I’ve been continuously interacting with people on a day-to-day basis for these last 20 days. What that means is that I’ve had little to no ‘alone time’ to recharge my social energy batteries.

On top of that, I’m not even going to lie, I haven’t been very good about my meds. Whenever something interrupts my daily routine, my meds are one of the first things to go overlooked.

I’m good, I mean, there haven’t been any relapses, but I began to notice the mild shift in my tolerance to the ‘little things’ a couple days ago.

My patience runs very thin, I lash out with a lot more ease, despite how polite I want to be about something, especially when people continue to do that thing that’s bothering me again and again.

It’s not their fault, really. They shouldn’t have to tip-toe around my triggers, silly and relatively insignificant though they are. But it’s hard to be polite when it’s the third time I’m telling someone to lower their tone of voice, or to just let me sleep.

This is why when people say ‘Oh lol, you don’t need meds, you can control it on your own.’ I smack them in the head.

I was reminded of a lot of my triggers those last days at K’s

-Children

- Noise

-Chaos

- Too many people around

- Not having my ‘alone time’ (this one was back at home)

-Closed spaces

-Invasion of my privacy (back at home as well)

- Interrupting my sleeping schedule

I didn’t mind being in those circumstances, I was running on enough lithium to handle it fine, but they are triggers, and something I have to keep in mind.

Being back home has also made me realize another thing. I like having my space and I don’t like sharing it. I like open spaces, and knowing I’m alone. If all of a sudden, people (in this case, the cleaning lady) start to barge into my room and start touching my things (even though it’s her job), I start having a panic attack.

Same with unexpected visitors (obvious low-maintenance exceptions aside)

Invasion of my privacy will make me lash the fuck out, as my mother had to deal with last night while going through my purse. It’s not like I have anything to hide— I just don’t take well to it.

And so it’s made me consider my living situation in the future.

Living in with my sister will be the ultimate test as to whether I can handle a roommate or not.

I did actually take after my mother’s control-freak tendencies, though only mildly to her neat-freak streak.

Kind of troubling.