The Bipolar Shift

I was okay until…around 7 p.m.
Then from out of nowhere comes splat.

In spite of splat, I agreed to a playdate for my kid tomorrow night. At this point, I am existing only for her, anyway. And considering she goes out with her dress inside out and her shoes on the wrong feet on occasion, I seem to be dropping the ball even on that.Which should indicate how far gone I am because my daughter is everything to me, I’d never do anything to jeopardize her being with me.
I’m…slipping.
But having seen someone worse off than I am…It has given me the fuel to keep fighting. I mean, no one really knows what they will do when the chips are down. At this moment, with our future so uncertain, I am terrified and convinced I am doomed thus my kid is doomed. It could go either way. No one knows. So you just keep trying each day. The only way to know what will happen if it all blows up in your face is how you handle it if, and when, that does happen.
What pisses me off the most, I think, is I know too many people on disability whose illnesses seem to come and go, or hinge only on things they don’t want to do yet they can socialize and party like it’s 1999.
But here I am, busting my ass, TRYING and I feel like I am fighting for my life in spite of legitimate issues and an honest effort to try and fight it all.
It’s very defeating of one’s spirit.

On the plus side…I found a new show to watch. Though it’s in season two, it is new to me. The Night Shift. It’s like ER, only…Um…Updated? I don’t know, but thus far I like it. And it made me realize just how dull my life is.
Yet I can only handle so much outside stimuli before I melt down.
So…Am I being lazy and histrionic? Or am I simply having the courage to face and accept that in spite of my best efforts and own goals, I have limitations?

Ahhh…Flood posting. Don’t ya love it?
Manic brain is manic.
Depressed spirit is depressed.

I do have one nicety to say. I had this awesome dream last night, and I’ll be damned if I remember who was in it other than me and my old friend Shane, but three of us went to this horror themed party at a bar and there was this haunted house and I was drinking whiskey and coke and everyone was gothed up and there was heavy metal music…
Bliss.
Right until I woke up and realized…UGhh, I am still here in this armpit petri dish and I am still stuck with scumbag brain.

But I learned today…I’m not the only one who feels this way. I mean, Kenny does a better job of coping and putting on the mask than I do…But he’s unhappy here and wants to move south but money is always an issue…He said, “I don’t belong here. Every day I am in this place, just taking that first breath every morning is an eight hour job.”

I feel ya, dude.
How I feel ya.
But even if a change of locale helped me…it wouldn’t fix me.
Because much as I hate this town…The biggest problem is in my own head.

I saw where scientists are within a few years of being able to map out the areas of the brain responsible for certain mental illness thus enabling them to treat, and perhaps, cure, the illness.
It kind of reeks of the whole lobotomy/ect thing.
Yet…I am so desperate..I think I’d volunteer to be a guinea pig.
If it would just make me better.
Attitude counts for shit when your own brain is telling you lies. Knowing they are lies isn’t enough. You have to be in enough of your right mind to combat them.

That simply doesn’t happen on the bipolar shift.

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