So my daughter, nine years old, wakes me up this morning as usual at 7:45. I moan and complain about it most mornings, but politely. This morning my temper was red-hot. I was NOT NICE. 

The word "bitch" could easily be applied to my attitude and behaviour towards my sweet little nine year old, and I don't generally act this way in the morning. The dog even curled himself around my head in an effort to appease me [he knows I love it] and I just felt cheated of head space. 

 When I finally dragged myself out of bed, bitching and moaning the whole way, I discovered that I hadn't taken my meds last night. I'm bipolar, [aka manic depressive], and need to take a complicated mixture of pills at bedtime each night to keep me sane. One night I missed and I turn into a tasmanian devil [was trying to say velociraptor but couldn't spell it]. 

Dear God, I hate being this dependant on pills to keep my mood out of the trash bin. Due to a lot of diligent work, I am taking a third of the meds that I was taking this time last year, but there is still obviously dependency, which will need to remain for the rest of my life.  I hate mental illness, especially my own. 

And most of all, I hate that I've upset my daughter. Apologies and extra-special love will be forthcoming.