Multi Blah-gasmic

My mood is neither up nor down. Mostly blah. But minus my kid’s noise…I am awesomely serene right now. I haven’t had a Xanax since 10 p.m. last night and don’t intent to take one til bedtime. I’m not drinking. I didn’t win the lottery. Of all the nasty housework (stop speaking Swahili, Sass and Diane!) most I have done is take out trash and wash Mt Disholympus. I got all jazzed about fixing myself a home made cheeseburger. So I did. And yet…I ate maybe ten bite before giving it to the cats. I don’t know if it’s my tastebuds changing with age or the meds biting my ass again, but it tasted wrong. Mealy. Like it was undercooked yet it was fully cooked. Like…ugh, flashback to deerburger. Yeah,eww, no.

And still..not freaking out, not crash landing into the abyss.

And it’s no thanks to the dish dwellers. Well, mostly…the not so super hero known as R-sole and his adventures in being McDouchey.

*Discontinue reading if you dislike monotony, just remember I have to live it, so I don’t get to click that X up at the corner of the page and skip it.*

So after we had an enlightening chat and I vented some grievances, I thought, okay, maybe I can make this work without slitting my own throat with a butter knife.

Ya know what’s even shittier than not being heard? NOT BEING LISTENED TO.

Twenty years I’ve told him about the quirks of panic disorder and bipolar, tried to at least get him to dull the edges on his judgment. And still…one minor panic incident because I got overwhelmed and next I’m hearing that calming, condescending tone one takes with a hyper child. “Calm down, calm down…Now, calm down, take deep breaths..Ssh, it’s okay, calm down…Don’t get upset.”

“Dude, I’m having a panic attack!”

“Well, don’t panic, that will get you killed.”

WTF, right? Because panic is so much fun and leaves you with so much dignity and confidence, we do it FOR SHITS AND FUCKING GIGGLES!

Then came insult to injury. He said something about one of my mood quirks and I assured him that amongst the bipola community, it’s standard issue symptomology, not some “quirk” of me as a sole individual. I qualified that with, “We have a mental illness, it does not make us crazy. “

“Absolutely, mental illness is the same as physical illness. You wouldn’t take a diabetic to a candy store, you don’t a mentally ill person hunting.”

Oh, wow, hilarious. I forgot to laugh. Maybe my funny bone truly is broken. No, actually, it’s not…Mental illness can be made more palatable with humor, but when it’s used by the non mentally ill as some sort of dismissive deflection…

I want a syphili-spork launcher NOW.

I was irked further when in spite of knowing me, and my likes and dislikes for twenty years, which have NOT change…He insisted on Chinese food for lunch. I won’t touch the stuff with a thirty foot hazmat suited spork. I don’t like it. Instead of accepting that, he basically forced me to try it, like I was a recalcitrant little child who was being stubborn. He kept insisting, “You’ll like this…”

Hmm mmm, same thing the donor, self proclaimed former pro chef, guaranteed that I would LOVE his al fredo sauce even thought I find white sauce on pasta as gross as a plate of squirming maggots covered in snot. I don’t care if Food Network’s chefs prepare it and a fucking pegacorn sneezes magical perpetual-Halloween dust on it. Do. Not. Like.

So anyway…To appease him and prove my own point, I took a bite of orange chicken. And promptly ran to the bathroom gagging. Because my tastebuds are not his. And he got pissy and I got pissy back and said, “Ya know, sometimes, it’s not people being difficult, sometimes people just don’t like the same things you like.”

He made a face. And refused to get me anything else for lunch. Which would not have been a problem yet he also knew I had no gas in the car to run home for food, no money on me for food…So I didn’t get any lunch. And it didn’t bother him in the least. Seriously, treating me like a bratty kid who has to eat the same thing as daddy pissed me the fuck off. Hell, just a heads up- Bringing Chinese today, know it’s not your thing…I’d have brought my own grubbage. For fuck’s sake.

