Archive for May, 2013

Manic scumbag brain

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on May 31, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s 2:23 a.m. I should be exhausted. I got four hours of sleep last night. Not gonna fare any better tonight. But the brain has gone hypomanic and it is racing and so many thoughts and ideas and coping mechanisms and…It’s just a flurry of brain activity right now, so many thoughts bouncing around…

This is not quite full blown mania or productive hypo mania. It’s just…semi-manic thinking processes. Round and round the brain goes, where it stops, no one knows.

I folded some clothes.

I dyed my gray roots.

I finished yet another book.

Started yet another book.

Am bored by said book.

Have this neat new mental coping thing, where I picture a red balloon that is deflated and I take all my swirling negative thoughts of all that stresses me out or pisses me off, and I just jam it all into the balloon and the balloon grows big and round…And I just let it go, watch it sail off into the sky, picturing it getting further and further away until I can no longer see it. Then I picture blue bricks and stack them into a pyramid with happy or calming thoughts. My kid, cats, books, tv shows, warm rain…

And it was going along swimmingly and I was starting to mellow out…And SMACK! The brain revives into scumbag mode and here I am, with all this mental activity and yet I know I need to sleep. Hell, I wanted to take a nap at 5pm but my kid wouldn’t have it. Now I am wide awake and the clock is ticking on her waking up and…

Red balloon. Bad thoughts. Bye Bye.

Enter good thoughts.

Why not enter sandman? I don’t want take a Trazzy D, it takes forever to peel the fucking cobwebs off my brain after taking even a small dose of that horse tranquilizer. Which is hysterical, since I used to have such bad insomnia, I was on 400 mg of Trazadone and 300 mg of Seroquel every night just to get to sleep. I slept, for 12-14 hours. Can’t do that now. Don’t want to do it now.

I also realized another thing. Since I stopped drinking…I have more energy, I am not damn lethargic and sleepy and grumpy. My memory is better. My moods are better. I don’t want to go to bed at 7pm and wallow in feeling low. How could something that brings such happy happy numbness and calm also be such a fucking downer? (That’s a joke, by the way, since ya know, alcohol is a depressant. Bygones!)

Oh, an Ally McBeal reference, I am going retro.

My brain is like an amusement park in full swing, all the rides going simultaneously, all the music and lights and crowds and games and noises and…

Red balloon.

Blue bricks.

I am big on the color trigger thing. I used to think it was bullshit. Like in the chat rooms when they said no red font because it triggered people who SI. I thought it was stupid.

Until I woke up with my house on fire 12 years ago.

Now the color red freaks me out as it is sort of the color of fire.

BUT the color blue makes me feel calm because my 1mg xanax tabs used to be pastel blue and they were wonderful and while my current lower dose is orange or yellow, I still consider blue the ultimate calm color. (Oh, wow, I only took 0.5 mg of xanax today instead of 1.5 mg, yeah, tell me I’m addicted.)

Am I making sense? Probably not. Probably a written cacophony. But this is mania, an accurate depiction. Of the good-ish manic episodes. The real manic periods are usually pretty mind blowingly awesome until you wake up the next day and have to deal with all the impulsive happy happy I-am-ten-feet-tall-and-bulletproof choices you made during your happy happy jag.

Hypomania doesn’t really have a downside except robbing you of sleep and making you kind of antsy. The productive hypo mania is the best, but that’s not happening right now. This is mental hyperactive mania.

No one is ever around for these spells, though. NOOOO, we can’t have anyone see me happy and energetic and in a positive frame of mind. No, scumbag brain has to be stressed or pissed off when around others so they think that’s all I am. But NOOO, I can damn well be happy fun ball sometimes.

