Listening to Linkin Park before bed may not have been the smartest thing to do. Fuck. White Noise App with Crashing Beach Waves I am at your command tonight. Calgon couldn’t take me away tonight.
I didn’t dream. I blacked out-again. I woke up to him with me, holding me, comforting me, protecting me, shielding me. From what, I wish I knew. His presence with me does not fade, it only grows with each rising morning and passing night.
I ate breakfast today…it wants to revolt. I just took my medicines-600 mgs of Trileptal, 300 mgs of Zantac and my multi vitamin. I am going to take a walk in a little bit. I need to clear my head and mind and heart. I might stop over by the common area and do a video diary…I haven’t decided yet. I do them when the mood strikes. I’ll probably go out to Gramma and Grampa’s. It always seems to help.
I feel like my skin is electrified today. I feel a live current flowing under the surface and if anyone gets too close…ZAP! It won’t be intentional, it just happens. The joys of BP and MI. Throw in the anxiety and PTSD, add a dash of panic and VIOLA! (or is it voilà??) Instant fuckall. My brain is functioning at MAYBE 25%. The rest? 50% auto pilot and 25% emotional override. It never ends. Never. At least the ferris wheel has slowed down-instead of full throttle and then some, it’s now at the LEISURELY pace of 75% speed. Better than the g-force pushing me down into the seat and peeling the skin back from my face.
The void is back. The voice is quiet-well, quietER. I can still hear it chuckle every now and then from amusement at watching me suffer and try to hold myself together. At least it stopped devolving into a black hole. It did suck the warmth out of me down to my marrow. Even though it’s already in the 70’s, I feel like it’s 20 degrees cooler. JUST what I needed, MORE cold. Clown shoes.
I could really use the isporkacorn here, Morgue. At least with mine I can customize him into a raging running wild beast-spork that will defend me from all the shit that keeps oppressing me, trying to smother me. I think I want mine to have a tail, too, kind of like Storm fly on How To Train Your Dragon. He’s got that awesome spike throwing tail. I don’t need mine to breathe/spit fire, just the spike-wielding tail, a beautifully stabby horn-made of Rose Gold-black with pink glitter wings, and hooves that can cut a man’s head off with one little stamp. Oh, I’m so not in a good place.
I need to take my walk…”clear” my head. Possibly cry. The options are limited and endless at the same time.
I woke up with 12 sporks. No, 11. Dammit. Already down 1. I lost one from the anxiety of having May in the car and her incessant whining because I wouldn’t put the back windows down for her pseudo head stick out. It was cold-45 degrees of cold. I love my dog, I REALLY do, but I can not handle the whining when she doesn’t get her way. It’s like another kid around here. ARGH. I was going to say I lost another from the anxiety that started to wrap me in it’s too-close vicinity, but we’ll just say that I lost one to anxiety in general. It’s 9 am. I was sitting at the light to come home and I started to think…
It leads to wondering and wandering thoughts…that lead to intrusion and the What Ifs….dammit, here comes the PTSD. It’s not full force. It’s not in full combat gear ready to defend itself against my strength. Nope, it’s just a couple of mall security types that make you know their presence is there to “keep the peace”. Pfffffbt. Assholes and liars. I started to rock. I had to move my seat belt from around my neck. It felt like one of THe Kraken’s tentacles trying to choke me and pull me under the water. Get a grip, Sass. You’re almost home. Fuck.
Panic, anxiety, PTSD ALL before 9 a fucking m. (Panic from the anxiety, anxiety from the PTSD, PTSD from the thinking…fucking vicious cycle and NO amount of self talk could stop it)
I need to split up my morning dose of my mood stabilizer. No, I don’t need the rapid cycling, this is true. BUT, I can’t keep
dealing having the anxiety creep up from the depths-or the top-to try and drag me to hell first thing EVERY MORNING.
Splitting Trileptal (Oxcarbazepine) into THREE doses instead of two. 1 300mg before I leave to take the kids to school. 1 300mg around 10-11 am. The other 600mgs at bedtime. Biggest side effect from it-feeling drunk dizzy. If it keeps me from being all over the map, so be it. Just a shame I couldn’t be ingesting the fine scotch I have now become accustomed too. Damn my palette for its need for expensive stuff that makes me happy(ish/er). It’s either this, or I have to call Kathy and get a prescription for Xanax…may do that anyway just as a rescue/backup.
Med ingested, but the anxiety it bad enough I tried to throw my pill away and eat a chip off the floor. Fuck all. Great. Now it feels like my pill is stuck in my throat, and now I feel like I’m really choking and I can’t do the self Heimlich maneuver…FUCK ALL. This day is shot.
