Friday was my Grampa’s birthday. He would have been 93. 11 days later he passed away, and 3 days later he was buried on my Gramma’s birthday. She was 64. It’s been almost 18 years and it still feels like last week. July 31 is her birthday. She would have been 82. She passed about 18 days later and was buried the day before Monkey’s 3rd birthday. Almost 6 years. Ma passed away in July too. Almost 5 years.
I hate July. I hate July for all the birthdays it has taken away to celebrate with my loved ones and for all the death it’s left in its wake. Fuck you July. Just like April. Fuck you too, April.
I’m on my downward spiral. I’m trying REALLY fucking hard to NOT be depressed but FUCK..how can I not be?! July is when I really started to notice my cycles. I can’t wait for August because the black cloud of despair will move over for a while only to return again in November. 5 months. I get a 5 month reprieve from the depression.
Now…I don’t feel like I’ll ever get anything back after that fucking Latarda fuck up. I’m empty, alone, a constant void in my chest/soul. The vacuüm of a black hole always there, lurking, waiting and biding its time before it strikes and takes me under. And some days, I want it too. I want it to take me away from all of this NON feeling bullshit. I’m not on autopilot but I’m sure as hell not in the driver’s seat again. I feel like “Driving Miss Sassy”, with no Morgan Freeman to talk to. Just some automaton taking me to point B from point A and not asking how things are. What’s new? Since when does anyone here (not in BlogLand) give a flying fuck about how I DON’T feel anything?!
The kids and I went to the pool today and I played “punch ball” with NSLM and I had fun. But unfortunately that elated feeling was fleeting. I WANT MY FEELINGS BACK GOD DAMMIT! I look at my kids and I can KIND OF feel that motherly love, but it’s not like it was. That all-encompassing, protective tiger mom feeling. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but I can’t FEEL like I used to and it makes me so fucking ANGRY and ENRAGED and utterly useless. I fake it a lot. It’s easy to do, to pretend that you feel things, that you’re “ok” when you KNOW you aren’t. Because society demands that we be normal.
I’m fucking sick and fucking TIRED of what society says I should be. Another fucking label that I don’t fucking WANT! My label is Sass. I am a fucking person and treat me as such, not like gum on the bottom of your $1,000 Louboutins. *I’d LOVE to have a pair, but my kids need shoes more than my wants for a pair of heels I’ll never wear. That’s a fact.*
Cheesus why is it so fucking much to not be ignored when someone it hurting like this?! Cute Neighbor Guy asked why I don’t have any friends, and I said, “I got tired of reaching out when I needed help and getting nothing. But when someone else needs something I’m the first person they talk too. Tired of hypocrisy.” So I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. And if I’m damned, you better believe I’m gonna go down in a blaze of fucking glory the whole entire way and I’m not taking anyone’s shit any fucking more.
My shoulder kills me to the point it’s almost impossible to fall asleep. My Zoloft gives me fucked up dreams. I’m still not feeling anything very often, and the god damned depressive and oppressive black cloud is here for HOPEFULLY a few more weeks before it moves to the side and “patiently” waits to return around Thanksgiving. Fucking yay.
I’m so fucking tired of all this shit. I don’t want stable anymore. I just want my fucking baseline back so I can stay in between the lines. Take the top of the peaks and the bottom out of the valleys and I’ll be one happy fucking bitch. I see Dr K on Tuesday and I’m going to ask to come completely off of the Trileptal-once he decreased it exponentially my hair stopped falling out! WHAT?! Crazy, right?! And to increase the Klonopin. I’m finding that I am taking it three times a day instead of two-between 4-6 I grit my jaw so much I’m worried I’m gonna crack my fucking teeth. Another LOVELY LONG TERM SIDE EFFECT FROM THE LATARDA YOU ASSHOLE PHARMA KINGS! Cheesus.
I don’t want normal. Fuck THAT label. I don’t mind my Bipolar label-I always say I have a disability that does not require any work modifications-well, I DIDN’T before this shoulder shit. I don’t even mind my Postpartum Depression label-because I can fucking educate better with THAT one than I can with Bipolar. Fucking hive of bees in my head are driving me crazy…buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz. Can someone PLEASE come smoke them so I can just fucking THINK CLEARLY for a little while?!
I fucking HATE the month of July.