On an unrelated to this post note, I ABSOLUTELY APOLOGIZE FOR FLOOD POSTING. Truth is, sometimes, I write these really long rant-y posts for myself, intending to save them to draft. Only then I see something shiny and my hand is clicking but eyes are watching shiny shiny and boom, it’s published instead of saved to draft and wow, I’m real sorry and I did entertain the notion of taking the extraneous ones down but then…Hey, I do this blog thing for me and it’s good to have a record of all the weird mental states I go through constantly. Nothing gives an accurate depiction of bipolar disorder better than a real time depiction of bipolar disorder.

Yes, I’m talking fast in written form. Mania mania mania.

I should do something to burn the energy.

I don’t want to though, I want to embrace all the ideas and thoughts in my head. I want to shampoo carpets this weekend, I want to rearrange furniture, I want to rewash all my laundry sorted by pants, shirts, socks, etc. I want to go to Salvation Army and Goodwill and some yard sales if it isn’t raining. I want to burn some cds. I want to have a water gun war with my kid and her friend. I want to check out more library books. I want to try writing again.

I want, I want, I want.

Bad brain. Overload. Brain will hurt later.

But sooo good not to be mentally lethargic, so good to have ideas and thoughts and hope and…

Hmm, this could appear like some form of hysteria, I suppose.

But it’s actually helping. My brain is bulimic. It binges on reality and bad stuff and good stuff and stress and calm and the petri dish and other people’s bullshit and more stress…

And then it throws it all up, onto the pages of this blog. Binge. Purge. Rinse lather repeat.

Welcome to bipolar.

 

Bitter epiphany

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on May 31, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

It has nothing to do with bipolar, but playing with my kid just now, I got SLAMMED with this bitter epiphany. I’ve just been on auto pilot for so long, forcing myself to get over things I cannot change, rolling with the punches, trying not to be devastated by change…

And I don’t even know why it hit me in the middle of playing with Spook…

But I realized that my true descent into negativity and the dark side of life began in 1997, when my dad left my mom. About the same time, I ended my first marriage, partially in a fit of mania, but mostly because after 7 years, I realized I looked at my husband more as a little brother who needed looking after. He was a sweet guy, but…I married for the wrong reasons, even if my intention was good. (Who decides to get married just have medical and dental insurance? Oh, right, a young girl with a history of being rejected subjected to a litany of adults telling her not to worry about things like love and passion, but focus on a guy who’s a good provider and has benefits.)

My entire world as I knew, totally blown up, in the space of one single month. My family, fractured, never to be the same again.

I felt free on my own account.

I was even okay with my parents splitting up because all they ever did was fight and make each other miserable.

But everything changed, the home I grew up in was sold, my mom and sister hooked up with a rag tag crew of people I can’t even describe except to say “petri dish of suck”, and my sister married into it, spawned with it, and the whole fucked up mess is still in full force 16 years later. My dad went and set up house with his gf and their son. My sister had a kid.

I met who I thought was the love of my life and within a year and  a half got thrown under a fast moving bus it took me the better part of a year and nearly losing a job over cos all I could do was run in back and bawl.

All in the space of two years.

Then I had the reaction to Nardil that nearly killed me.

Then my building burned down and I had like two days to find a new place to live and get moved.

And that was when I just descended into the pit of darkness. Like bobbing on an ocean full of nasty waves, every once in awhile my head would poke through the murky water…Only to be dragged back down again when the seasonal hit or the bipolar took a bad turn.

I spent six years alone, nursing my wounds, determined to keep people away and never hurt like I hurt over all of that.

Then I met someone I, in my gut, knew was “off”, but  convinced myself- and allowed his hollow promises and oaths of absolute love and devotion, in. Had a child with him.

Only to be discarded two years later with a fucking phone call.

I’d say my life since 1997 has been a certifiable hell, and rather than taking or even having the time, to process any of it and come to terms with all the changes and my illness and becoming a mom, then waking up a single mom…

How can someone go through all of that and NOT come out negative and dark and harboring a lot of negative traits as shields to protect themselves?