I don’t even know how many sporks I have. They’re scattered at my feet and I can’t concentrate enough to count. Everything keeps coming in and out of focus like a REALLY bad B movie. I just want some bacon and eggs…I don’t know if I have the attention span to focus long enough for the bacon, but maybe the eggs…damn.
I just want someone to hold me. They don’t have to say anything or tell me it’ll be alright or get better. Just hold me, make me feel safe from my own brain.
I think I’ll take a shower.
I started off with 12.
I had 8-not bad for someone who pretty much splatted last night and actually woke up feeling good.
After bulinner, I came back here and spent some time mindlessly and aimlessly wondering about the inter and outer-webs. I then went to get NSLM and I slowly felt a spoon being ever-so-slightly tugged out of my grasp. I lost said spork as I sat in the parking lot at school when NSLM asks “Can I walk to the library?” “NO! You could have called me before I drove out here to get you, so I’m taking you home.” Agitation-o-meter flares up to level 5.
7, 7 Sporks, AH AH AH
I go to get Monkey and wait at her school. Sporks are being held tightly, but no death grip is used. NSLM asks if I can get him a pop via text and I said I will. I grab him and Monkey both a drink and make it back to the house, whereupon I text Cute Neighbor Guy to let him know I’m coming to get labels for garage sale items. We talk for an hour and end up playing hop scotch with the girls. His little girl gets her feelings hurt because she doesn’t know how to play hopscotch. He then proceeds to make new rules up for the “game”. I told him I don’t want to play any games with him unless I’m on his team. And even then I’m sure he’ll be shady and change the rules as he goes. (I think I’m getting kinda good at this flirting thing. I haven’t done this like…ever?) He laughed at me and gave this “Well….” kinda look and shrug. I’m holding on to spork #7 because I can’t really DO whiny kids that don’t get their way or their feelings hurt…the agitation is flaring up…I’m on a 5 on the meter already.
We come back to the house, and then the “I want something to eat, but my dad’s making dinner but I can’t wait until then” schpeel starts….fuck, sporks #7 and #6 just flew out of my grasp. Clown shoes. Agitation is now level 7. WARNING! WARNING! DANGER DANGER DANGER! Red blinky lights, air raid sirens, yellow whirling caution lights are ALL going off like mad. BREATHE SASS…BREATHE. NSLM has my phone-no biggie. Then the “friend that’s a girl” keeps texting and calling so I acquiesce my phone to him. It’s not like anyone is texting ME. I’m not letting THIS spoon go that easily!
The girls-and by girls I mean Cute Neighbor Guy’s daughter-hears a siren then freaks out that her dad is injured or dying. Pfffffbt. Agitation is still at 7. They run off and it’s FINALLY calmer in here.
Agitation levels are receding to a somewhat “Normal” state. We will see how long this lasts.
The Units will be back later tonight. I just hope they don’t interrupt my The Following time. This will be the FIRST EPISODE I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO WATCH WHILE IT AIRS AND BY GOD I’LL WATCH IT!
Holding on to these clown shoe sporks makes me hungry. REALLY hungry. Not Hangry, thank goodness, but like, damn I could really eat something kinda hungry. I’ll go heat up some chicken and noodles. I got a whole bunch left from last night. Waste not, want not. Damn…I need to do dishes…clown shoes.
Here, just take those sporks.
It’s only 6 pm here.
No shower tonight, cuz I’m watching TV-there’s a spork. 2 left. One for each hand. Maybe I’ll use them like knives and cut people’s throats, or hide them up my sleeves to poke unsuspecting men that get too fresh with me.
Eh. I’ll let you know later.
*All “spoons” were changed to “sporks” when I needed a spoon picture then changed my mind. I found WAY better images, anyway.
The more my mood swings, the more I’m convinced it’s rapid cycling. After yesterday, today I woke in “better spirits”, whateverthefuckthatmeans. I didn’t feel as worthless as I did at my worst, but I sure as hell wasn’t “Happy Happy Happy”. I was mostly numb, which is WAAAAYYY better than empty. So I’ve spent a majority of the day cleaning-and by majority I mean all damn day. What usually takes me a few hours has taken all day because of my fucked up shoulder. That sucks.
I talked to my good friend that moved to Lincoln almost all day today. She’s BP and probably BPD as well. She also has anxiety and PTSD and probably panxiety, too. And I miss her lots and tons. It was great to talk to her. We are in the “tired of hurting and wanna stop the pain” boat…I just hope the boat is big enough to hold us and our myriad of emotional bullshit.
