Archive for mania

Dirty Little Confessions Of A Manic Depressive

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on March 27, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

I got to thinking…What could I possibly write about that would be considered brave and brutally honest? What could I post that might actually paint an accurate picture of manic episodes?
Then it hit me. Prior to all the bipolar shit…It was called manic depression. And it’s a far more accurate term than this broad category of bipolar.
You’re manic. You’re depressed. Doesn’t matter which one is prevalent. The disastrous results are the same.

So…I am going to drop my modesty, humiliation, and shame and just put it out there. I think there are too many people who blame their poor choices on simply being a bad person (and frankly, the professionals seem to encourage this.) I believe in patterns of behavior. If you only behave a certain way during a manic or depressive bout…That is the illness tainting your ability to think logically. Maybe it’s a fine line between blowing off personal responsibility by blaming the illness but for me, it’s no different than someone who has a burst vessel in their brain slamming into another car in traffic. Did they choose to do it and cause the wreck? No.
And I never chose to go off the rails manic or nutsy kookoo with the depression. Compared to my brief but possible stable periods, I behave nothing like that.
Dirty little confessions of manic depression.

I am not talking the good hypomania here. That’s generally productive and you feel good without the impulsiveness.
Full blown manic episodes mimic being drunk and high. And you feel that way even without chemical substances.

I have had sex with people I didn’t even like because I was bored and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Until the manic episode ended and I said, WTF?
I have gone on drinking binges and popped diet pills to the point of “omg,how are you not dead yet”. Yet when depressed, I don’t want to drink at all.
I have said and done things that were absolutely cruel and uncalled for.
I’ve been in one fight in my entire life(got my ass kicked) yet when transitioning from manic episodes into the weepy volatile phase…I have thrown things, hit people, yanked their hair. Given this was all fifteen years ago back before mood stabilizers were introduced, but it still haunts me.
I would quit jobs during a manic episode, not even considering the consequences because I was ten feet tall and bulletproof at the time.
I’d sink into such deep depressions and panic attacks, I’d just not show up for jobs because I was physically ill due to the mental illness and it was just less humiliating to be fired for not showing than admit I couldn’t handle it. Either way, I was gone.
I have let down people I cared about when manic. They reached out and I was flying too high with my own idiocy to be bothered.
When depressed, I have often curled up in bathtubs or closets with blankets and just sobbed for days. (Prior to having my child when I had the luxury.)
There were times the pain of being conscious was so much, I’d deliberately knock myself out on Trazadone and Serquel. If I woke up after ten hours, I’d take more. To the point of sleeping 18 hours a day seven days a week.
By comparison, when manic, I barely want to take my meds (even though I do) and I don’t want food or sleep or alone time. I want to feel alive, live in color, out loud. What I don’t realize is that I am loud, aggressive, I talk too much, too fast, and make no sense, and I am actually irritating. (Though the consensus is, I am way more tolerable manic than depressive, which says much for those around me being shallow.)
I barely consumed alcohol for the bulk of my disorder. My shrink had me on 3mg Xanax daily and it seemed to keep the anxiety demons bay. It wasn’t until the new shrink order and their bad attitude toward Xanax paraded in and plied me with Buspar, Ativan, Klonopin, Seroquel…All as helpful as a tic tac. So I fight until I get my Xanax back and I get it, but at half the dose I am used to.
It was then that the drinking started.
Throw in booze with mania…Yeah, I skipped state with a dude I met on the net, lost a decent job, and it took months for me to come down and realize…What the hell have I done? And then I hit rock bottom. He didn’t want to clean up, I did. Because once you wake up on the carpet surrounded by trash you haven’t taken out in days and spot maggots on the floor…You don’t know rock bottom.
It’s disgusting, I know. But it happened.
I called the local rehab center. They told me I had a coping problem, not an alcohol problem, and they couldn’t help me.
I had no insurance for therapy or meds because I’d lost the job.
I was…a mess.
And all I had going for me was the knowledge that I had to get my shit together and apparently, I only had myself to count on.
It started this seemingly endless cycle of months long depressions, minimal functionality, and epic manic episodes. (Until I got the right diagnosis and meds.)

I have had far few manic episodes since then. They last a week or two and I try to avoid any situation where I could make disastrous choices. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I succeed.