The ONLY good to come of it all was finding a doctor who gave me the right diagnosis and right meds, getting to know myself and recognizing my flaws, and having my daughter.

Everything else was a bucket of suck and I just swept it under the rug, where it has festered and metastasized all this time. I preach about others dealing with their baggage…And yet, I’ve not dealt with mine. At least not that particular decade of suck. Life has just kept twisting and turning and I have kept hoping for the best and wanting to feel things I don’t and wanting to be happy for people when their happiness is like a six foot thorn in my paw…

It sounds petty.

But it’s also a huge breakthrough. Bittersweet, maybe. It brought a tear to my eye, remembering my family as it once was.Dysfunctional, and my parents could barely stand each other and we were broke and our stuff was crap and we lived in an armpit of redneck-iness…But it was MY family, MY petri dish, MY status quo. And it all crumbled so fast that I had no time to process, mourn, and reach acceptance. I just forced it. And the only person it hurt was me.

I was so worried about hurting others that I suppressed my own feelings and told myself to put on the big girl panties because I was 25 years old when my parents divorced, grow the fuck up. They’re happier without each other, accept it and suck it up.

Be that as it may…I lost a family. I have one faction, and a second faction,but that fucked up four person family that was mine norm for so long…That died and I didn’t give it a funeral or grieve or mourn.  Losing my dysfunctional unhappy family affected me worse than having to admit and remedy my own marriage. It wasn’t that I cared less about my marriage because I really did try…But my safe space to run home to was gone. That crappy falling apart house with its sunken floors and crumbling ceiling tiles and bug problems and leaky bath tub buckling the floor…A shithole but my home. Even if I had moved out long ago, it was still my home, my safe place to return and lick my wounds when life beat me down.

Gone.

I never discussed it with my mom or my dad. My mom was too busy calling him names, he was too busy griping about how she’d spent all his money and put him into bankruptcy…My sister jumped into a teenage marriage and pregnancy…My significant other after I divorced was too busy with his own shit to even think of being there for me during my problems…

So I swallow the bitter pill of reality and there it has been lodged all this time, in my throat, choking me, gagging me, keeping me from moving on. It’s like I can’t ever be the person I used to be, the kooky one who wore bright colors and a Santa hat for Christmas and was  bouncy and friendly even when not manic. My reality changed, so I had to, as well.

I was always a little dark, a little twisted. I shrieked with glee at age 12 when I saw Alice Cooper spearing dolls with a sword on stage. I read Fangoria magazine from age 7. I have always been a ghoul. But that ghoul had a shiny side that tarnished under the weight of painful reality, a shine that was rubbed away and buried.

I need to dig it up, I think.

Life isn’t perfect, but I have rolled with the punches. My kid is great. We don’t have much, but we have each other. I just need to figure out where to go from here.

I need to finally mourn the past that I lost.

And maybe if I kiss it goodnight, I can kiss a brand new future hello.

Too bad all this psychological stuff usually gets its ass kicked by the bipolar before I can figure it out. Because I really feel like this is a big deal for me. I now know when all the light in me went out, when I became completely consumed by the negativity.

Now I just have to figure out how to find a balance of who I was, who I have become, and who I could become.

I will call myself cautiously optimistic.

I know what could happen.

But nothing is etched in stone and maybe just maybe I am due for some slack from the cruel hand of fate. And from myself.

 

I’m too negative

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , on May 30, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

You hear something often enough, it must be true, right?

I asked R what about me other than the bipolar bothers him. He said he gets sick of my negativity.

And I said, “You mean the way I get sick of your naive optimism where you stick your head in the sand even though everything is not going well?”

And I could have suggested monkeys were flying out of his butt because he looked absolutely shocked at the notion that he could be annoying.

Seriously?

No concept outside his own wants and needs and disturbances.

I KNOW I am negative and pessimistic. I KNOW I am moody. I KNOW I can be a right bitch sometimes.

