It occurred to me today that people judge me,as is social custom, on first impressions. Which would explain why some people think I am a riot, some think I am a downer, and others think I am just a crazy bitch.

I am always in an altered state.

One would think the meds would fix this. They do not. If anything, the meds contribute to the cycles since some can spark mania or cause depression or cause withdrawal symptoms.

I don’t think anyone’s ever had the opportunity to judge me for who I actually am outside this fucking disorder. Furthermore, I don’t even think I know I am totally. It’s a constant state of flux and it is hellish.

Neighbor girls were here. I thought I’d clean the slate, could be me, yada yada. Nope. They pulled the exact same crap they always have. I never make an indent, they are brick walls of banes of my existence. The other kids…No problems, no bickering, no disobeying, no demands for food and drink. These two..never…fucking…stop. I sent them home at 5. Two hours is about my max on those two. And even that is pushing it because adults who put me under that much stress are automatically put on ignore. My kid has no clue how much I love her and want to do good for her.

And I am trying.

I just don’t think I am doing too well. I am actually scared that the illustrious “they” my paranoid little mind has concocted are going to decide I am cracking my lids and her father is going to swoop in and totally take her away while screwing me over. (In a way, I wish he cared that much, at least for her sake, though in my current state, he and his fragile psyche are gonna want to stay away,cos if I hurt his feelings when we were together, I would shred him now.)


And the depression, OMFG I cannot believe how quick it returned once the Cymbalta made its exit. I spent the entire summer manic, doing things that aren’t really me, and now I have to clean up the mess. Like letting those kids walk all over me. Like letting my babysitter mom turn my kid into a defiant junk food eating monster. I just sat back and let it all happen, against the fiber of my very being, and I felt nothing. I was manic. Nothing bad could really get in or if it did, it wasn’t making a dent.


It…gets…so…old having to own behavior that you committed in an altered state. People get “consideration” for drugged or drunken states when crimes are committed…But you get zero social consideration for being under the influence of mental illness or it’s so called treatments. And it’s not a desire for self absolution, I own what I do. It just gets old when you have to apologize time and again to the same people for being manic or depressed or whatever.

ESPECIALLY when these same people can be the biggest most hurtful assholes on the planet and they expect you to take a “They are who they are” attitude. Yet they can’t accept you have an illness.


Cripes. R just called. Of course it wasn’t about how am I or my kid. No, it’s about his precious fucking shop. Can’t make it one weekend without disturbing me about that place. He wants to live and breathe it, fine. But I don’t. And I don’t think he’s fair about it or nice. He even swore at me because I haven’t figured out a LAN problem on this desktop someone brought in. “You’ve had it a month, can’t you get your friend to help you?” My techie friend won’t return my emails and I have TRIED but damn it, I am running into a brick wall. Sometimes they just have to be reformatted, especially after 300 plus viruses and malware have corrupted everything. Why he is so against a reformat it beyond me, there’s nothing on the hard drive other than program files and the owner has the disc. I think he’s being a dick about it. The guy could have had the computer back and running weeks ago were it not for R’s insistence to avoid a reformat. I think in light of the infections this thing had, a reformat would be the best option. Oh right, I am not there to think, just do as I am told while having a sunny disposition and no problems of my own to deal with.

****See bold print statement about people who don’t play fair on the playground.

The depression is making me hate every waking moment.

He is making me dread every single day, every fucking ring of the phone.

I really hope things change once withdrawal is done. The brain zaps are less and less so it has to be exiting.

That just leaves me with the problem of what to do about the depression, if I don’t head it off, it will kick my ass. And apparently, the dual mood stabilizer isn’t doing it this time. (No, why should anything ever work for more than a fucking month before quitting on me?)

I am so scared. I am so depressed.

And I am so alone.

My kingdom for ONE person in my life to give a damn and show an ounce of com passion.

Most people want to win the lottery or have a fancy car.

I just want a shoulder to cry on.

Until I just want an ear to listen to me vent.

Yeah, no wonder no one wants to be my friend.

Always altered. Epitome of unstable.

And no one fucking asked me if this is the life I wanted, this is what I got handed.

But yeah, R, you keep making all your criticisms about how I am not upbeat and I am too negative. Keep judging me, you drunken denial laden idiot. I have judgments of my own. And not many filters right now.

Damn it.

Thinking about him and that shop is giving me stomach aches. And i have tried to tell him and he doesn’t care.

I need to get a job doing some sort of fetish porn. Unfortunately, I have ugly hands, ugly feet, and won’t put on stilettos and crush a puppy. No matter what mind frame I am in.

Okay, so there’s a part of me that never changes no matter the mood. I do love my animals.

Fuck. Just fuck. I am so confused.

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