The biggest problem has been the depression bouts. I will go days without bathing. Wear pajamas 24-7. I’ll eat like a pig one week, forget the eat the next. I become paranoid and fearful. I barely leave the house. I am fairly convinced the world is out to psychologically damage me. Well, more than I already am. I miss social outings, school outings for my kid. I am just…out of it.
Which runs off friends and my family just sighs. “Oh, she’s doing it again.”

There is no aspect to this illness that doesn’t mess with my existence. While the proper diagnosis and meds have helped immensely…It never sticks. And it’s frustrating.
More than anything, living with the shame of your actions during both extremes is a very hard pill to swallow.
People assume it’s your personality and you did it all on purpose.
That’s as logical as saying someone who is Roofie’d deserved to be raped.
Mental illness taints everything you see, feel, perceive. Yes, you did the behavior. But not being in your right mind was a crucial factor.
Does the world take one minute to ponder this? No.
So the stigma and shame just continue.

I pick myself up again and again and keep trying.
What else am I gonna do?
I will go until I can’t anymore.
But there is a difference between existing and living.
Mental illness is like living in black and white.
Sanity is living in color.

I have regrets. I have shame. I even cringe and call myself names for some of the lows I’ve hit.
But when all is said and done…
I’ve done the hardest thing.
I’ve faced up to the behavior, owned it, shared it, and moved past it.
That’s courage and self awareness.


Dirty Little Lies

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on August 13, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

The mania calmed down but it was going to the shop that really harshed my mellow. R is on his 9/11 conspiracy kick again so it was youtube videos galore. I believe it was a controlled implosion and a massive cover up (though I do not venture to speculate who is responsible, could be government, private financiers, etc.) (Oh, bloody hell, if you can’t stand behind your own convictions…I’m sure the government was involved, just unsure on the extent of involvement.) Anyway…It saddened me when I stayed home from work on 9/11 to watch the footage and time doesn’t dull that a bit. Those poor people…People jumping out windows because it seemed a better way to die than burning alive…Cripes. THEN he showed me footage of the Malaysian plane crash to demonstrate the wreckage of a “real” plane crash…OMG. Mangled, burned bodies. For all my macabre humor, I actually teared up at those images. I can’t even fathom the family members who lost loved ones having to see those pictures floating about…
Yeah so needless to say, that really brought my mood to a crashing halt and just made me feel so sad for all the lives lost, for their families…
And he was involved in a repair so he couldn’t be arsed to give me a directive as what he wanted done so I did fuck all but wander aimlessly and watch the videos for two hours. I did run and get smokes and lunch.
By 1 o’ clock when my dr appt was nearing, my anxiety was rising. I really just wanted OUT of there because I was at the threshold of “out of comfort zone freak out”…And he says, “Can you come back after you’re done so you can do the stuff I need done?” ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, DUDE? Three hours I was there and he couldn’t be bothered to give a verbal directive but he wants me to rearrange my plans (running home to my safe zone to have my anxiety meltdown in private) to accommodate him? Cripes.
So the dr’s office had moved and I couldn’t find it. I was sitting right in front of it, as it turned out. They didn’t have a sign up so I had no clue. The receptionist commented on me being a genius. Yeah, well, panic was rising by that point so pardon me for not being particularly lucid.
They kept me waiting 25 minutes. I don’t mind a little wait, gives me a chance to read their People magazines for the latest scandals (it feels less dirty if I’m not paying to read gossip) but after thumbing through the third magazine…I was getting irked.
Finally get in. Doctor is smiley happy shiny person as usual. I ponder for a split second being honest with her, ya know, the real mental illness kind of honest.
It didn’t happen.
The happy mask went on and like a trained seal, I gave the report I know she wanted.
Dirty Little Lies.
Or half truths, depending on your outlook.
I mean, my moods have been pretty decent outside of the cycling. (Which I did mention with the hypomania tossed out) and she smiled and nodded. (On the tv screen. Telepsychiatry is both weird and awesome.) But she said hearing I was doing so well made her day, she was so proud of me and happy for me. Blah blah blah. And like a trained seal, I balanced the beach ball on my nose and clapped my flipper thingies. Or smiled and took a chipper tone and issued no complaints. Even if the anxiety has been kicking my ass most days. It’s not like she’s very useful for that but she keeps me in Xanax and it helps so I don’t wanna rock that particular boat where she whips out like Seroquel which is shit for anxiety, been there, done that, and burned the tshirt.
Dirty. Little. Lies.
I mean, I’m doing okay. As she said, I’m like a different person compared to the state I was in six months ago.
I just felt so pressured to “perform” for her since me doing better made her day.
As I was leaving, I told the nurse, “I’m glad I’ve been stable for two solid months but the seasonal affect coming is what scares me.” Most people get a little case of the blues when the seasons change to fall and winter. I fall headfirst down the bloody rabbit hole and can’t climb out for six months. It’s a legitimate fear, not a self fulfilling prophecy. It’s happened every year since I was 12 years old. The fact that it’s not viewed seriously and their solutions are “exercise and sunlight”…I have cause to be wary and fearful.
For now…
Dirty little lies it is. She set me up for three months, but if that seasonal does its usual thing…I may be hitting the panic button long before then.