It’s why I go through the usually pointless exercise of counseling with the sunshine spewer, trying to confront the harsh truths about myself and figure out how to improve myself.

I pointed out he’s the same wreck he was 13 years ago and he dead seriously said, “I don’t see what’s so wrong with me.”

Hmm. He can tell me all about my faults, but he sees nothing really wrong with himself?

THERE is my problem with the human race. That’s the whole deal that makes me so negative.

Oh, and those pesky mood swings everyone seems to think are an affectation I choose to adopt.

Maybe if people didn’t treat me so shitty, I might have something positive to say. But that never occurs to most people.

“You’re moody.”

“You’re negative.”

“You’re opinionated.”

“You’re too dark.”

“You’re sarcastic.”

AND????

Pick me apart and I will give what I get.

It seems like something I should change but since others aren’t going to change, I can’t be arsed.

In the space of 7 hours, the man managed to undo 5 days worth of my calm stable mood and once again, I am feeling like a criminal needing to flee the scene.

But I can’t. Because that would be weak. The best way to get over something that bothers you is to do it until it no longer bothers you, right? So I am told. I also think unicorns are real and pigs have wings.

I just can’t back down. I’ve never pursued a physical fight in my life. But when it comes to verbal warfare and defending myself and making a point….I’ve never walked away from a fight.

THAT is personality.

And maybe that’s something I can work on.

And okay, maybe I put too much focus on the negative and while the “expect the worst, be surprised if the best happens” approach works for me, perhaps I should stop spreading my healthy toxicity to others. Okay, I can accept that.

But when someone looks at me dead serious and acts clueless as to the fact that they might piss me off as much as I piss them off…

Not really motivating me to change, since obviously they think they have nothing to change. Equal annoyance it is.

THAT is personality.

But mid afternoon when I went from an uppish mood and slid into a low mood…

Pure bipolar.

No trigger, no segue, just bang. Up, then smash down.

As much as it sucks for the people around me when I am down, it sucks more for me, because that’s when all the negative stuff really seeps into my brain and starts telling me I am beyond repair and no one will ever accept and love me, and I should just kill myself. If you live with such thoughts in your mind on a daily basis, it’s almost ludicrous for someone to tell you to find something positive about it and get over it. It’s not positive. It is very negative and it sucks and it is reality.

And I can’t bury my head in the sand like the masses. Can’t and won’t.

I call a spade a spade and considering how content I actually being by myself, I don’t see much reason to alter this facet of my personality. Because part of loving someone is being able to accept shit like being bipolar and pessimistic. And if I can’t find someone with that much character, then yeah, I’d rather be alone.

The only thing I have learned over the years that has never changed despite depressions and mood swings is, when you are with someone you don’t connect with, even with them, you feel lonely and alone.

And that’s worse than being by yourself.

So ok, I am a downer. I have too many cats, too little money, it’s hot, my car runs like shit, my clothes all have holes in them, my carpet is stained beyond redemption with 4 years of stampeding feet, the place smells musty, my stomach hurts when I get stressed out…

There is a LOT of shit in life and painting it to look like a rainbow doesn’t make it not smell like shit.

At the same time…

I love my many cats. I have a beautiful vivacious kid. I enjoy reading and writing and watching favorite TV shows. Every once in awhile I look in the mirror and my brain isn’t telling me I am more hideous than Chewbacca’s butthole. Once in a blue moon I managed to not only shave my legs without missing spots, but also without drawing blood. I may not have much money but the little I have, I manage well. The car at least has a decent stereo. Around midnight the place cools down and all is quiet and peaceful.

Life is a mixed bag. Things are not all good or all bad.

But excuse me if I am too busy enjoying the good to talk about it and save only the sucky stuff to rant about.

That being said, I will make a conscious effort to at least keep my pessimism to myself more.

But if I start making gagging noises when you spew sunshine and blow rainbows up my skirt…

Maybe you need to tone that optimism down.

Wait, that would be fair. No, we can’t have that.

