Ramble Ramble Blah Blah

So the title is my version of the line “babble babble bitch bitch” from Marilyn Manson’s “This Is The New Shit.” Music is the one thing that resonates for me, helps when I apply it to my day to day life ass trashery. (Yes, Bex, if you read this, I owe you royalties, bill me.)

Okay, so two posts in one day…Yeah, the eeevil brain is on hyperdrive. Not like I force people to read though. It’s written vomit, avoid if you wish.

I FORCED myself into a shower (and believe me, I am not being dramatic because at this point I am so down and disenchanted with a society I can never be good enough for, why do I give a damn?). Then into the dish I went.
I knew immediately it was a mistake. R was in a bad mood. He asked why I looked down and I told him about my morning because, well, ya know, he asked and idiot I am I assume if someone asks, they want a real reply.
People really don’t. They want you to spew sunshine and rainbows while being able to embrace their own bad mood.
Every minute is ticking by like an hour.
Already he has disillusioned me more to humanity.
He is always on a rant about, “If you want to piss off a woman, comment on her weight.”
Well, sick of the sexism I said, “If you want to pick a fight with a man, tell him he’s not good in bed.”
To which he shrugged and said, “Least I get mine.”
I glared not just daggers but foot long swords. He quickly said, “I was joking.”
Um…I used to live with him. He’s not joking, he really does view women that way and his current wife will attest to it.

Soo over people.
Soo over myself. It’s self loathing day.

My kid climbed in bed with me last night and said she had a nightmare that “the cops took me away and put me in a home with no food.”
Well, entering the dish and experiencing all the triggers that come with it..now has me wondering if I should be worried my kid is going to be taken away.
Yes, I know, she’s 5 and had a bad dream. It’s not reality.
But as I daily slip and slide more and more between mania, paranoia, and desolation and I let the housework slide and I forget things and do weird things ( I grabbed for my spray can of deodorant yesterday and nearly used room deodorizer on my armpits)…
I get scared. My kid is healthy and happy, her needs are met. But I’ve known people to have their kids taken away for nothing more than someone saying the house wasn’t clean enough. And face it, cleanliness is subjective to one’s personal standards. If I can keep the dishes, laundry and cat boxes caught up…I don’t obsess over dusting and such.
Now my kid has had this nightmare, and my panic and paranoia have taken off on their own little quest to make my current shit mental state worse.
It was a dream. I mean, if I were to dream of being married to an Oompa Loompa while eating chocolate covered maggots, it wouldn’t make it a remote possibility.
But something that plays on my biggest fear- losing my kid-well…It seems I’m not that far off base in my fear.

I hate this.

Two hours. I have to paste on the “I’m not feeling like swallowing razor blades” face for two more hours.
Then I can take the weekend to recover.
Ha. Like the stress ever stops coming.

I need my brain to slow down. I think that’s my own worst enemy. My brain moves too fast for me to process and catch up and make logical choices or decisions. It’s not a cop out, either. I’m pulling in four radio stations one on frequency and I may know the words to every song playing…But I can’t think lucidly enough to make heads or tails of any of it.

Rambling On…
I served my time. I am home, back in my bubble and I like my fucking bubble, to hell with those who think it’s “mentally unhealthy.” I feel safe in my bubble. I love my bubble. I’d marry my bubble and hump its leg.
I made not that when my mental state is not good..I am relatively useless. I mean, I go through the motions, but my brain is screaming the whole time MAKE IT END MAKE IT END MAKE IT END. So I’m not bringing my A game. More like a Z game, to recycle a past post term. I made the effort. It was grueling. I wanted to primal scream every second I was there, pretending not to feel like drinking bleach.
And yeah, I do get in these mindsets where I’d almost drink bleach. A shrink would probably label it as “attention seeking suicide talk.” WRONG. It’s just that point of frustration where your own mind seems to be working against you and outside influences are following suit and no matter how hard you fight…You just can’t shake it off. It’s more self loathing than any true intent of self harm. Because being cyclothymic, I’ll swim back to the surface soon enough.

Is there a word beyond the scope of frustrating? Because this day makes the term frustrating seem rather…understated.
I survived.
Guess that’s the small victory.
Of course, I had to tempt the fates by assuming I could simply read some idle babble net sites. Thanks to Reddit, my attitude toward people is worse than it was before. I need to avoid that site like the plague, it can be far more negative than positive. But then it’s not the site’s fault I am weak in the psyche. Though I prefer not to view it as weak, but rather as having an open wound that is raw.
What got me in the biggest uproar was this bit that totally took the Marilyn Monroe quote “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best” and turned it into “an excuse to be a jerk and blame it on others.”
ONE person commented in the true text the quote was intended. ONE.
And I’m the pessimistic one?
In the context of someone with mental illness and emotional scars…I find the Monroe quote to be quite accurate. It is not a free for all to be a jerk. It is “if you can’t handle when I at rock bottom, you shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy me when I am at top.”

My misanthropy grows. Metastasizes. My self loathing becomes the blob, out of control in growth, spreading, consuming all around.

I must sound like a monster.
Oddly, I don’t care because those who’d judge me a monster for stating my honest feelings are not people I’d mesh with anyway.
Guess that’s my hypocrisy showing.
I judge someone for being only out for their own pleasure but expect not to be judged for spewing my negative experiences.
You know what this means?

I’m a lowly human.
I had such high hopes for being from Neptune.


3 Responses to “Ramble Ramble Blah Blah”

  1. You sound nothing like a monster! I’m happy you share your life with us and I hope it serves some benefit too. I am basically feeling how you are and it sucks. I think you’re a great mother and you’re doing what good mother’s do, you’re thinking of your child and doing the best you can. It may not feel like your giving your best, but anyone that follows your blog will most certainly agree with me that you’re doing your best and that counts. I run risk of being obnoxious so please forgive me if this question upsets you….How long have you been seeing your doctor(s)? I am frustrated for you when you mention your treatment or lack thereof. It frustrates me greatly to hear that you’ve taken certain combinations of meds and found greater relief or at least a balance….only for your doctor to deny these meds?! I just wish I could tell your doctor to fuck off. Sorry. I’ve had bad experience with past physicians and it upsets me so much to hear someone else have a similar situation I’ve had before. There should be nothing wrong with needing to take medication if everything else has failed you. It is so unfair to deny those medications knowing the person’s quality of life would be improved. WTF?! I’m so sorry you’re having a tough day, I hope tomorrow goes better for you. Just know you have people cheering you on and your wit is sharp as ever. If you ever need to vent I’m happy to listen!

  2. I live in a small town so they don’t even have actual shrinks. It’s all done via video link in front of a screen broadcast from a city hospital. And I’ve seen both shrinks on staff. To be honest, I’ve been impressed with their willingness to work with me on the med combos.
    My only bone of contention in which I really do want to hit them in the head with a rusty shovel and scream FUCK OFF is the lack of focus thing. ONE doctor out of the ten I’ve seen in the last ten years (not my fault, they all serve 2 years and move on) was willing to attempt to treat with Focalin.And It worked wonders.
    The current regime won’t even entertain it, either doctor. I resent being made to feel like I am seeking speed or something. I just want some Bondo to stick all my random nutsy kookoo thoughts into some semblance of order.
    I’m not done yet. I plan to write el shrinko a letter and include some of my more batshit posts where I bounce topics at breakneck speed. Maybe he will notice it has nothing to do with anxiety when he realizes it’s my constant mental state of being.
    Thanks for the support. And tell your boyfriend I think he’s right, we are snarkmates!

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