Driving back to the shop, the anxiety had me crawling in my skin. I was paranoid, looking around, scared someone was going to crash into me. (No idea why my brain fixated on that.) I was trying to think of an excuse to text him about not coming back because he’d get pissed if I said my anxiety and panic disorders were kicking up. He’s not a believer in the mental illness thing unless you’re bat shit crazy and wear a tinfoil hat while licking toads or some shit. It was like…maybe I can throw Bex under the bus and claim she needs a break from the spawn. Or cramps, that’s always a good excuse men don’t tend to pursue with questions. Then it hit me…my phone was dead so I couldn’t text.
I went back, skin crawling off my bones. Thankfully, all I had to was write up a couple of tickets and contact a couple of insurance companies, one of which I can do from home since the bill has to be emailed and Mr. Business Man doesn’t even have a scanner (I got one of the all in one thingies for like $40 and I can’t afford ink for the printer, but the scanner works fine.) I like being able to do things from home, especially when the panic starts rising up.

Got home. Took a Xanax. Slowly returning to a good place. Except the kids came to play with Spook, then took off and she’s pouting, like it’s my fault. Wish those brats would just move, they’ve been threatening it for months. I’ve enjoyed not having a bunch of kids all summer like I did last year.

So…that’s my day in a very long nutshell. It’s only 4:30 so I have plenty of conscious hours to either recover from the panic attacks or ya know, get my ass kicked by them again. There’s no real trigger, which is the thing that pisses me off most. How can I learn to cope and manage if there’s never any particular trigger that sets them off, ffs? It’s gotten to the point where there’s so little rhyme or reason to it all, I’m wondering if I have a damn brain tumor making my brain go wonky. Or wonkier.
That’s another one of my things. I get a new pain in my side and my brain automatically assumes the worst. The only thing it hasn’t decided I have is ebola and I’m just waiting for that now that Ebola is being treated in the states. How long before some jackhole decides it needs to be released into the general public for shits and giggles.

I am really this nuts.

Dirty Little Lies for the shrink to make her appeased.
Bitten on the ass by reality for me.

Life’s awesome sometimes.

Manic Again?

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on May 6, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Once my mood crashed into the abyss…I was done, stick a fork in me. My kid went to sleep at 7:30 and I laid down in bed in front of a fan and I started nodding off. But I kept jolting awake with nightmares. It was like I’d taken a trazadone but I hadn’t. And they were the paralyzing dreams which made them even scarier.

I woke up several times, pretty much every hour on the hour. At one point I heard my phone ring and I couldn’t be arsed to get it. No one wants to talk to me when I am low anyway. Wish I could opt out of being in my mind when I am low.

I woke again at 11:30 and realized I’d gone to sleep without feeding the strays cats outside which made me bolt up guiltily and rush to get it done. Now aside from miserable allergy attacks of sneezing, wheezing, coughing and being tied to a tissue box…I think I am entering manic territory again. My mind is on overdrive with ideas and thoughts. But the motivation to do anything about it is missing so whatever it is, it’s not likely to be productive. Still, it beats the semi suicidal space I occupied earlier.

It’s so difficult when your shrink does their ten minute drive thru med check each month and they ask if you’ve had any thoughts of suicide. With cyclothymia, there are times you have thoughts of nominating yourself for sainthood because of the euphoria involved in manic episodes. You also have moments where you do ponder doing yourself in. But it all passes so damn fast you don’t even take it seriously yourself anymore. Is it worth mentioning? If you do mention it, will they say “Oh, she just wants attention, no one who talks about suicide every commits it.” Or will you wind up in the rubber ramada labeled a danger to yourself for simply being candid?