Fuck it. I’m just gonna be and live with the fall out. It’s too easy to go with the grain.

Nothing easy is worth having.

 

Hands that are not helpful

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on May 30, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Just got my call from R, pretending to care how I am. Kenny won’t be there tomorrow, and thus, I am needed. There was much flattery about how not even his uber perfect daughter can work the magic I do finding parts and information( oh but the she has the shop super clean and super organized now, things I could never manage to accomplish because, yeah, I’m not perfect like her)…blah blah blah. I talked. Just by the sound of his voice I could tell I was pissing him off.

How?

By being honest. About liking my mommy time and not being so stressed out and moody and wanting to cut back on being there.

He took that “oh,fine” sighing tone and agreed, but he was totally pouting while pretending to understand and pretending to care.

Which was probably really difficult for him, considering he spent fifteen minutes babbling about busted stuff and nasty customers.

But I took the assertive hard line approach, making it clear I could take it or leave it. Not being desperate was my main goal, cos manipulative people feed on weakness. And it worked.

But the really NOT BEING A HELPFUL FRIEND PART…

was when I mentioned how he’s always bringing up my moods, and he said, “Well, you are moody but I will just have to live with it.”

For someone so smart, he is soooo stupid.

MOOD DISORDER. And what is a disorder, kids? God.

Idiot.

He acts like he’s so flawless and easy to tolerate but I’m the difficult one and he has to endure the hardship of living with it because I am useful to him.

Then he started in on that A-plus certification shit. “I was hoping you’d get that done by now…I want you to do it…I think you’d be good at it….” Him. All about him.

And he wonders why I am even moodier.

I have had five wonderful low stress days, even with “mommy” and “Niki” being repeated 500m times a day  by children. Returning to his lion den fills me with dread.

But I think I have to do it. Not for him.

For me. To prove I can. And maybe, well, to torture him with my mood swings, since he is too shallow and self absorbed to grasp the concept of a disorder.

Funny thing is, he thinks he is being helpful by “living with” my moods. Like mentioning it is helpful because I have no clue I am moody, I don’;t live the fucking hurricane of moods every single day.

Telling me I am moody is akin to informing someone with a hammer wedged in their skull that they have a hammer wedged in their skull.

I am sure he would learn to live with that, too, as long as he got what he wanted.

My counselor says to give it up and accept this is not a friendship, he is not capable of anything beyond superficial relationships because he doesn’t have the guts to face his own feelings, let alone empathize with how another feels.

I want to let it go. But I’m not the letting go type. I am relentless, especially when it comes to people who have insisted that I make changes but won’t reciprocate. It’s really not a gray area for me. If you’re a friend and you care, then you listen and you try to accept and work with someone. I doubt I’d be so focused on all his damn flaws if he weren’t so hyperfocused on the one thing that is not within my control. All part of my “tit for tat” mentality that has been criticized sooo many times. Yet, I used to be a total welcome mat and gave until I bled without getting anything in return.

The welcome mat died.

This is who I am now, and I am fine with it. If I weren’t surrounded by users, I wouldn’t need to be this way. But if the only way to avoid emotional bankruptcy is “tit for tat”, then so be it. It’s one personality flaw I can own and live with as opposed to feeling like the whiny simp everyone used to walk all over.

God, I am still cringing, thinking of that stupid call.

The whole time he was in resigned, “Okay, if you need time off, I understand” mode…The judgment was in his voice. I am paranoid but this I am not making up. He and that eldest daughter have the whole doctor-lawyer-indian chief thing going on. They thrive on keeping busy, they thrive on stress and overachievment. So the notion someone else might now move at their pace galls them. And neither of them have been shy about letting me know it.

I am so bloody sick of talking to him and ending up feeling like a child who has disappointed a parent. I’m not his fucking daughter. But then again, when we were together, he used to fix my dinner plate for me like I was one of his kids. He saw it as a gesture of kindness. After about the thirtieth time, I saw it as being viewed as a child.