I’ve listened to THREE different playlists today. That’s about 8 hours of music. And I’m now listening to Three Days Grace that I found through the DISCOVER button on Spotify. I have awesome recommendations that comes from all the music I listen too. I mean, I like Eric Clapton, BB King, Crywolf, Colbie Caillat, 3 Doors Down, Theory Of A Deadman, Sara Bareilles and Eminem. You get the picture. It’s eclectic and random, really.
I’ve been all over the place today-but I haven’t cried, so that’s always a plus. I was “nice” to DB when he dropped the kids off-even though I secretly performed voodoo on him. I channeled my inner Zen for peace, but what I got was numb. Better than the empty feeling I’ve been having. But I’ve noticed when I’m busy I’m numb, and when I’m not, I think. And when I think, I feel empty. Vicious cycle. I’m up and down and up and down. I’m irritated by stupid things-but they are HUGE things right now. I’m forcing myself to eat, even though I wanna varmit anytime I do. I had a bacon and egg sammy this morning and I couldn’t finish it, so May had it-sans bread. I had a handful of Pizzeria Pretzel Combos, the last 6 squares of my dark chocolate bar from yesterday, and 2 containers of yogurt. That’s it. That is usually breakfast-minus the dark chocolate. That’s how I know I’m not in a good place.
I used to be an emotional eater. Happy-eat. Sad-eat. Depressed-shoved food down my throat to stifle the pain. Manic-eat until I explode because I won’t gain a pound. Now? The THOUGHT of eating no matter what my emotional state makes me wanna hurl. I don’t know what made the switch flip…maybe it was the horrid mixed state I was in 3 years ago. Maybe it was all the shit I went through with DB.. I don’t fucking know, and frankly some days I don’t fucking care.
I just heard a song that made me stop what I was doing, restart it twice and read the lyrics as it played. I wasn’t filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread or loss. It was a feeling…damn I gotta google it..hang on.
Ok I’ve found two emotions so far after hearing this song: Relief and comfort. Yeah THOSE aren’t random aren’t they? There’s also encouraged, reassured-and here’s a really random synonym-put one’s mind at rest. And oddly, they all really do.
And after hearing this song…I feel oddly calm and reassured and encouraged and reassured. It will all work out the way it’s supposed too, the way it’s going to. “Ask the universe and it will deliver, but you must have faith.” Thanks, Jim.
I’ll keep asking the universe for that one thing-and maybe the rapid cycling will stop. Maybe.
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I’ve come to the conclusion I’m rapid cycling. After my depressive boohoo post, I’m hypomanic. I want to clean and clean and clean. I forced myself to eat my mini taquitos and I wanted to varmit* the entire time. I took my meds-including my “after dinner mint” because my arm and shoulder just plain hurt like a mother fucker. It’s been over an hour and I’m no where NEAR sleepy or tired. I feel like my skin is crawling. I’m listening to music and it’s not fast enough. Now it’s too fast and too loud. I want to shower. No I don’t I just wanna MOVE!
I can’t stand this shit. I can’t relax. At. All. I want to email people and talk to people. I want to do more video diaries. No I want to write. I can’t concentrate to do any of it. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Would you believe I turned my phone on and there wasn’t any message from my sister? Big shock, right? Now I wanna cuss and spit venom at her.
I’m just so god damn SICK of all of this shit. There’s no happy fucking medium. Phone is back off. No checking in from BBF. Big shock there, too. None of my “friends” send a “Hi”. I’m just ready to grab my kids, fill up my tank and drive the fuck away. I don’t give a shit about anything or any body when I’m like this. You treat me like shit, I’ll throw it right back at you mother fuckers.
This is another shitty part of Bipolar-of my Bipolar. It’s the fucking rage that always sit under the surface. It’s not something that I’ve always had-at least not THIS intense. I can remember being this mad only a handful of times before my diagnosis. The first time I was so fucking mad I beat the fuck out of my steering wheel of my car. I beat it so badly that when I turned right my horn would honk. The rage-fit was justified though. Even my friends said what happened was way beyond uncool. The anger and rage rolls under the surface that is always waiting to take over in waves…and I can’t seem to control it. I just ride the waves. That’s all I EVER do anymore is just ride the waves of my life. I don’t look too far in the future anymore. The thought of “long-term goals” makes me cringe, and depresses me. The longest term goal I have MIGHT be about 2 weeks out-whenever my next therapy session is.
