And Today’s Bipolar Extreme Is…

Me, being awake and sitting up, at 5:30 in the morning. I actually woke almost an hour ago but I attempted to go back to sleep. After least week’s involuntary somnolence, I didn’t think it’d be an issue. Ha. Bipolar throws another curveball embedded with rusty nails.

It may anxiety because I have a shrink appt today and I have to pick my kid up early just to make sure I can make the appt and not have to sweat them running behind so I can’t pick her up. (Yeah, I have family who probably might do it, but they aren’t very reliable and are always busy so why bother.)

Other anxiety includes my kid having a running nose (snot nosed brat, ha ha.) I pretty sure it’s a garden variety cold because I gave her allergy pills and it didn’t help. Of course, my mother went off, in front of Spook, about how “you need to get that kid to a doctor, her nose is running and she’s coughing, she must be allergic to your cats.” Grandma drama llama set off my baby  drama llama. Now following a shower last night Spook was howling in ear pain. Could be an ear infection coming on. Could be water trapped in her ear. Could be a number of things and my batshit mother has the child convinced I am neglectful if I don’t take her to the ER for every hangnail. Until Friday, Spook’s nose hadn’t even been running so we’re not talking some long going illness I’ve ignored.

How my mother didn’t psychologically cripple me is a miracle because she truly is nuts and hell bent on passing it on.

The weekend wasn’t bad. Not much human interaction required or dishes into the trip so that is always good. Of course, my dad had to stop by and bring me rules of the road book to remind me my kid still needs her booster seat  by law (ffs, she’s 4 feet tall, 62 lbs, and will turn 8 in 7 months, get over yourself.) Well, that set Spook into a stratospheric tantrum for an hour and a half. I had to listen to her bawl, wail, punch and kick walls and yell I SHOULD JUST DIE. Yes. Over a booster seat.

Yesterday’s drama was me asking her to put one basket of her laundry away after I’d folded six baskets. No, it was too hard. No, she doesn’t know where things go. (I pop quizzed her which drawer was for what, and ha, she aced it, so don’t play me, child.) She cried. She said she hated her life. I am mean.

I don’t really get how I have beyond a trait or two of borderline because all this drama makes me a nervous wreck and more depressed rather than giving me any kind of validation.

Oh, guess what. My nose is running too, I must have ebolaswinepox, best airlift me to Mayo clinic.

Now that you’ve had your morning dose of snarkasm…

I hope I can nap after I get her to school but I doubt it cos the appointment anxiety and I really don’t wanna extra medicate just to zonk myself out. Why can’t sleep come quickly and naturally? It never really has for me, even as a ten year old I’d be in bed awake an hour after lights out, counting numbers, silently singing songs in my head, making up stories. Anything to keep my mind occupied. Out of the dark zone, out of the anxiety inducing zone.

All I’ve heard lately is about attacking the underlying cause of anxiety, that will fix it. IF I KNEW, I’d Z whack it myself. That’s kind of the point of a disorder is you don’t know why you have the symptoms because it’s so often random and extreme. Saturday we braved the huge grocery store (would Aldi renovate already and reopen???) and I wasn’t too freaked. Yesterday we went to our normal small convenience store and seven people were in line and I started to get paranoid and panicky. WTF?

If it’s never the same trigger…How do I get to the underlying cause?

And this dialectal therapy the shrink mentioned…I am skeptical. It basically sounds like a self pep talk you brainwash yourself into. I can live in the moment, I can ask myself what the bigger picture is, blah blah blah…It doesn’t change whatever whacked out brain chemical imbalance is going to stab me in the back next.

Maybe I sound treatment resistant. I don’t think so. I’m willing to entertain the magnets, even shock. But talking talking talking, while may make me feel better (ya know, kinda like taking a poop)…I am still bipolar, still depressed, still anxious, still not sleeping properly.

Let’s talk about 20 years of THAT, professionals.

Okay,back to my courtship of the tissue box and binge watching Medium. I have had too much reality, the paranormal is just what I need to draw my attention away from my scumbag brain.

Which I am pretty sure is the reincarnation of the Marquis de Sade to have me awake at this ungodly hour. Sadistic son of a  bitch.

Advertisements

5 Responses to “And Today’s Bipolar Extreme Is…”

  1. I’ve been sleeping weird hours. Last night, or should I say early this morning, I finally slept from maybe 3AM until 7. Dog’s gotta lose 7 lbs, Deon’s gotta lose weight too, that big fatso. 6’2″ and 225lbs of pure animal magnetism yesterday, I swore it was 220lbs at the Dr. I had to weigh something that only weighed a few pounds for cooking and as I don’t have a kitchen scale, I have learned our bathroom scale is good to a tenth of a pound (1.6 oz) but won’t tell me what the little things weigh unless I stand on it with and then without and subtract. I’m slowly approaching my goal of between 195 and 200.

    The smart doctors I’ve gone to have NOT mentioned any goal weight for me, but the idiot doctors my dad went to last talked to him about his numbers and instead of just encouraging him because they were headed in a good direction, they tried to set the extreme goal for him and he, bless his stubborn little black heart, said a nonverbal “fuck you” to the doctors and went home and had a glass of Pepsi and ate some junk food. He’s first-generation adult onset diabetic, and like his son, any time anyone challenges him about something he’s sensitive about, he does whatever will NOT improve the situation, or he goes into a funk, or a bit of both. And mum, for her part, dials up more insulin for his shot. She could kill him quick as she controls the dosage and timing.

    And for my part, I’ve learned the behavior: “Deon, since you need more money, you should ‘just’ find a job that pays more money,” for instance, throws me into a huge funk. Which is basically rage swords I seppuku on. Dear, dear, Mrs M., please do NOT express disappointment about money or the time it takes me to wash dishes or the quality of the housework I do, or it will piss me off. E.g., “I need you to wash ___ right away.” Deon washes it within 30 minutes of this. Next morning, “Well, looks like you waited to wash ___. Did you wait to wash it until morning?” No, I washed it right after you asked me to, stfu. And Deon proceeds to have to fight the urge to shut down and not wash ANYTHING. Todays’ ___ were the mixer beaters SHE used to mix up something last night and she told me she sees rust on them today. Well, if I had put them away myself, I would have just quietly oiled them to get the rust off or at least seasoned away from growing, so somehow it’s my fault that at some previous time the beaters weren’t washed quick enough and they got a little rust on them. I may have been camping and away that weekend, but there’s a slim chance it was my fault. Seppuku.

    We have to decide to love ourselves better than other people do.

    • Ha, all the research I did for my Yajkuza story in the 90’s paid off, I actually remembered what seppaku means.

      Sounds too organized for my tastes. Also, if told I must kill myself to reclaim my honor…Of course I am not gonna do it. Duh. Damn that rebellion gene.

      On Sun, Feb 5, 2017 at 1:12 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

      • I only seppuku on swords that nick my soul. It feels like I’m going to die, but I haven’t yet. Which fuels the rage. All my lovely family, in-laws, and close relatives seem to know at least one button to push. And who inspires them?

      • I don’t give my family enough credit to be intelligent enough to purposely push my buttons. I truly think they are just that self absorbed and cruel. The donor…he was manipulative and smart enough to push my buttons and I danced like a marionette. Just not often enough not completely buy his act.

        My family…yeah, just self unaware cruel idgets. Sam and Dean need to like exorcise them or some shit.

        On Sun, Feb 5, 2017 at 1:41 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

        >

      • you can dance for me any time, but I’m not going to pull any of your strings or deliberately push any of your buttons. ❤

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: