My mood was low today. Not necessarily unhappy, just…tapped out. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually overdrawn. This whole petri dish high functioning thing completely drains me. I view it as running a certain number of miles on a tank of gas. I’ve run way more miles than I had gas in my tank so I am sputtering along on fumes.
With this lack of energy, I didn’t rush out the door today. I procrastinated. Reminded myself to breathe, to relax, not to jump through my kid’s hoops ‘let’s go, let’s go, when are we going”…My life seems to revolve around her schedule and one day a week I like to let go of that stranglehold routine and do things at a leisurely pace.
I thought the longer I waited, the more motivated and calmer I’d get.
I was very wrong.
First store wasn’t too bad. Until I’d been in there for ten minutes. It’s not my regular store and it was packed and…I had to get out because I began to feel short of breath and dizzy.
Second store…I crashed and burned. My kid kept asking for toys, demanding candy, everywhere I stepped she was literally underfoot or her nose was attached to my butt cheek. I feel so smothered at times (and I don’t blame that on her because it’s been a lifelong thing when I don’t have enough personal space, tho I do blame her for repeatedly defying and ignoring me edicts to give me space.)
By the third store, I asked (begged) Bex to take the kid to the car and I’d just run in by myself. That was like the last mile in the marathon, only by then I was the walking wounded mentally.
Couldn’t flee home fast enough. Even had to take a seat and practice deep breathing because I was so freaked out.
Kid kept pushing us all day. Mouthing off. Yelling. Crying (crocodile tears) and calling us names, I don’t like you…Never sitting properly on furniture. Bouncing about without looking then bawling because she got bonked in spite of multiple warnings she needed to stop before she got hurt.
My nerves were frayed ropes. I was grouchy, hateful, suspicious, paranoid. Felt like having a plastic bag tied over my head and I couldn’t get enough air so I was churning all these fear induced emotions. Maybe they lacked logic. I found myself getting pissed off about little things. Feeling like lines were being crossed, and maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. I am control freak so I am never sure when I am being logical or doing the feral animal thing because I feel I am being backed into a corner.
On the plus side, the kid went to sleep, I got a bit of a rest and second wind. Bex and I started watching the new show “How to Get Away with Murder” and turns out, the reviews were wrong. We like it.
Batcaving commenced at 8 pm.
Now if I could just get all the neurons from misfiring and telling me I am anxious and making me fearful (of what?????) and paranoid (again, of what???) There was no bad event that brought this current backslide on. It’s just the price of me existing in a fast paced world where I don’t fare well.
I need to work up the energy to shower.
I wanted so badly to write on my story.
Truth is, I have no energy. At this point, I just want to curl up under the warm cover and vegetate in front of my crime documentaries on the computer.
Life is what drains me. If I can’t be in control of schedule and routine and feel held hostage to one that’s not my own…If I am forced out of my comfort zone for hours at a time for more than a couple of days…If I have to deal with people and traffic and stores too often…One more check written on an account that has no money in it.
I am not blind to the importance of routine, of forcing yourself to function even when you don’t feel like it. I just don’t like feeling so chained to a routine it’s like slowly being choked to death by an invisible noose.
I’m kinda fucked up, I guess.
But I’d rather be honestly fucked up than falsely project an image of being all together.
Maybe tomorrow I will feel calmer, less defensive, less cornered and threatened.
One thing about cyclothymia…You don’t have to worry about long periods of a mental state. You come to appreciate a two day run of okay. Two whole days with this shit is like, amazing.
Unfortunately, the depressions that accompany it…Those you can count on lasting a long while and being far worse than you’d have thought they could be.
Part of me wishes I were weaker and could just give up. Become a reclusive shut in, drink myself into a stupor 7 days a week, and become a total Unabomber type whack job. It’s be so much easier.
I’m just not there yet. I may be one day.
Just not this day.
Least I have something to look forward to, maybe.
So long as we can get wifi in our Unabomber shack.
Crazy drunken recluse or not, I am sooo NOT missing my CSI and Grey’s Anatomy.