Blah Blah Blah

Couldn’t come up with a decent title. I am so drained and low today I would swear I went on a bender last night except I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. Welcome to the monthly PMDD. When combined with the inability to get to sleep until the wee hours, then waking multiple times, and having a love affair with the snooze button through a mental haze so thick a machete could not slice through it…As soon as Spook was on the bus, I went back to Fort Blankie, intent on getting more sleep. I had cramps so bad I knew the day was doomed, anyway.

I slept until almost noon, and have been kicking myself because of it. But I have zero energy or motivation. This gloomy weather is really causing the seasonal affective disorder to kick my ass. On top of hormonal issues, it leads to living dead girl syndrome.

I am super stressed about tomorrow. I am supposed to take my stepmonster to the hospital at 9 a.m. so she can have her 11 a.m. colonoscopy and I have to stay and drive her home after they put her under…Then I have to take my kid to her first band concert in a packed gym, driving after dark in mega traffic..All this on top of being dysphoric and plain exhausted…Filled with panic and dread, almost wishing a bolt of lightning would take me out. People-ing is hard on me, drains me, stresses me to breaking point.

How I want to write again. I have been proofing some of my older stuff and dear god, it will be 3 years soon since I sat down and got absorbed in my fiction. But I don’t know how to make it work without a desktop computer. The laptop overheats easily and has so many externals I can’t just drag it around…I am super frustrated with this. WHY couldn’t ONE fucking thing, one positive fucking thing, go right? Even if I were to ask for a used tower for Christmas and my family would pony up, by then my creative urge could well be gone. So I try to tell myself to downscale my writing process. But unless I can do it a certain way, in my protective bubble, without fear of burning up a computer or losing data because it’s not on external hard drive, plus music to create the ambience…I know I am being neurotic and should just…do…it…Even with pen and paper. Just fucking do it.

But my creative process does not work like that. I have to be in a static bubble with my external accessories and I can’t even sit the laptop on the kitchen table safely because the cats walk all over the keyboard. It’s so maddening. Or I am just super hormonal. I got to thinking back over the years to some of my worst blow ups and tearfests-some of which lead to fights, others lead to me being asked to leave because I was hysterical (as if people who truly love you would want you driving a car in that state, ffs, what is wrong with people?) but…I can tie pretty much every one of those episodes to the PMDD. Because outside that 7-10 day cycle, I almost never cry or have aggressive urges to fight or get dramatic. Doesn’t excuse my idiocy, but it explains it. It also tells me all I need to know about the people in my life and their emotional IQ’s. Hormonal surges are no more my fault than bipolar is. I need understanding and an effort to soothe me and calm me, not people telling me to snap out of it and grow up. This PMDD every month is like a neverending pregnancy state and people cut pregnant ladies lots of slack cos it’s not their fault their hormones are fucked up…Not that my family or ex or anyone ever cut me any slack for that either, but I have heard others have experienced the understanding and support so it’s out there…

Shit I went off on a diabtribe. Fuck. I can’t stay focused. Right now, my back and belly are hurting and I just want to sleep some more but then I feel shitty for sleeping but…even if others lack the decency of understanding and cutting me slack…maybe I should do it for myself. Self care. Allow myself to feel all the stress, endure the pain and confusion, and know like a storm it will pass and the sun will come out and I won’t be hurting or as…powder keggy.

But thanks to a bunch of thoughtless emotionally stunted assholes in my life, instead of being able to give myself some TLC and slack, I have their chorus of discouragement and judgement screaming in my head that I am weak, that I am immature, that I won’t take responsibility for not being able to control my emotions or suck up the pain and lack of energy.

It truly is not a wonder why I self isolate and have learned to self soothe, even if through layers of self loathing placed on me by others. Their ‘love’ is toxic and I am sane enough to not want to be poisoned further.

90% of the time I am okay with being a lone wolf.

But I’d be a liar if I didn’t say 10% of me wishes I did have at least one person in my life who would accept me, and ‘my bullshit moods and neuroses’ and love me in spite of it all and be there through thick and thin. Friend, lover, refrigerator repair man, I don’t even care anymore. Just one fucking person to make the effort to understand not everything I feel and do is poor character or a personality disorder. I don’t control so much of what goes on with my mind and body. I understand it intellectually and I know when to avoid situations that could set me off on the tearfest or ragefest but…Every once in awhile it would be nice to just have a person I could cuddle up to and cry on their shoulder and have my hair stroked and be told it’s okay to be sad or hate the world.

Last week when our kitten Pasha died, the ONLY person I told who even bothered with an “I’m so sorry for you” was my sister. My mom, my dad, stepmonster, brother, so called friend, even my kid…They didn’t offer a condolence, a hug, NOTHING. Just an “Oh,” or a “Hmm” then back to talking about some inane bullshit. And I am supposedly the heartless bitch.

Tearing up. Oh, wow, I can’t wait for menopause. Because 46 years of not being able to control my bipolar and hormonal issues being extended another ten years is something to look forward to.

I have to return to regularly scheduled anger and sarcasm because all that mooshy shoulder-to-cry-on shit makes me feel like a wussy. I logically know it is just a human need to feel connected and comforted but thanks to all the assholes around me teaching me that denial or anger are more acceptable than tears and true emotion…They have passed on their emotionally stunted toxins like an antibiotic resistent STD.

I am better off alone.

So why does that 10% of me still have hope of one day finding my ‘person’? Oh, right. Because I am a lowly human and have human feelings. Even if everyone in my life seems hell bent on convincing me that my needs are unimportant and make me weak. Maybe that 10% of me is what is left of my humanity they haven’t tainted and rather than view it with resentment and feel it is a weakness…maybe I should be grateful their negativity hasn’t entirely robbed me of my hope even if it is pie in the sky.

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