I am up back on the upswing, I think, but I am still feeling the need to withdraw and isolate. People’s attitudes change toward me when I am not manic and bouncing off walls. They want fun Niki, like I can just turn it off and on and being a depressive basketcase is a choice. That makes me so dejected and angry I don’t want to deal with such shallow fucks. If you can’t try to understand and exhibit some empathy and compassion..Fuck you. It’s not coddling someone just by being kind to them for having a mighty heavy and unpleasant cross to carry.

Of course, y0u say anything of that ilk and get a litany of all they have to deal with and how your life is a cakewalk and blah blah blah. Ass trashers, all of  ’em.

Maybe it’s not euphoric mania I am entering. Maybe I am in irritable racing thought territory now. I am going with it, not like I have a choice.

Back to my tether to the Kleenex box. I want an IV drip of Claritin.


It’s good to be back

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on May 5, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I am flying high today. Three days in a row, actually. I have accomplished much. Manic episodes are good for something. Thus far, I am not doing anything impulsive or dangerous so it seems to be the good type of manic episode. Excess energy, need less sleep, rapid speed, motivation, feelings of hope and fun and warm and fuzziness.

It’s good to be back.

I swear the lithium was making me worse instead of better. 8 Months I drowned in the abyss of depression and I wonder if it was the lithium causing it to be so much worse than it ever was before. I’ve been off it two weeks now and everything has changed. I mean, the season change helps and maybe the Paxil is kicking ass and taking names but…One has to wonder, especially if you hit the depression forums and read about the stuff meds have done to other people.

My dad swears my brother has been worse since they put him on Prozac and Vistoril. I don’t deny it’s possible but he has always had an attitude about mental illness, like it’s a mythical magical unicorn we create for shits and giggles because we’re lazy. Wrong meds can make it worse. That’s why you gotta work to find the magic bullet. And I think I may be onto something here with this current combo. Maybe the manic episode isn’t optimal but I am going to stick with it. If I go off the rails, then I will speak up. Though sometimes you don’t know you’re going off the rails til after the fact. Slippery slope.

My dad actually complimented me today and said the house was looking pretty good. My dad never compliments me. I have to hear at least once a week about how my sister is pretty and she can cook and she’s a great housekeeper and she has a job…Gee, thanks. Call me a loser, why don’t you. Maybe I am being hypersensitive. It just irks me. I get it, she walks on water, I am snail slime. Whatever.

I got four hours of sleep last night. I was up til 5:30 a.m. I woke up and felt wonderful. I think sometimes part of my stressors and exhaustion are from the pressure of being a mom.I’m impatient, I expect absolutely obedience, I am easily irritated. When she’s acting out, I’m spazzing out. It takes a toll.But today when she got home she had company and I pushed them on the swing and I wasn’t stressed at all. I felt happy. HAPPY. Talk about mythical magical unicorns.

How long it lasts is anyone’s guess.

I’m rolling with it. It’s good to be back.


Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on May 4, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, my kid is staying the night at my dad’s. I made it 7 hours, got much done thanks to hypomannia, and realized…”Me” time is good. But I am programmed to be mommy and not having her here just feels weird. The mommy thing imprinted on me deeply. I don’t get these people who can walk out on their kid like they are nothing. Even most cats have the common sense to care for their young.WTF is wrong with people? My dad knows one guy who has 3 kids by 3 different women and sees or supports NONE of them. (Oh, wow, irony.) The guy is $14,00 behind in child support. Serves him right for being a deadbeat asshole. Kids are a gift, especially when you consider how many couples can’t have a child of their own and it’s all they ever wanted.

Slipknot is right. *Some* People=Shit.

My energy has been bouncing off the walls today and it is AWESOME. Working on the place in spurts. My yard looks spifferdoodle. Except when I got back from dad’s the neighbor kids were in the yard and wouldn’t leave even though I told them Spook wasn’t here and they needed to go. And they came back four times and their grandmother was right there, while I am saying go home, telling  them it’s okay.. Excuse me, my yard, my kid’s swingset. GO HOME! These new neighbors are fucking something. Their little girl, who is 5, pulled her pants down and pooped and peed in the yard the other day. And they’re braindead, they don’t care as long as she isn’t bothering them. Ass trash.

