Ugh. I’m too old for this mania shit. Fucking prednisone induced mania. Fucking slept like 3 hours all weekend. Sunday, I started the crash. I lolled around, kids were still with their dad. Took two naps, well, you can’t even call ’em “naps” more like zoned out. On top of the mania the prednisone gave me HELLACIOUS brain zaps. Like, seriously, WTF?! I would lay there, and my legs and body would start twitching and jumping and would wake me up when I WAS able to sleep. One time I woke up SCRATCHING my bed. Like I was scratching a kitteh. WTH! Ugh, it was HORRRRRRIBLLLLLLLE!
So I stopped the prednisone, and VOILA! No more mania, no more brain zaps. Now all I want to do is sleep. Recovery mode. Yesterday I took a couple naps. Today I took a nap. Sunday was loll around and nap day too-two naps that day as well. And not like cat naps, I’m talking 2-4 hour naps. I’m sure my poor brain has holes like Swiss Cheese from this latest mania bout. GREAT, JUST GREAT. I did buy some of my favorite dark chocolate-you know, the orgasmic, rolled on the legs of lesbians stuff. It’s like, the best stuff EVER. It helps.
I’m still cleaning alot-but that’s not a bad thing as May is shedding FURIOUSLY. When I gave her a bath I used different doggie shampoo, and it’s dried her skin out and she’s a TRUE German Shedder right now. Vacuuming every other day, sweeping every day. But, I love my doggie. She’s Mama’s Baby!
I’m making a box to send to BBF of my Florida stuff. I deleted pictures and videos from my desktop. I’m sending her a flash drive with everything I had on it. I’m sending her everything. Because the one day we talked I told her I was FINALLY mad. Not mad, I was-AM-ANGRY. I’m sad angry, frustrated angry, infuriated angry, not yet a raging inferno, but I’m fucking ANGRY. I didn’t blame him before, but now? Now I DO blame him. I blame him for igniting a burning passion in me and bailing-yet again. I blame him for giving him all of that time only to be discarded like fucking trash. I blame him for making it out to be my fault he left. Fuck that. He made his choices, he made his decisions. Yes, I GET he’s fucking young, but that isn’t any fucking excuse to treat me like I’m less than worthy. GOD DAMMIT I”M FUCKING PISSED ATM! ARGH! I spent a fucking GRAND to go see him and what did I get?! Heartbreak and heartache. You know what? Fuck him. I don’t need to hold on to this shit any fucking more. You’re blocked and deleted and practically erased from my life now. So fuck you.
Ugh…the Fallout from all this shit. The med situation and the numbness and emptiness and void, the blackout sleeps, the med reactions and the 15 days in partial. Fuck fuck FUCK.
It’s just one colossal fuck fest over here is Sasstopia. And I’m trying to get my shit straightened out so that I can get up and going, move on and take care of my kids. And I know that I gotta let go of ALOT of shit, and I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got-which ain’t a lot some days, TBH. But I’m fucking trying and I’m fucking fighting the best way I know how-to use the anger as my fuel to get shit done.
You know, people always want to see the happy shiny side of mental illness. Well you know what? Fuck that and fuck you. There’s NO shiny happy side of mental illness. It’s a fucking fight every god damn day for a lot of us. For those of you that are happy and shiny-kudos and good for you. Some of us, we are just burning balls of fury about a lot of this that’s out of our control. And right now, I’m going supernova from my anger. It’s not a BAD thing, it’s a REAL thing. I’m trying to fucking HEAL from the shit in my past. But people want to keep score of shit I did when I wasn’t stable and that’s not fucking fair or cool. My past is a part of me, but it doesn’t fucking DEFINE me. I’m a different person than I was. I’ve learned lessons and I’ve loved and lost and I’ve been down the rabbit hole and been shot into space. The things I’ve done, they’re actions to reactions and some shit was out of my control-like my chemically fucked up brain. But I don’t let it keep me boxed in and not live and be afraid. I refuse to be a sheeple-thanks Morgue for that one-and I refuse to bend and bow down to what society thinks I “should” be. I am me. I am Sass. I am a mother, daughter, sister, niece, aunt and friend. They are pieces to my puzzle-the edges. Those define me. I have Bipolar Disorder 1, but that’s just a little piece of my Sass puzzle. It’s like a corner piece. Brings two side together.
Yes, I KNOW I’ve gone on a tangent spree, but this is me. I am chaos wrapped with red hair, blue eyes, Cherokee and English, a LOUD and infectious laugh, and a loud mouth too 😉 I tell it like it is-honesty is the best policy and if you don’t like it, there’s the fucking door. Don’t let it hit ya on the way out. Ain’t got time for that shit. Life is too fucking short to people please and sheeple it. I want to fucking LIVE.
And to live, I gotta burn some shit-papers, pictures, bridges and/or cars. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take care of some business, Fallout Style.