And I think that’s still how he views me.

Fortunately for me, I don’t view myself that way .

I will give it a try, see if cutting back and compartmentalizing helps.

But I am not kissing his ass and I am not letting him vilify me for something that is a legitimate disorder.

at this point, I am willing to walk away without flinching. If my car blows up, I will ride my broomstick around town.

 

Black, white, and avoidance

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on May 29, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I did not call in today. Actually, I practiced avoidance behavior because, 1.) Kenny was there, and 2;) I am enjoying having my sanity and soul back. No matter, R hasn’t tried to contact me in any way for two days. Because he has Kenny and I am not needed. It was as I said all along. I am not negative, I am just aware of my surroundings. It would be nice on occasion if people would prove me wrong and not turn out to be complete sociopaths.

Sunshine spewer says my main personality trait that is disorder-ish is that I see things in black and white without shades of gray. This came as a huge shock to me because my view of myself is that everything is in so many shades of gray, I can’t determine which way is up. Apparently, I need to stop seeing everything as all good or all bad.

Which leads right back to that APB I put out about where is my happy medium.

I asked her how to find it, considering the bipolar and all. She admitted that it is nearly impossible for bipolar patients to find a medium and keep a balance.

*((&^%!!!!!!

Shall I make the Brooklyn Bridge disappear for my next act?

I swear she sets me up to fail. Here, you need to do this, but because of your condition, it’s not likely you will be able to do this. HUH?

I used to truly believe in therapy. Now I am having doubts that it does anything but fuck me up more.

And I really don’t agree that I see things as all good or all bad. Part of my never ending torment is that I can, if I dig deep enough and am in the mood, find good even in some pretty bad things. (Excluding child abuse, harming animals, bullying, and Justin Bieber.)  The other night I had a little mood crash but I curled up in bed and Azazel was sleeping next to me, purring, and just that little thing made it seem not so bad. Maybe it’s just that I don’t focus on shining light on the in between stuff. I do tend to highlight the vortex of suck. I will have to work on that.

Right after I make that bridge vanish.

And cure cancer and achieve world peace.

Damn, I am gonna be busy.

On the plus side, she thinks I am absolutely on track with this R situation. He has sucked the life out of me with his vapid personality and manipulations and the time has come to lay it on the line,assertively, and if he balks, then I am finally free.

I just want a happy medium. He doesn’t, though.

She also told me to stop atoning for the past because I don’t owe him anything, we are not in a relationship.

It makes perfect sense. So why do I feel like a back stabbing traitor while he feels absolutely nothing?

Oh, right. Because he’s up in his ivory tower looking down on me, chanting the mantra for me to “rise above it”.

With a beer in his hand.

Where do I find these people who are more fucked up than I am?

Powderkeg

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on May 29, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Was “sick” today. Technically, I still have that chest thing so 20 minute coughing phlegm-a-paloozas don’t exactly scream that I feel great. But okay, maybe today was more a mental sickness day. Not that R cared, he had his shop ape Kenny there and didn’t text or call once all day, not even to inquire how I was doing. Proof that he just wants a fucking servant around all the time to listen to him and fetch stuff for him. It was the same last week, I said I wasn’t coming in, Kenny was there, my absence was unnoticed. Then came the next day, Kenny wasn’t there, I was still sick, but R guilted me and phone stalked me until I came in just to get him off my back.

The man is a piece of work. Manipulative, self absorbed, self centered, insensitive, cold, detached, work obsessed. Are these mere personality traits or a full blown disorder? I wish I knew how to tell. At this point, I have been labeled so much, I guess I have come to despise the term “personality disorder”. Think about it. EVERYONE DRAWING BREATH will have a personality disorder simply by having a unique personality.

But then, like alcoholism or drug use, is it a social thing, or is it the status quo? Is this man really that much of a jerk?

