Drained brain

Another week survived. I had three days of high functioning, at least. After last night’s crash, I pepped back up today. Now I am circling the mood drain again. No sooner than I started looking forward to being done and coming home today, R had one more errand for me, then Nancy started calling again, and I just let that one go to voice mail. I spent two days working on both of her computers and she is still on about some Facebook glitch that is their fault and for some reason, I can’t get it through her damn skull that there’s nothing outside a Facebook tech fixing it that can be done.

I am drained.

My brain is toast.

I want to go to bed. Actually, my gut instinct is telling me to go to bed. My tired brain is telling me to go to bed. Mostly, the neurosis that has had me in its clutches for over a year, dictating that I MUST be in my bedroom by 8:30 pm at the latest because that is the comfort zone, that is where I escape the day’s tortures…is telling me to get thee to bed. But do I want to go to bed or do I feel compelled to go to bed because it’s the safe place?

Like last night, I felt compelled to be in bed, yet I went to bed and my brain was going a hundred miles an hour, rife with all these creative ideas and urges to DO SOMETHING. But I was cold and I just couldn’t make myself get up. You get that way after being ravaged by anxiety and mood swings and not having gotten more than four consecutive hours of sleep in over a year due to a child who doesn’t sleep through the night. You just get to the point where in order to survive 11,12 hours of rushing about and being pulled in ten different directions by everything including your own mind, that you want to crawl into a h0le and recharge.

By the time I recharge, though, it’s time to do it all over again and all the things I want to do just get lost in the chaos that is life in the petri dish.

I keep telling myself to push myself harder, don’t give in, fight the neurotic brain.

I keep failing 99% of the time. Which gives me one more thing to beat myself up for, which saps even more energy. Rinse, lather, repeat.

I had a brief period earlier today where I was hypo manic and feeling the urge to say and do inappropriate things. I fought it in spite of just wanting to go with it. I know the consequences of allowing myself to be too happy. It’s called a manic state. I’m afraid maybe I’ve gotten manic and happy so confused, I can’t tell the difference, though. Was I really hypo manic and being inappropriate or was I just feeling good and wanting to banter and be a goofball? And who dictates what is appropriate anyway?

I want to fight the urge to crawl into bed.

I don’t think I am going to succeed, though.

Deep thoughts are setting in, and with the mood crash, that’s not going to get me into any frame of mind to create anything. I am so sick of being told to fight it, to buck up, to put on the big girl panties and deal with it.

18 months ago, my husband walked out on me, leaving me with a partial income and a child to raise alone, contributing absolutely nothing.

I have managed to stay afloat, care for my child, and make every effort to get on my feet mentally. A lot of women would have crumbled instead of being able to rise to the challenge.

So why the hell can’t I cut myself some fucking slack and tell the people pushing me even harder to go to hell?

One of life’s great mysteries. That and how Justin Bieber managed to become famous.




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