The flicker that is cyclothymia

Ever have a cord to a light that wasn’t quite right? Bend it one way, it works. Bend another way, it goes out. Jiggle a bit and it flickers on and off.
That is cyclothymia.

Yesterday I thought contentment was good enough, embracing the small things a comfort.

Today my soul is uneasy, my mind is rampant with negative feelings and thoughts, I can feel anxiety down to my bone marrow. This is…
Prelude to a family get together. My mom will either be in her nicety nice mode or she will be a livewire spewing venom. You walk in blind every time and never know what you will be hit with. Cutting little jabs sprinkled in otherwise civil conversation. An outburst over a simple statement (Last time it was me calling Honey BooBoo stupid that set her off.) Or her digs at what a bad mother I am because I don’t let my kid run with scissors, juggle chainsaws, and eat raw sugar cubes.
coin toss.
It never gets easier, there is never less trepidation.
It wasn’t always this way. Before my parents divorced, her venom was generally aimed at dad. It only came at us during her nervous breakdowns or in his absence.
Since he left her for another woman (one younger than me) and I opted not to take sides and try to have both parents in my life…She’s pretty much wavered between treating me like a leper and a treacherous traitor.

Uncertainty is not something I deal well with. I prefer to either be hated or liked, don’t in between me, don’t two face me.
My mother’s duality makes a simple family meal like walking in a snake pit trying to avoid the poisonous breeds.

Guess it makes sense I’d be so…filled with dread.

I suppose that can affect mood. Except family stresses me more than affects my mood. Just another spoke in the mood cycle.

I am boggled by all the people rushing about, so excited about spending time with their families. What is that like?
I talked to my dad on the phone today and he got his digs in. Made me mad, but he’s no better than mom is sometimes except he does have logic when he pulls his head out of his ass. Maybe it’s their age. They know their time on earth is dwindling so they feel entitled to be complete ass clowns.
There is love in my family.
It’s just stunted, dysfunctional, conditional, judgmental, and frankly, not worth all the damned anxiety and emotional scars left behind. I am not without gratitude for them, but as a counselor once told me after meeting my family…”They’re toxic, limit contact with them for your own good.”

Unfortunately, I seem to be the only one in the family remotely aware how dysfunctional and broken we really are. And always were, even before the divorce. How can kids become balanced adults when the parents can barely stand each other and agree on nothing?
Maybe that’s why I’ve come to the point of viewing relationships as bad bad things. Because if the love.hate thing is the only thing I have known, only example I have seen, only thing I was taught…
I am screwed.

Or maybe I’m just not skilled enough to balance my moods with the moods of those around me.

Hot mess any way you look at it. At least I am to the point now where I don’t define myself by being in a relationship making me worthwhile and not being in one making me somehow lesser.

Just wish I could buy a venom shield and maybe not get so twisted and sick (i could throw up at the moment, I am so dreading tomorrow) over family stuff.

I don’t know how to do that when my moods seesaw so frequently. Counselors and doctors never could give more of an answer than “Learn to regulate your emotions.”

Not sure how to regulate fury and hurt when your own mother says, “You act like you don’t even love your daughter!”

If only I had the kind of family that drinks wine with meals. Wine would make it all less painful.

Unfortunately the only wine I will be getting will be the whining of everyone around me unable to agree on anything.

I try to hang back and duck out of the line of fire. But not speaking and trying to make myself small doesn’t make me a smaller target for my mom. She used to just use my own low self esteem against me.
Now she uses my kid against me. Knowing I can let it slide when my mom calls me a fucking bitch, but telling me I’m not a good mom…
Yeah, that’s either war or time me for to walk away before the minefields start going off.

ask me about my mommy issues.
Meh. I can admit I have more issues than a newspaper morgue.

Just gotta survive tomorrow. By Friday the dust will have cleared, the horrormones will level out, and once the anxiety dies down…maybe I will feel more solid again.

So I can turn around and do it all again in another month.

I hate the fucking hellidays as much as I hate bipolar disorder.

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