The anxiety ebbs and flows, but has been MUCH better now that Dad let May stay. I joked with Mom that I was going to change her name from May to Shadow-she follows me everywhere. She’s never more than 5 feet away from me. And I’m perfectly ok with that. She has made a tremendous difference in my attitude and my parents can see that. I’m not as high-strung and stressed out. I’m not yelling, and you can SEE how relaxed I am. She’s my Xanax. I want to get her certified as a therapy dog. She goes with me EVERYWHERE. I have to listen to music when I’m in a store because when she’s not with me I start to freak out-even if I just run in for a pop at the gas station. She keeps me calm-keeps the anxiety at bay.
I’m starting to get scared when I’m out-and there’s no particular reason for it. No trigger. I just am. I see Jane Monday-but that feels like weeks away today. I don’t see Kathy until June-and that feels like years away. She’s gotten so may patients now, but she’s a great psych nurse. It’s just frustrating. The same with Jane. I NEED to talk to her, even if I’m beating a dead horse, because I can’t seem to get off the round-about of anything and everything and nothing. And that scares me, too. Why am I so obsessed about this?! Maybe it’s time to write and burn..I wish I could record and burn because my pen would NOT be able to keep up with my thoughts.
I know I’m not in a good place because I want to shop, and I want to spend money on myself. I splurged on the watch I bought. I thought it was $20, and I got it for $5. A steal, I know. Now I’m looking for a pair of nude ballet flats along with a pair of nude peep-toe pumps, but I don’t want those damn platform heels. My fucking bad ankle can’t take that shit. I want more makeup that I won’t wear. I HAVE to buy Rolling Stone tickets because it’s the fucking ROLLING STONES. AND THEY’RE GONNA BE AT THE FUCKING TRACK! I wanna take my NSLM to see Shinedown in August. I wanna plan M’s** birthday party-and her birthday is in August. I wanna plan our trip to Florida and fly and get a car and WTF BRAIN?!
I’m in a REALLY BAD WAY. I’m alone tonight. I wanna text Cute Neighbor Guy, or October, or God Forbid Florida. I need some fucking support right now. I need a fucking filter-I need someone to be my brakes and stop me from fucking up bad tonight…..
My phone is turned back off. I’m thinking of locking it in my glove-box of my car that’s in the garage and locking the god damned door…yeah, it’s REALLY BAD tonight.
Rapid cycling/mixed episodes ain’t no joke.
I want off the fucking crazy train.
*My cousin’s version of vomit after a night of drinking..I’ve used it for years.
(Sorry for typos and grammar mess-ups…my meds kicked in and I’m loopy as hell)
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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…
My dear friend Zoe at Volatile Stability nominated me for an award, and I want to respond and thank her for it…but there’s still just the emptiness. I can’t even be a little kinda sad that I don’t want to attempt it. Fucking sucks. I can’t even think properly to link her blog here. *Void takes the anger*
I’ve got squat today. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. You get the picture.
The thing is…I still WANT the motivation. I have tried ALL DAMN DAY to will my motivation into action, into being. My will is empty too. It’s all fucking empty. Because of Saturday. And missing Florida. And being overwhelmed by the emotions that rode over me in waves. Crushing, smothering, soul sucking, breath-taking waves. And they are still lapping at my feet. The water I see is clear, and it’s warm on my feet-crazy. I’d thought the water would be cold and muddy, murky. It’s not. It’s the gulf water I feel and see. And I’m taken back to the weekend in January….
God why can’t I be left alone?! It’s ALWAYS creeping back in. The overwhelming happiness and all that accompanied the weekend…oh god will I feel anything NOW?!
Nope. Still a void…emptiness…it’s like the vacuüm of space. Just floating around, out of control, where ever it sends me. No predestined place. Just there.
I have these two fortune cookie “fortunes” on my screen “Your present plans are going to succeed” and “A shooting star will bring you good luck tomorrow.” I’ve had these here for months…and I think they are lies. DAMN LIES! Right now I even doubt Jim Carrey’s “Ask the universe and you will receive” speech. I’ve asked and asked and fucking ASKED…and I haven’t gotten shit. I’m quite a bit pessimistic right now. Negative Nellie, right here! Not even Fanny May Mint Meltaway ice cream has lifted my shitty emptiness. I know that even if I go to bed, I’ll just lie there, looking at the ceiling, waiting for SOMETHING to run through my mind, some emotion to take control of my body. I hate this “feeling.” I don’t even wanna listen to music. I don’t wanna anything.
I feel like a fucking black hole has formed in the center of my chest, sucking all the light and happy away…it’s a fucking Dementor. I can’t even cast my Patronus. There’s no happy memories right now to conjure. Just emptiness and the void.
I want something other than this…
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I don’t feel anything, really, today. I’m not numb-at least that’s a feeling. I don’t feel nothing-that’s a feeling of something. I’m empty. There’s nothing in me today. I feel like an old Folgers coffee can-the metal kind that when you bang the bottom is gives you a twangy kind of pong sound back to you. There’s just…space. For once.
