I am feeling irate today. Not angry irate, anxiety irate. My kid’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I know it’s me, not her. I own that. I am letting her play outside with her friends and just hearing their shrill little squeals and babble makes my skin crawl. I think I am just on overload because we spent so much time in the dish yesterday. She keeps running in and out, which always drives me nuts. I chastise, she acts like I don’t exist.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

And yeah, I know I suck, cos I told her she was grounded a week but I only made it five days with her in my face. Five days is close enough to a week, after her being home nine days on spring break.

It’s me. She’s not being bad. It’s me.

I sent R a text yesterday about a license plate I saw that said Zaphod, cos he is a huge Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fan…He finally texted back with “I’ve seen it dozens of times and it says Zaphd, not Zaphod,” I shot back with, “Is there ever a moment you’re not correcting someone?”

Think I made the shit list but I’m not wrong. He is constantly correcting everyone on every tiny thing. You can’t get a number or letter off. You can’t loosely quote a movie line because he has to correct you with every single correct word of the quote. It’s maddening. I have to hear about my inability to focus and math dyslexia irritating him, yet he is oblivious to how annoying he is. I mean, I was just trying to send a text, say something other than FIX MY CAR. Let him know I’m not just using him for car repair, I actually think of him as a friend.

And for my trouble I get corrected and end up feeling shitty about myself because I got it wrong. Why would anyone want to be around someone who constantly makes you feel that way? Or am I just a big baby with a fragile psyche? Pfft. Just sick of the criticism for my bipolar symptoms that I can’t control yet I am surrounded by assholes who could check their behavior if they had a brain. If I am doing something irksome, I want to be told and I will try to correct it or at least do it less. If I can take criticism that way, how fragile can my psyche be?

Just…rudeness. Major trigger.

I was hoping dad and them might have Spook sleep over tonight but now…I don’t want to deal with them. I don’t want to try to find her clothes from Mt Laundrolympus. I don’t want to breathe because it takes too much energy and I just feel so anxious and irate.

It’s me.

Actually, it’s fucking bipolar.

I am not my disorder.

Unfortunately, I seem to be the only person around who can make that observation.

Geesh, even the wind is too loud and irritating me. The cat bathing herself is too loud.

There is only one direction my mental state is going from here and that is right into another splat episode.

Just in time for her to go back to school and me have to put on the mask of “I really want to get up at 7 a.m.”

Dear God, I let one of the girls use the bathroom and she helped herself to my perfume, it’s wafting. I can’t stand people touching my stuff without asking first. Just…yeah, I am territorial. Just…NO. Personal space, respect, manners. ASK.

It’s just my current bipolar shift, that is all. I can ride this out.

Even if all I want to do is have a screaming rage fit then collapse into a pile of exhausted tears.



One Response to “Rubberband”

  1. Good God one of them used your perfume???? That is so rude. I’m assuming this is the Devil Girls?

    You are completely NOT a big baby. I’m not sure if I would be out of bed feeling like you do, and not only are you out of bed, you are dealing! I know you feel like shit doing it, but DAMN woman.

    Whenever I’m heading downhill fast the noises are always too loud, too. No one can walk quietly enough, talk quietly enough, the pet noises are too loud. I feel your pain on this one.

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