Oh, on the surface he is such a nice easy going generous man. Funny, personable, intelligent, talented at fixing things, decent guitarist, awesome song writer. If you were to only spend a couple of hours a week with him, well, he’d be prince fucking charming.

Spending hours and hours with him daily for this long, I am just bombarded with all his baggage and how crappy it makes me feel. This is a man who dumped me because I needed to change. Yeah, I will get right on that pill that cures mental illness, cos we’re all malingerers who have mood swings and depressions for your inconvenience.

I have changed drastically.

He has not changed at all, except now he’s the submissive partner in his relationship.

I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to go walking down this particular memory lane. Maybe I overestimated my own strength and ability to forgive and compartmentalize. Maybe if he had changed an iota I’d feel differently. But being reminded every day I had to overhaul everything about myself while he gets to remain exactly the same fucked up mess he always was…Tis hard to compartmentalize.

But it doesn’t bother him, it only bothers me. And trying to talk to him results in the guilt evoking “since you’re making such a big deal out of it…” I think it’s time to figure out my next move.

The last four days without him or his stupid busted stuff obsession have been so calm, so content for me. I haven’t had a bout of bad depression or anxiety. I haven’t questioned or doubted myself or felt shitty for simply being who I am, even though I am not “rising above it.” I have just enjoyed being a mom, reading, watching the cats play….

I don’t really know what I want.

I am glad I get to see sunshine spewer tomorrow. Though she almost never helps me, she just lets me prattle on until I can spin things into some form of logic for myself. That’s worth the money. NOT. But I need someone objective, because I am not. I can never ever be sure that what I am feeling is the real deal or some mood issue. The fact I have been feeling this way for so long kind of indicates it’s really a problem for me. I just don’t know what to do about it. Even though I know in the big picture, he won’t give a damn anyway because I failed to “rise above it” and do what he wants. So why I am concerned with conducting myself with professionalism and logic is beyond me.

But I think I’ve done enough time in atonement prison for this guy. I give and give and never receive.

Of course, then I wonder, am I being a spoiled brat and not being fair to him?

I honestly don’t think so. I have needs too. If we are friends as he claims, then am I not within my rights to expect at least a fraction of my needs be met? I wasn’t put on this planet simply to serve him. Nor him me. But quid pro quo isn’t such a bad thing.

Bottom line is, R is not going to change and I guess I have no right to expect him to. Fine, spifferdoodle. But it doesn’t mean I have to remain in the vortex of suck that is him devouring every vestige of joy and sanity from my life. I’m willing to plead weakness, I don’t have a strong enough psyche to handle it. Whatever.

It wouldn’t be such a “flee from the scene” feeling if he would just listen to me and let me come in three days a week. But noo, everything has to be his way even if most of the time I sit around looking at Reddit cos there’s nothing for me to do then he complains that all I care about is reading Reddit.

Grrrrrr.

My stomach is already churning, because I honestly don’t want to go back, don’t even want to speak to him. Least not yet. I need to sort through the powderkeg in my head so I don’t spontaneously blow up on someone who doesn’t have it coming. But his lack of communication and willingness to listen have put me in a corner, and fight or flight is kicking in. And it’s my own fault, I let myself get yanked into the vortex of suck. Honestly our “friendship” is based on nothing broken electronics and alcohol. And I am tired of both.

But am I tired/tired, or am I just having the bipolar burn out that comes from stressing out for too long without a breather?

God, if I could just not be self aware, just be like everyone else and not give a damn who I hurt.

But then…I wouldn’t be me, and while it’s not fun being me, it is authentic. This is me. I care. View it as weakness.

I’m strong enough to take it.

Misanthropic, I am

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on May 27, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I think that title may be evidence I am channeling Yoda.