Went to some yard sales. Found a few quarter clothes for my kid, but it was pretty disappointing. Yard sales can be that way. Feast or famine. Oh, well, it got us out of the house.

I’ve been cleaning out the closets and shed and having my dad haul the stuff away. And everyone has dubbed me a hoarder and declared I need to be on that show. What the morons fail to understand is that I have never set out to be a hoarder or let things get out of hand. But in a depression that lasts 5,6,7,8 months at a time…It happens. And it happens to me a lot. And rather than notice the patters relating to mania/depression, they think I am a lazy hoarder. And these are the people who like me, supposedly.

I was petting my kittens earlier and I felt something amazing…Pure joy and absolute love. First time in months I truly felt warm and fuzzy. I like being alive again. No more Lithi-Numb. Fuck that.

So apparently dad mentioned to mom about the landlord being on me about the yard being messy. And she went off on him, yelling, screaming, and name calling. She said I live in a dump and I should just tell them to fuck off. Ha, if only I had that luxury, I wouldn’t be here. It’s just my only option. And considering how the Donor up and left us, I have done well keeping a roof over our heads. It would be nice if my mom could just give me a bit of credit on occasion and be proud of me for something. Dad is no better. He spent six months telling me the yard look shitty, I get it looking great, and not a word. I reiterate, there are times I wish I was an orphan.


Or maniac. Whatever.

8 months I was sliding into and getting buried in the depressive abyss. I can live with mania for awhile. I’m not telling the doctor because my mood still abruptly crashes most days around 5 pm. I think I will ask for a Paxil increase. If I go crazy manic I will tell her. eventually. I just like feeling good for a change. Most people feel this way a lot of the time and take it for granted. I don’t.

Oh, to show how flaky I am…I got half lost in my dad’s town. Population 700. Most of the streets were dead end and I got turned around and then asked directions and got those all turned around. Since the brain damage from the Nardil interaction (FYI, when taking an MAOI and it says don’t eat cheese, even accidentally, LISTEN!!!) I find myself half dyslexic in my thought patterns. Especially with numbers. And the short term memory is terrible. I forget things 15 seconds after hearing them and it’s not embellishment. And the shrink who treated me said, “Well, at least you had the brain cells to spare, most people don’t.” Charming.  I’ve never been the same since then. I keep wondering if they gave me electro shock while I was catatonic and scrambled my brain some more. Rude.

Oooh Voodoo is awake. I’m gonna snuggle the kitten. When they were born I was still in a depression and thinking, fuck, more responsibility. Now I am soo happy to have them.

Amazing how bipolar cycles this way.

A lime-a-rita a day…

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on May 3, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

…Keeps the misery at bay.

Not really. I am a mixed stress/mania/depressed drinker. Sometimes I go bonkers. Sometimes I go months without a drop of liquor. One doctor said I had a drinking problem at one time. The people at the rehab center said I had a coping problem. How do you ever know who is right? I know me better than anyone and I am pretty sure…I have a coping problem. And sometimes, when you’ve put up with so much shit…having a couple of drinks isn’t a bad thing.

Lime-a-ritas. And I didn’t have to pay for them, for we were invited to R’s house so Spook could play with his granddaughter. They even fed us pizza. Tis a good thing.

I am…happy and content right now. Perfectly lucid, too. I just feel relaxed and at peace. That happens as often as an eclipse. I like it.

I was manic today. Good manic. I had a chance to “be bad” with a guy but…I’m not sure if it’s the meds or common sense but I didn’t do the typical manic thing “do first, guilt after.” Maybe I am growing up. Or the Paxil is just setting off the mania. After 8 months of depression, I can’t bring myself to care as long as I have some semblance of self control. You don’t know desperation until you’ve spent 8 solid months in a walking coma.

I FEEL things again. Bye bye lithium, hello spring and Paxil. It’s hard to tell what is responsible for the sudden uplift or if it’s a combination of all. I feel good, so I am just going to let it be.

I ran errands today. I was afraid when I faced the landlord I would “fail to regulate emotion” and explode over that maintenance guy being such an ass. I didn’t. Maybe because Mrs. Landlord was there and while she is sicken ingly polite, you can tell she’s upper class and looking down on you. Makes me nervous when I see her, especially when she comes through the trailer court in her $40,000 SUV. The landlord is nice, I like him a lot. She, on the other hand, is a pain in my ass. I’ve not dealt with her once in 5 years and now she’s in my bloody face. I pay on time, I am quiet, fuck off. He said I do good and he appreciated me apologizing and having the yard cleaned up. HER I could happily go my whole life without encountering. I don’t like snotty fake people who are nice to your face and probably trashing you behind your back. Maybe it’s paranoia but I’ve been proven right too many times to believe it.