Every time I think maybe finally this man has stopped viewing me as one of his kids, as the manic moron ex gf, as a 42 year old woman who simply has opinions and tastebuds of her own…He just kicks me right back down to the kiddie table.

At this point…I think while I will definitely vent, spew, curse…I will also have some fun with it. I can make him miserable in return. On the days when I’m not doubled over with blah-gasmic apathy. Or ya know, fetalized in bed hiding under the covers.

It’s the fucking dish, what do I expect from dish dwellers? For every time you let that mold grow in the petri dish and something amazing like Penicillin results…Well, you’ve got a million times the petri dish is just green and black and moldy and nasty. Ha, very definition of most people. Thus the public remains…the petri dish.

I dropped my kid off at my mom’s, then had to stop for paper towels. I ended up waiting in line behind some woman with like sixty items, most oranged tagged and not ringing up on the computer so manual entry was necessary, the cashier had just started, and even people ahead of and behind me were putting their stuff down and walking out. So I channeled my inner dish dweller douchiness and mumbled, “Pretty bad when your store gets slower than Aldi.”

I ended up feeling sorry for the cashier, but it was still irksome that they couldn’t open another lane to get those of us with one item out of there quicker. They lost a good hundred dollars’ in sales from those less patient than me. (Yeah, yeah, I was patient, but a total bitch, what do ya want from me after five hours in the dish?)

In true psychological masochistic form today…I ventured onto Reddit. Now, I know that site is one of my triggers so I stopped signing in with a username or commenting or well, interacting with that university of douchebaggery. I thought, oh, TwoXChromosomes should be safe from the trolls and assholes.

Yet it set me off in a major way. There were multiple threads about being with someone who is mentally ill…And the rapidity with which people say, “Get out before they drag you down” is mind boggling. Seriously, they would NEVER EVER suggest a husband or wife walk out because the other had cancer, never mind the financial aspects, taking on all the work, caretaking for the sick person, not even knowing if they will survive…But, no, that situation is one where you are expected, no DEMANDED, to stick by their side in sickness and health.

With mental illness, all it takes is a couple of weeks a year of having some mood swings, stress responses rather than a diagnosis, and all these Redditors are on their soapboxes as if the mentally ill have ebola, oooemmmgeeee, ruuun before it’s transmitted.

I was disgusted. And once again, my guilt over how most of my relationships have ended up impacting who I was with and destroying a large chunk of things (mainly my desire to even be bothered, cos damn it, depression isn’t the “share everything” part of a relationship) metastasized.

There was much talk about people who won’t help themselves.

Oddly, Only one positive comment in all the threads about someone with depression “taking care” of their illness.

NO mention of how in spite of the meds, we still struggle.

NO encouragement to learn about mental health issues. No advice on how to be supportive.

“Me me me, not mentally ill person, me me me, your illness is destroying me me me…Me my me mymee meeee meeee….You’re so selfish to be mentally ill, I can’t believe how you treat me…You’re destroying me….Me me me me, you have meds and therapy but those of us who have to deal with you don’t even get a support group!”

I kid you not, that’s not dramatizing, it said that shit.

And to an extent, I get it, I don’t wanna, don’t think I should have to, but I do.

Hell, I even look back to how I went off my meds when Spook wasn’t quite two cos the doctor closed up his practice…And without Xanax, I was too scared to use a phone. I begged the donor for months to just make the call for me. Get me that far. I’ll do the meds, counseling, ECT, just make that call for me…

He never did.

One week he’d be telling me I was fine without the meds.

The next week it’d be, “Oh, that’s just your bad personality, you blame everything on being bipolar!”

Followed by, “YOU chose to go off your meds, YOU ruined this”

I think that lather rinse repeat cycle ran for a good year before he finally snuck his shit out and broke up by phone. And while I carry a burden of responsibility…I BEGGED him to help me, not by putting up with my bad behavior, not forcing him into therapy, not refusing to do housework or care for our child…

I was so ill I could not use a telephone. Literally.

And he could not lift a finger to help.

Yet first time we spoke after he left…his go to scream was, “You went off your meds, you chose to do that!”

