Crazy is seeping back in

Ah, shark week…A lovely time of month where the crazy is on ten the week before, then dies down for a day or two while I curl up fetalized in pain with pain. The Marquis de sade has nothing on a woman’s body when it comes to inflicting pain and misery.
Ya know, bipolar and a once monthly bout of dysphoria, which my doctors, sages they are, call mild. Joy, joy, happy happy.
I’m still in pain but the pain induced lethargy is dissipating slowly. I am coming back to life. And so is the crazy.
Anxiety so rampant I feel like I have bugs crawling on my skin and am itchy with hive spots.
Paranoia I can’t explain. (X hasn’t called in a few days, how did I offend them now? That lady at the gas station gave me a dirty look, what is her problem? What was that noise outside, is someone trying to break in?)

Let us not forget the Fangsgiving family thing, AKA ninth circle of hell Thursday. I called my mom today and mentioned something about not having money for something…And she told me to get a better job. Meanwhile, my brother in law has not had a job in 17 years and she and my sister support his x Box and weed habits.
Yeah, mommy is working up her venom so Thursday should be a bloody blast. The venom is generally aimed at me. Can’t wait. and by that I mean, I’d rather have open heart surgery while conscious.
C’mon, universe, shark week and a family get together in the same week? Whose Cheerios did I piss in???

I have done fuck all for days now aside from taking care of my kid. Pain demotivates. Makes apathy metastasize. The world won’t implode ‘cos my laundry needing to be folded rivals Mt. Vesuvius. And anyone who has a problem with it can bite me. (Hey, she’s my mother, venom is in my bloodstream.)

I am hoping once the sharky horrormones die down, I will be in a decent place mentally.
The anxiety may settle after (IF) I survive the family shindig.

I want desperately to start writing again but my thoughts are so scattered, so cluttered, I would only churn out drivel. Desire and inspiration rarely coincide when it comes to my writing. Forcing it makes it worse. It’s a creative bondage, of sorts. You want to break the chains, get free, let it flow…But the strength isn’t there to overcome the binds.
I love writing but I would have much rather have artistic or musical ability.
Writing is going the way of the dinosaur and vinyl.
People will always want artwork and music.

Oh,well. For all my griping…I’ve had two days to curl under a warm cover with various kitties sleeping on me. That’s one of life’s best treats. Hard to be unhappy when a purring cat is near making biscuits on you.

I still think happiness is a mental disorder.

Contentment…Now that is true sanity. Being at peace with the place you are at any given moment in time.
Or maybe that’s the delusion I feed myself because with cyclothymia, not even the bad moods stick around long. Therefore even if I reached this “happy” place…It’d be gone in a blink.

Content…I can abide because even in madness there is always one small thing to cling to that gives contentment. My kid saying, “I love you, sooo sooo much.” Good song. Good show. Purring kitties. Yummy food…The little things so many take for granted, waiting for the big exciting moments in life.
Placing so little importance on things that are constants in life while striving for a place you might never know…
That seems delusional to me.

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