Woo hoo, I managed to play TWO whole songs before the anxiety kicked in and told me I had to turn it off or my brain would implode in my head. NOT liking this anxiety. Panxiety because my stupid ass half believes the faulty messages being sent. Mental Illness is The Borg, Resistance is futile, and I will slowly be assimilated.
Happy July 4th. Whatever it means. I am pretty sure those who founded our “independence” here in the United States are spinning in their graves since we’ve become so Orwellian and gotten so far away from the fundamentals the country was built upon. (Digression but it would be frigging awesome of MTV did a Celebrity Death Match featuring our found fathers against the current “we must watch your every move to protect your from terrorists” regime.)
Speaking of Moron Television…Boredom set in looking for shit to watch so I thought, meh, in spite of the logo, I’ll watch this series called “Scream”. (FYI, the mask is way scarier now, which is awesome!) The first twenty minutes, I was like, oh wow, MTV didn’t fuck something up for the first time in twenty years. Oh how wrong I was. It devolved into teenage babble and teenage angst and the whole horror thing seemed to vanish. BOOOORING. That and the usage of the word “bro” made me want to vomit razor blades at the actors saying it. I say dude a lot, but seriously…BRO? Ick.
Yesterday I watched the new show Complications. Not awful but my interest started to wane. Today I found “Mr. Robot” and ya know? IT IS AWESOME. I could have girl wet dreams about taking down the 1%, not because I’m an anarchist or cyber terrorist but because…”A government for the people, by the people” has become arcane as a notion. We need a revolution to take down those in power. (OOpsy, am I on a watch list now?) Seriously, if you have a chance, check the show out. What sold me in the synopsis was that the lead character has major social anxiety disorder. YOU MEAN IT’S NOT JUST ME????? Yay. I related.
I slept last night, off and on. Which was fucked up, because I let Spook sleep in my bed and she barely woke, aside from the sleep talking thing. I swear without alcohol to keep me down, my mind doesn’t know how to enter deep sleep. And while there are techincally *options* (sleep meds that result in coma-esque states)…I’d rather be a bad girl and have a drink at night. It doesn’t render me non functional and surprisingly, doesn’t give me massive headachy zombie hangovers. Figures, everything that works is “bad” for me. Yet the socially acceptable cures can ruin my kidneys and make go for a drive while asleep yet not remember a thing are all good.
I had a LOT of weird dreams. The one that’s still baffling me is the one where I suddenly developed a fear of heights. I’ve never had that. Oh, I get that exhilarating “should I be scared” thing on roller coasters and ferris wheels, but it’s never been a phobia, just a new high. (Yet malls terrify me, go figure.)
My kid asked me at 9 a.m why I was getting up. Which was funny, considering she’s normally up by 7. Truth was, I had to pee and needed a drink. Once she was up…The chatter began, wakening my anxiety and irritation. She sleeps with me, is with me every waking moment, and this morning she was right at my elbow, complaining about everything, telling me I am stupid (because I told her to quit smelling her shoes and complaining they stink) and just being a jerk. Motherhood is glamorous as fuck.
We did our dish thing ‘cos the cats needed food. That’s enough dish time for me today. Three days of it and I need distance. Isolation. My attitude becomes virulent. I can’t keep up with the breakneck pace others thrive on. I am supposed to feel bad and inferior for this, I suppose, but I know me better than anyone. I know who I have always been, in a depression or not. I should be allowed to draw my line in the sand on what is healthy and what is detrimental. If only the mental health professionals would get on board instead of insisting one size must fit all and if you’re not an extroverted social butterfly, you are somehow defective.
Mind you, I am in no way criticizing those who are social or at least want to be when their disorders aren’t acting up. It simply isn’t who I have ever been (outside manic episodes) and I simply don’t view it as some big disorder. (On a side note, all my rants about the medications and the side effects THAT I HAVE HAD are not meant in way to detract from those who have had positive results from the same meds.)
Actually followed through on the showering thing last night. Woo hoo, victorious. Yet come this morning, I couldn’t be arsed to do more than spray on deodorant, put on clothes (including underthings) and be done with it. I pondered eyeliner but it just didn’t happen. My kid is clean and dressed and fed, as I am. Miraculous. Oddly, we are both wearing sequined shirts today and yet it wasn’t planned. Hers is blue, mine is black and silver, yet…She has conjoined twinned my brain.
Speaking of my spawn…She was finally introduced to some midwest culture today. She went outdoors, came back in screaming bloody murder. THERE’S A RAT IN THE TRASH!!! She was hyperventilating. I went to check it out. It was just a nasty opossum and it was more scared of me than I was of him. He tipped the trash over and he wouldn’t come out so I got a broken mop and ushered him out. He ran over the yard and vanished. My kid kept screaming and I had to explain the opossum phenomenon we have in the midwest. It was hysterical. Yes, they are nasty critters. But about fifteen years ago, one got into the stairwell of my building and I came home at dark and saw it hiss and bare teeth at me. It was freaky but I INSISTED the landlord use a live trap and set it free rather than kill it. Had it been say, a pedophile, I’d have killed it myself. But a possum? Meh. I’ve known people way scarier and more rabid.
I am TRYING to become more active on line in a social capacity. It’s odd that I even have to try because at one time, back in the MSN chatroom days, it was where I parked and lurked. Now..it’s hard for me to work up the nerve to talk to people, even in an email or comment. (I barely responded to blog comments prior to this year, I was so petrified of people.) I think the biggest problem is, I’m very brusque, outspoken, and inevitably, I am gonna say something to alienate. It’s never intentional, I’m just being myself and being honest, but mine is not a popular world view. So if you try to engage me and I seem reluctant…It’s NOT you, it’s me. I really am that socially inept, no matter how hard I try. I get all weird with people who are religious (because I am not), I constantly walk on eggshells because I swear so much and most consider it offensive…I am a walking ball of insecurity who really doesn’t feel I have the right to truly be who I am when interacting with others. A blog is one thing. One on one…It’s just difficult for me and it’s on no way BUT me.
Borepolar. Because it’s become so redundant, it is boring. Every day brings a different mind frame. And it’s not because of the mood stabilizer. That is why I don’t go all manic and out of control. This is the depressive aspect of bipolar two. The professionals want to call it borderline, because my swings are so ongoing and short lived, but since I prefer to be alone and don’t fear abandonment…I find flaws in their diagnosis. It’s much more likely I have cyclothymic shifts even if my depressions do last far longer than is normal for that category. Trying to shove us all into some book checklist of what qualifies us to be a disorder is such a disservice.
I have zero plans for today/tonight. The 4th has become a joke for me. Independence and freedom, my ass. Call me a truther, or conspiracy theorist…I’d say you’re in denial. And the fact that following 9/11 close to eighty percent of Americans were willing to sacrifice personal freedoms and privacy to feel safe from “terrorism”…I’m not wrong. The sheeple have spoken and all our rights will be taken away in a manner that no one will realize it until it’s already done. What’s to celebrate about that? This was NOT what our forefathers had in mind and anyone who thinks they did is batshit.
Okay. Off the soap box, prepared for comments about being a moron and stark raving mad. Whatevs. I’m a realist and I truly hope I am dead before they start microchiing us like chattle.
Borepolar gives me too much time to ponder this drivel. Yet anxiety disorder means I can’t keep too busy because it makes me crash and burn.