Cycles,cycles, everywhere

In light of my mother telling me to get out last night and me lacking the balls to open myself up to another verbal assault by calling to talk to her, I acted on the assumption she was still pissed off so I did not go to the shop today.

Towards lunch, she called to ask why I didn’t bring Spook by, like nothing was wrong. She told me to get out of her house, for fuck’s sake, and no apology, like it never happened. And I just said I figured she could use a break from my kid (I was in heavy traffic when she called so it was all a little too much for my brain to be coherent and remember last time I said that, she went off of me and told me she didn’t need a break from my kid because she gets along with Spook and I don’t.) A millisecond after I said it, I waited for her to blow up. But she didn’t, she just took her snotty little tone with me and said “Okay, bye.”


This of course all happened in the middle of heavy traffic (panic attack in progress) and at the same time as an abrupt shift in mood to dark “fuck you, i want to die” territory.

And all I could think was, FUCK, I am rapid cycling again.

Then I realized I’m pre-pms-ing, so that cycle’s firing up again too. (I’ll run you over with my menstrual cycle!)

I hate fucking cycles.

Once we were in for the day, things got better. I did some housework, even finally folded some laundry. Not all, but some. I played with the kittens. Put up curtains in Spook’s room. (Is it just me who finds Dora utterly creepy????) Watched more episodes of the UK  version of Being Human.

Got my kid to bed. Was going to relax then R called going on about the busy day he had, almost as if to guilt me for not being there. Talking about how the place falls apart without me to keep him focused, blah blah blah. Translation: he had to answer his own damn phone and deal with his own damn customers and he hates pretty much all of them therefore my presence is needed so he lavishes praise upon me to appeal to my vanity and desire to not flake out again.

But, hey, like I have anything better to do. I’m gonna need new brake pads soon, so when the time comes, he will be in my debt, and I will get a car repair. I have to think like that to keep myself going.

Which was another thing that happened t0day, amidst the petri dish chaos and my mood dip and I just had this sudden thought: why am I doing any of this? It’s all so pointless, there is never enough money, I never do anything right or well enough, my kid prefers my mom to me, and I am mad as a fucking hatter, so why can’t I just die already?

Two hours later the mood shifted and I wasn’t up or down, but I felt totally different.

This cyclothymia.

The bastard love child of bipolar one and bipolar two.

“Less severe”, they call it.

Fuck them.

Now the clock is ticking until I have to slap on the happy face and pretend to give a fuck about  busted electronics. (Unless they’re mine, I don’t care, and I know I am a bad person, I just don’t care.)

Ya know, I have pretty much quit drinking, because the doctor said it was bad and would agitate the mood swings, yada yada.

Yet nothing is really changing, it’s still varying cycles of rapid changing moods in spite of all the meds and me not drinking.




3 Responses to “Cycles,cycles, everywhere”

  1. I can soooooooooo relate to both the cycling and the trying not to drink. I am gulping down tea right now, trying to warm my cold core. Look there’s no way your daughter prefers anyone to you. But you know that don’t you.

    • What I know and what my scumbag brain tells me are often very different things. In my gut, I know my kid loves me, but realistically, what kid isn’t going to favor going to a place where the TV is the babysitter, sweets are doled out without end, and any toy no matter how inappropriate is handed to her? Fortunately, I am lucid enough to remember my job is to be her mom, not her friend. My mom was always my friend and not my parent, so I’ve broken one cycle and that feels good.
      Just…gah, I hate the scumbag brain, ya know? 😉

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