I did something AMAZING today. It’s such a normal banal thing no one else thinks twice about. Some even consider it enjoyable. Me…Panic city. For almost three years I have lived on drive thru food. Today…I actually took my kid to McDonald’s so she could go in the playpit there. It was packed and noisy but…I felt totally calm. That almost never happens. My mood was up, my anxiety was down. Instead of anxiously biding time til I could escape, I just sat and watched the kids have fun. It felt…beautiful. Such a small thing and yet when it’s beyond your capability at times…It feels like climbing a mountain.

Also beautiful is this absence of feeling like I am smothering. I am enjoying my kid again, enjoying my cats again. The other night I woke up with all four cats and my kid in bed with me. Instead of being disconcerted…I felt happy and warm and fuzzy. WOW. I want a Paxil IV if that is what is responsible. Free base it.

I was reading another blog about someone else’s struggles with the illness and the incompetence of mental health care…And my heart just went out to her. It seems condescending to say “I’ve been there” but it’s the truth. When I was stable enough to work I couldn’t get insurance or pay for my shrink or meds. I had to go on disability just to get my illness properly diagnosed and half assed treated. And it’s sad because they preach about eating healthy, not being overweight, blah blah blah…But the healthcare system everywhere is so fucked up, it’;s no wonder people just give up or become self destructive. And mental healthcare is even worse because while Prozac and the like may be handed out like Tic-Tacs, for the most part mental illness is still the bastard child of health issues and treated accordingly.

I don’t have the answers but I know the way things are now simply isn’t working. The abundance of murder and such should speak volumes. Half the people convicted for violent crimes have some sort of mental illness. You have to wonder if they’d gotten proper treatment if things might have turned out differently. I frequently wonder why some people crack up and do such things, while some people (like me) just keep hanging on by the skin of our teeth and avoid that route. It’s food for thought. Is it genetic? Behavioral? Weakness of character?

Okay, I am getting deep and philosophical, the mania has ended.

While I’m being less shallow… R declared today “I like cheerful Niki.” While it may be truth, every time some idiot says that, I cringe because it’s like a rejection of who I am. Yes, mania makes me pleasant and fun. But if you can’t accept the flipside, then you’re an ass. As Marilyn Monroe said, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.”

Truer words were never spoken.

Bottle this (mania)

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , on April 30, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve gone manic. The good kind. Productive. Just tearing into stuff I have been putting off because it feels me with dread. I am trying to pace myself so I don’t crash and burn.

I guess the Lithium made a difference in the cycling. I am now all over the map. I am going to see if time changes anything. I love the mania. LOVE it. Except the bad mania which results too often in mornings of “WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO LAST NIGHT????)  Seriously, if mania could be bottled and sold, people would give up coke, heroin, and meth. This shit rocks. It’s dangerous, though. Which is why doctors are reluctant to give bipolars an antidepressant. But if you are bipolar two with more depressions than manic episodes, there’s little choice. You have to risk it or end up in a looney bin, or worse, a suicide statistic.

My mind is spinning. As evidenced by two posts in one day. I know some find that irritating but oh well. I find everything irritating. I vent and I move on. Such is life.

I feel like I could tackle anything right now. But it’s just a short burst of mania that will fizzle out. That’s the bummer. Ignorant people say it’s being pessimistic but if you’ve been through it enough, you know it’s simply the nature of the beast that is bipolar.

Now, back to a rousing round of Kitten Deathmatch. I lied when I said I can’t feel joy. I do feel warm and fuzzy watching these fluffalumps. I am mooshy when it comes to cats.

Sometimes I wish I could feel that for people. But too many knives in the back sever your warm fuzzy feelings for your fellow human. You keep hoping it will be different next time…It never is. I keep trying. They say never give up. They also say idiocy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

I think…it’s all ass trash.

Life is a catch 22 from hell.

At the moment, though…As mania dwindles down…I’m resigned to taking it one hour at a time. Cyclothymia doesn’t leave much choice.