. I can’t sit up. Nothing is comfortable, not even my own skin. I am a bundle of nerves with absolutely no energy. All I want to do is wait for it to be dark enough to justify knocking myself out with sleeping pills. I want to hide inside with all the blinds shut and hope no one knocks on the door, because I just might hit them with a baseball bat. Twiggy is as close to making a tinfoil hat to protect me from mind-reading government aliens as I get.

Why didn't I think to make a hat for my animals, too?
Why didn’t it occur to me to make hats for my animals, too?

It’s actually very similar to the feeling I got on methamphetamine. I hate meth because it made me feel twiggy. I’ve done it twice (because I’m an idiot), and both times, I got twiggy for days on end. Paranoid and unable to concentrate, I couldn’t make my mind stop while at the same time, my body was exhausted. I really do not understand why anyone would ever do meth. Perhaps the people who do it don’t feel twiggy like I do, but for my brain chemistry, it’s a terrible drug. It’s the least favorite of all the drugs I’ve tried, which is pretty much all of them. Don’t do meth, kids.

It’s lovely to know that my brain is capable of making me feel the same twigginess naturally as I do on one of the most hardcore street drugs you can get. Thanks, brain.

Thankfully, twiggy never lasts all that long. At its worst, it’s a day or so. Saturday, it only got worse as the day progressed until an obliging Male basically forced me to take one of his benzodiazepines. Normally, a klonopin would have knocked me out. I would sleep forever, but I was so wired on my personal tinfoil hat trip that it didn’t even make me tired. It did make me feel better though. The ferocious waves of paranoid depression quieted down and I was able to unfurl from my fetal position on the sofa.

When I woke up the next day, the twiggy was gone. It was just gone. Thank fucking fuck, because twiggy is not at all anywhere anyone wants to be.

The brain, my brain, is the entity that controls everything about me. It is my life support system. It is responsible for every action I’ve ever made, every word I’ve typed or said, and every sensation I’ve ever felt. Yet, my command center can also make me feel twiggy.

When I am twiggy, I try to remember that the entity that’s making me feel that way is faulty and not to be trusted. I cannot possibly make any decisions or think anything rational with a faulty brain, so I wait. I wait for the twiggy to go away. I wait to return to my senses, which so far, I always have. I forgive my brain for fucking up again and I try to talk sense to it.

I really hope there never comes a time when twiggy is my entire reality. I’m terrified that, one day, I’ll get twiggy and just never be anything else ever again. But, since my brain is ultimately responsible for both that thought and for twiggy, perhaps I need a tinfoil hat to protect my brain from my brain.

41 thoughts on “Twiggy

          1. I wish I had something reassuring to say, but I don’t. So I’ll just give you hugs ((hugs)) and tell you again that my ear is always available to you.


  1. That’s actually exactly how I’d describe a bipolar mixed episode – being both manic and depressed at the very same time. And it’s the single most dangerous state for us. We’re depressed enough to want to kill ourselves and we have the energy to actually try it. I’m really glad Male was there and able to help you.


      1. Yes, you nailed it. You get all agitated, tons of energy but you can’t put it to use, would rather hide under the covers but can’t, brain just feels totally busted. Every single suicide attempt I’ve had has been during a mixed episode. They are scary as fuck.


              1. Mania is usually the energy, inability to concentrate, no need for sleep (perceived anyway), irritability, and lack of “filter” (feeling like you can do/say any damn thing you want in any situation). The suck part is that the more manic you get, the further you’ll fall into depression when it’s over.


                  1. There are those who have a solid Dx of bipolar and will purposely go off their meds just to get manic even though they know damn good and well what the other end looks like. And these are folks who have easy access to good medical care and can get their meds reliably. It baffles the mind.


                    1. Well, sitting down here in the dumps with unipolar, sometimes mania doesn’t seem like all that bad of a thing. But if it’s anything like twiggy, it’s absolutely crazy that anyone would choose that, especially with the consequences.


                    2. If it was all “rainbows and roses” being manic, yes, I could see the desire for it. But it’s more like “dirty outhouses and pervy leprechauns.”


  2. i’m with Mama…that is what a mixed episode feels like…down to a “T.” I’ve had a couple of cycles of mixed in the last month and the only thing that works is jacking up the olanzapine to annoying levels and adding an extra sleeping pill. When I’m in my “crisis” medication regime, I can function, somewhat, but the reality still sleeps through. I’m glad Male was there to help you along. I am liking being single, but it is so much easier to have someone on hand to love you and take care of you no matter what. ((hugs)) to you, Fishie!


    1. I’m sorry you know how it feels. It’s making me wonder if my Dx has changed since I haven’t really felt twiggy until the last few years. Perhaps I should get new meds.


      1. Could be. If you have a psychiatrist you follow up with regularly (or a GP or ARNP, whichever), maybe describe these spells you are having. The right diagnosis can often get you on just the right meds. I wish you luck with that!


        1. I have neither and no health insurance. I used to get medication from the State of California, but I’ve been kicked off the dole of crazy people. They think I make too much money, but in reality, I don’t make enough to be able to afford it on my own.

          I have a small stockpile of pills they gave me, but when those are gone, I’m going to have to seek help elsewhere somehow.


  3. I have something like that, only I call mine a tweak. I hate when I feel tweaky and wired tired.
    I’m sorry you have to deal with Twiggy and I hope it goes the fuck away and leaves you alone.


        1. Me too. Although, the anxiety has come back some. Male left me some klonopin, so just knowing that I have something to take if it comes back makes me feel better.


  4. Your description is very vivid and I understand how that is. I have these kind of twiggies or tweaks, as Mer calls them. Happily they are less common for me these days. I’m sure sorry you have to deal with this. {Hugs}


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