Tis Memorial Day, 9:45 a.m. I have no plans for the day except, well, to have no plans for the day. Will probably pick up some around the house because no matter how hard I work, it’s never done, it’s like an evil jack in the box, every time you think you’ve mashed it down for the last time, it comes back out to taunt you. There’s a peek into my messed up psychology. I find clowns and jack in the boxes utterly gruesome and terrifying but hey, decomposing corpses and grisly wounds, no problem.

I don’t know what my mood is. I do know I feel misanthropic. Why? Because R texted me last night at 10:30 pm just to ask if there was lightning here in town. He was up north with wifey visiting her daughter and he was hoping for lightning here because that means TV’s get zapped and he makes money. Jesus. He never texts or calls to inquire about our health or anything. It’s ALWAYS about busted shit. I am so sick of it, I could puke. He says we are friends but it no longer feels that way. I am at the end of my rope. I think now would be a good time to take a week of mental health leave, get my mind back on track. This happens any time I do something job esque for more than a few months. I end up feeling overwhelmed and panicky and then I either get a dr’s note to take some time off or I just quit.

I don’t want to do the latter, I am sick of failure.

At the same time, the way I am feeling, it’s only a matter of time before I tell this man to fuck off and die. He is making me feel shitty about myself constantly. That’s not a friend. And ya know, if someone is going to make me feel shitty about myself, I should at least be making a minimum wage full paycheck every week. Trying to talk to him is pointless. If I ask for a break, he will just manipulate me and guilt me. He’s like my three year old, for fuck’s sake. But I think the break away time thing is a good idea because I am to the point where I want to bash him over the head with one of his busted TVs. Some days, the sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I bite holes through my tongue trying not to explode.

Maybe some time off could get me back in a better mind frame to not take it all so personally. He is who he is. Just like I am who I am. Of course, I doubt me being who I am even makes a dent in his self absorbed world. I am apparently too weak and fragile to be oblivious. I worry about my personality issues making others feel bad. Maybe I worry too damned much, to atone for all the years when I lived in my own little world and didn’t even consider other people.

Does the atonement ever fucking end?

Of course, I just read a blog article by a bipolar depressed woman who says “depressed people are depressing and self absorbed and boring and irritating and make everything about themselves and their disorder.” Hmmm. Well, that was the whole point of having this blog was to discuss my disorder without having to feel bad for being a bummer to people who just want an amusing read.

NOW thanks to a simple entry in a blog, I am guilt tripping for being a self absorbed bitch talking about myself.

I consider venting here therapy, now it turns out I am just stroking my own ego?

I am not buying it. I almost never discuss my issues with anyone outside the shrink, counselor, and this blog. My entire life revolves around my kid, my cats, housekeeping, errand running, being R’s shop wench…There’s barely any room in there for me, some days if I get a shower and enough time to feed myself and remember to put on deodorant, I consider it a success. But okay, I am self absorbed. I mean, when the freezer broke, I lost $120 worth of food, so I am basically living on popcorn for the next two weeks so I could buy my kid food. But, yeah, that’s totally self absorbed.

If there is something to obsess about needlessly, I will find it. I try not to, but it’s like a fish hook lodged in my brain, I can’t seem to get it out, so it’s poking me and causing me pain and forgetting about it just isn’t in the cards. It’s like mental OCD. Instead of checking the door to make sure it’s locked five times, I rehash the same thought a hundred times for three days straight.

Sometimes, I think I am such a mental train wreck, if I were a horse, they would shoot me. There’s no coming back from this many issues.

Now…The struggle to find clothes to wear is on. They’re all clean. Unfortunately, they are also piled in baskets awaiting me to work up the will to fold them all. I must excavate. Though getting dressed seems pointless with no plans. I think I do it just to say “fuck you” to the draggy depressive feelings telling me nothing matters. The Cymbalta is helping but man, the nagging negative thoughts the depression brings never really let up, they are relentless. Another blog said I can retrain my brain to “unlearn” the mood swings.

I am gonna drive myself nuts with this shit.

Maybe I am not misanthropic. Maybe I am just allergic to people.