Yep. Because I thought my partner would have my back should I reach a point where I couldn’t have my own back.

That makes me evil as fuck. Those Redditors should just tar and feather me now.

It’s irksome but ya know what…

 

Not even that has managed to assault my blah-gasmic serene frame of mind.

Which just goes to show, much like fighting off an infection…You fare better on the days your immune system isn’t compromised, or in our case, when our mental immune system isn’t compromised. I have my Teflon coating right now protecting me from the insidious dishdom and its cornucopia of psychological maladies thus sparking my psychiatric maladies….

We absolutely need a penicillin like drug for our minds.


BRAIN CONDOMS.

Which, if you think about it…psych med are like brain condoms. You still feel things, but you’re not sure what it is and you don’t remember what it is you’re supposed to feel…

Unfortunately, our brain condoms have the same failure rates as some condoms. Instead of a cute bouncing baby…We get overdosed on blah-gasmic displeasure.

 

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11 Responses to “Multi Blah-gasmic”

  1. Such great bedtime reading! (Yes, it is Friday night, I am sober, meh, and eerily stable.) Stopped reading for a few minutes when I came across “awesomely serene” because I had an cosmic blah-gasm. Planets collided; hedge fund managers dropped dead as they snorted coke off the bellies of dead children; Obama wept. Sincerely happy you had a night off from the million and one infernal stresses. Had never heard of Reddit and thank my good fortune. Hahaha condom description PERF (as the kids say). Will you please write a book just about R and your daily interactions with him? Tragicomedy…caustic satire…It is one of the great epic relationships. Maybe if it scores you a movie deal and a Polynesian fling with Chris Hemsworth, could make up for all the patronizing, flaky arseholery you’ve had to endure? Probably not. Sass and Diane need to enter their comments into a Google translator function:)

    • If my paranoia was kicking up I would assume you were mocking me with my seemingly inane chatter about R-sole.
      Instead that solid serene thing has decided…A book about the difficulties for a bipolar anxious person to deal, daily, with an intrepid narcissistic person might actually work.
      I’ll be snoring through dirt by the time I figure it out…

      • No no no, Not mocking! I do not mock in this space. I was in a light-hearted mood, in the spirit of your post, but it was just my way of saying how much I appreciate the sheer ordeal that R is to you; and a tip of my cap to your writerly chops that you keep bringing the hammer down on the guy so entertainingly. That’s all. My bad.

  2. I seriously want to tie R down to a chair and force feed him food he doesn’t like. Fucking fuck! Since you perused Reddit for us, uts safe to say we don’t need do, therefore unleashing Pegacorns and syphili-sporks and gohnnorea melon ballers. (FFS YOU CANT AUTOCORRECT AN STD BUT YOU CAN AUTOCORRECT EVERYTHING ELSE?!)
    I like Andrew’s idea of a book. It would be fascinating and utterly hilarious because no one would get our sarcastic wit.
    Glad you got to enjoy you Blah-gasm. I did manage to make it out of my room twice yesterday for a total of 3 hours! VICTORY!

  3. Okay so you are my new best friend because you invented the word blahgasmic which is my new favorite word.

    I will be on edge all day now just waiting for a chance to drop it into conversation.

    AND I loved so much of this.

    I was going to spew off about the whole would you leave your partner with cancer thing in a post just now. It really is JUST barbaric. I am sorry you went on reddit and saw that shit. It is horrendous to see that stuff.

  4. He’s right about one thing — he shouldn’t take me hunting. I would shoot him in the ass so he would not be able to shit again.

    I hate the world.

  5. Hmmm,,, what can I say that anyone else hadn’t said?? *Jeopardy theme song in background* oh oh oh ~ nothing! You guys pretty much summed up my thoughts,,, Asshole!! Calling R a fucktard is pretty much insulting even The Village Idiots of Fucktardia! So, the only thing i can say is ^’WHAT THEY SAID!’^

  6. Lonelyjean Says:

    Brain condoms. I cannot. Best comparison EVER. Serious virtual high fives for you.

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