The longest day

Today qualifies for that title. It’s been neverending. The uzi child got me up before 8. She started out on semi auto. Then she went to fill automatic and I am still digging verbal bullets out.

Spent the entire day waiting for my dad and his clan to deliver the bunk bed they bought her. Tick tock. Edge of anxiety. Their schedule is always more important than anything we have going on, including a heart transplant.

They brought the bed, which was so big it had to be disassembled to be fit in her room. Now she barely has room for a dresser. Geesh. Not to be ungrateful, but think before you do. I was thinking, oh cool, it’s gonna be one of those small bunks my sister and I had. WRONG. This thing is so big and clunky it would survive a termite infestation.

My mood held steady all day even if my nerves didn’t.

Finally, wine time came. We went to R’s house and drank with his wife. It wasn’t bad. Until his psychologist daughter showed up and started diagnosing her friends, him, everyone basically. I don’t dispute his diagnosis as it was made almost 20 years ago and fits. But the way that woman has to have the last word on everything, the way she has to diagnose everything and declare everything “behavioral”, including bipolar…pisses me the fuck off. Just because our upbringing made us defective doesn’t lessen the mental disorder that amounts to wonky brain chemicals.

Which is the problem with psychology versus psychiatry. One specialty thinks it’s all behavioral and needs therapy, while the other thinks it’s just chemical imbalance and needs medication.

Meanwhile those of us who suffer from mental illness are left confused and clueless.

Now we are home. Bex made awesome omelets. The uzi finally emptied her clip and went to sleep.

I can’t decide if I want to go to sleep or shower then go to sleep. It was a long day that seemed to never end. Now that I have all this electrical wiring problem and can’t sleep in my own room because there’s no power…I’m at a loss. The wiring is even screwed up in the living room so we can’t listen to the stereo or watch tv.

And I am in paranoid zone where I’d rather gargle bleach than allow anyone into my inner sanctum lest they judge me and set off a whole mental downward spiral.

I’m leaning towards sleep.

As soon as I smoke the rest of this cigarette.

Everyday, I wake up thinking, today will be better.

It rarely is.

Where is my reward in hoping for the best when all that ever comes to fruition is ass trash negative?

I am flawed, I am mental, and I am dysfunctional. But I don’t know the sanest most well adjusted person could convince themselves all is hunky dory when in fact, everything is just a cycle of up, down, good, bad, even worse, and worse still.

Guess I am just deficient in my denial skills.


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