This is not a feeling I can allow myself to forget.
Tuesday, Dec 6th, was Pitch Day at StartUp FIU. In the confusion and hustle and bustle, I had forgotten something.
Wednesday, I was carefree; Relieved that the build up to pitching was over, eager to get back to regular work. I was not suspicious of my own schedule, I just sort of let things happen.
By Thursday I was suspicious something might be wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I convinced myself I worry too much and needed to relax. Whatever it was I had forgotten couldn't be that important.
On Friday I recorded this:
I felt great, and wanted to tell the world.
But by Saturday I figured out that something was seriously wrong.
I had missed my meds. By ONE. DAY. I missed a single dose.
Only a few hundred grams of white chalk lay between functioning human being and suicidal lump of flesh.
I have no records or recollection of that week. Just a gap of no billable hours, no meaningful interactions, no smiles whatsoever. As far as I can tell, I did not leave the house. I am confident that if I could have found the motivation to do anything difficult at all, I'd have killed myself. I have a very strict "Only cowards shoot themselves" policy, but no such qualms about walking into traffic, jumping off a parking garage, wiring myself into mains power, or fashioning a noose.
I finally get kicked back into gear on the 13th, only because I have to drive Claudia to the airport.
I must not allow myself to forget how quickly this happens. I must not allow myself to forget how good it feels to fall off track. I must not forget to be vigilant around, and even suspicious of, my own happiness.
As nice as it would be to trust myself without these drugs, I can not afford the luxury.