My hamster isn’t running fruitlessly in her wheel trying to keep up with the rapid fire thoughts of my ADHD daily routine. There’s no fluff getting stuck in her expensive wheel jamming thoughts like logs at a dam. It’s just empty space. There’s nothing to think about or ponder or be happy or sad or even ANGRY at or over. At least with nothing I can usually follow the carrot back to a reason for the nothing.
I woke up like this today. I dreamt of my Gramma. She was driving a Buick the same color as her beautiful grey hair. It’s so odd because my Gramma hadn’t driven in YEARS! I just remember seeing her driving by on the road and I was like “Oh look. There goes Gramma.” No “Wonder where she’s going?” or “Wait for me Gramma!” as I run after her. Just a Gramma drive-by.
I can’t decide if I like the empty space today. Today is a day I wanted to make a video for Florida then put it on a flash-drive, then send the envelope in a box of goodies for BBF. But I can’t. Because there’s emptiness inside today. No emotions. No thinking or planning. Just being. Sometimes it happens after a crash, the emptiness. Most times I appreciate it, relish it, thank it. Some times I hate it. Today-not a thing. I can’t hate or appreciate it. I can’t anything today. I can’t even be kinda happy or kinda sad. I just….
And it’s kinda fucking frustrating. I need to take care of shit. I need to do the dishes and vacuum-with my good arm, anyway. I did manage to fold the laundry I did last week. It’s still not put away, but folded at least. That took more mental energy than physical energy. I hate days like these when the thinking burns more calories than doing the actual work. I’m sitting in my car yawning from the taxing mental work it’s taking on my brain to do this post, not from the physical peckitty-peckitty across the screen. I can’t even bring myself to change the radio station because the thought of making myself listen to the words makes me exhausted.
Being so damn emotional fucking sucks big bull balls. Not because of how I feel DURING the chaos, but how my fucking body feels AFTERWARDS. Like I’ve worked 2 weeks straight with no time off. I need a vacation from my plummet…ok I just had a TWINGE of sadness for not being able to go to Florida, but it’s ok. It’s gone now. Whew! That had me worried. Aawwww! My little man fell asleep while we wait on his sister. That’s enough of the sweetness. I guess emotions are making me even more sarcastic today-if that’s even possible. Well, at least I’m starting to bounce around different subjects.
But I’m still empty like that metal Folgers can.
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It’s a beautiful day here today and I can’t fucking enjoy it. Im wallowing in such a deep pit of worthlessness that I don’t want to do anything other than curl up under the blanket and shut out the world.
I had a run in with DB. He always makes me feel like shit when we “talk”. It’s always about what I didn’t do and how I took away his daughter’s first everything because I made him work. How I forced him to work to “provide for the family”, but he’s the first to admit he bought his PS2 and bikes because he worked hard and he deserved those. How I use my bipolar mental “illness” to not take care of what I needed too. That im being selfish for going to Florida and not paying my bills, that I have always been about me first and everyone and everything else. That I enjoy mooching off of everyone.
I hate it. I hate that I can’t stand on my own and take care of myself. I hate that my family enables me and when I really try to take control of my life, I’m beaten down and told I can’t do it. That I’m worthless and a failure and I’ll never amount to anything, that I’ll always depend on others to take care of me.
And right now, I feel it. I feel like a failure and worthless and that I’m less than nothing and I’ll never amount to anything other than another body taking up precious space and air for those people that do lead productive positive lives. I feel like utter and complete shit.
And DB is the fucking trigger to it. Because I let him get to me. Because I’m an emotional being and there’s not a rational neuron in my brain. I don’t think and process the way “normal people” do.
Maybe it’s time to be fed to the Sharks to see if I survive. I’m ok with that. Sometimes there doesn’t have to be a plan in order to survive. The glass doesn’t have to be half empty, and 2+2=4, but there are other ways to see it. The glass is half full-or there isn’t even a glass! 1+3=4, 4+0=4. There’s always another way to see things. I choose NOT to see life as half gone, I choose to see it as more to live. What the fuck is wrong with the way I choose to live to support my kids? I don’t have much of a choice for hours to work-I’ll take what I can get. I won’t get rid of my car just to turn around and get another piece of shit to dump more money into. I’ll fix Vivi-and im not asking anyone to pay for it. I WANT to do it on my own-im doing it on my own the best way I know how.
I’m so tired of people treating me like a child, then getting shitty when I don’t act like an adult. Such hypocracy. And they wonder why I want to wander off and take care of my kids without anyone around…