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The emptiness came back.  Well, it never really went away.  I’ve gotten REALLY good at ignoring it and PRETENDING it’s gone away with the Hypomania.  Let’s face it.  I’m in trouble.  Serious trouble.

And it all started with a bookcase.

The kids are gone with DB for the weekend.  My parents just left to go to a friend’s house for the night.  I’ve been doing laundry-because it’s cathartic for me, and it’s mundane.  I went to Gramma and Grampa’s grave-site.  And would you fucking believe the ONE PLACE that brings me peace and serenity I couldn’t get because some old asshole across the street mowed his front lawn THREE TIMES?!  I can only assume he was watching me to see if I was going to steal graveside decorations.  Pfffbt…what a dick.

The cemetery where my grandparents are buried is beautiful, peaceful, serene.  It’s on a side country road at the top of a hill.  It’s been there since the 1800’s.  The grave markers and headstones are all beautiful.  They tell stories of the people who sleep peacefully beneath them.  This isn’t one of those creepy and scary cemeteries.  I always feel calm and welcomed when I go.  I tried sitting on my grandparents headstone-it’s like a bench (it’s what Grampa wanted for when someone wants to visit).  But the fucker across the way was on his Cub Cadet riding lawnmower-going like 2 miles an hour-kept mowing his front lawn.  I couldn’t concentrate.  I did enjoy the organic chocolate bar I got at the store.  I had over half of it.  I set it on the headstone and the heat melted a little bit of the bottom, and the sunshine made the chocolate soft and pliable.  It reminded me of when I would get Hershey’s Special Dark bars across the train tracks and sit on the lawn furniture in the summer at Gramma and Grampa’s.  I watched May wander around and since asshole kept mowing we went for a walk around the cemetery.  We wandered through the headstones and I read a lot of the dates, and saw LOTS of veterans.  I saw kids too.  One was a guy DB went to college with.  I visit his grave-site too when I go.  I wonder if he hadn’t lost his life if they’d still be good friends, and it’s always the same conclusion: They’d be great friends.  May and I walked to the back of the cemetery where there are only a few headstones-one was very new.  This whole time I kept thinking “Will that fucker just QUIT MOWING?!  I need time and quiet to think and talk and just sort my thoughts and feelings.  Yes, the anxiety was up, and I’m so glad I had May with me.  I even picked up decorations that had fallen over and replaced them.  It’s the least I could have done for the families that visit.

So I gathered my unsettled self and stopped at BP for another pop.  I had Spotify playing and came “home”.  Mom rubbed down my sore arm and shoulder with Deep Blue-she is into the Essential Oils.  I personally don’t get it, but to each her own.  She helped me to the clothes off the line.  I gave myself a little fingernail paint job.  I had an Angry “Bird” Orchard.  I started more laundry and put the clean stuff away.  I wanted to move my bookcase in my bedroom.  It fell apart.

So did I.

Short of sitting in the floor and crying my heart out, I took the broken pieces out by the trashcan and I just cried.  Fuck I’m still crying.  Because instead of feeling upset about anything I feel empty.  After EVERYTHING I still feel fucking empty.  I feel black and cold and alone and utterly worthless.  Part of me just keeps repeating “Just take a couple pills and wash ’em down with Crown.  You might wake up tomorrow.  No one really gives a shit how you feel or what you’re going through.  Your ‘family’ is selfish and they’ll never understand your pain.”  Then I have a little tiny but fierce voice that keeps telling me, “Sass you need to fight.  You have to show them how strong you are.  YOU have to show them they need you more than you need them.”

But it’s so fucking HARD.  It’s so hard to keep fighting when you’re alone.  And I’m so tired of being alone around people.  I’m so fucking tired of feeling empty.  I’m so tired of fighting right now.  I just want to curl up into a ball and let the black hole suck me in and not let me escape.  Music isn’t helping.  Movies aren’t helping.  My coping mechanisms aren’t helping.  Even distractions aren’t fucking helping.  I keep telling people I need something…anything…I need help and no one is helping me here.  I keep getting brushed off.  I keeping yelling and jumping up and down, but I’m invisible.  I’m not important here unless I’m fucking manic or so depressed I can’t function.  And I’m doing everything I can, and I feel like it’s never going to be good enough.

I turned my phone off because I keep looking at it to see if anyone is even thinking about me.  They aren’t.  I even reached out to my sister and asked for sister time and I got brushed aside.  She told me the might be home around 4 after errands and a couple of birthday parties.  She can’t fucking talk to me but she can text our mom all day.  She’s apparently at The Fashion Mall at Keystone because one on the stores mom loves is going out of business.  Who gives a shit about Sass?  Not my fucking family, obviously.  They are apparently experts on my life, and know everything about what’s happened since January, and don’t have the fucking decency to talk to me about my life, but can fucking gossip between themselves.  It’s like I told DB last weekend: “You don’t get to be concerned about me.  10 fucking years and you chose not to educate yourself on MY mental illness.  You have no fucking idea because you’re ignorant.  Your choice.  Don’t start acting like you care now.  And if you were “THAT” concerned, you should have come to ME, not my fucking parents.  And BTW, I wasn’t manic or depressed though all of that.  I was fucking happy.”

I miss being happy-having THAT kind of happiness…

Don’t get me wrong I’m still happy-I have my kids and I love them and they make me happy in the way a parent loves and is proud and their heart if full of happiness..

But I miss the other kind of happiness.  I feel like I’ve lost it and I wont ever get it back…

It’s like a death.

And it all started to make sense because of a bookcase…

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