My kid has been yapping at me incessantly for four hours. I mean, she doesn’t pause for breath. And she doesn’t know what an indoor voice is, she’s just loud. And some days, it’s background noise. Then days like today, every peep she makes is like nails on a chalkboard. I am under rapid Uzi fire with her filling every moment with her own voice. Which means…I’m entering that bizarre “post hypomania” space where I become irritable without much justification. Yay.
I think my earlier post was totally justified, though. The idea that one of my favorite bloggers is going to go away, simply because a bunch of insensitive people decided to hit their comment button because the world will implode without their input…And they hurt her, which hurts me. And they angered her, which angers me. I love her writing style. I like her unique perspective on life, on mental health issues.I love her humor. I am infuriated that such ignorance and cruelty could make her go away. We love you, Zoe
I think the ignorance of supposedly educated enlightened people blogging about having bipolar is almost comical. “Anger isn’t part of bipolar.” Actually, inexplicable bouts of anger and inappropriate emotional reactions to things that aren’t a big deal, is a hallmark of a bipolar cycle. I know, because my doctor told me so, when I was complaining to him about being so pissed off all the time and not understanding why. Just because you, personally, don’t experience it doesn’t mean it simply isn’t a symptom. And lots of these shiny happy bipolar people have their med cocktail just right so of course, they’re not experiencing the true symptoms of bipolar. I just find it comical that people could eschew to thousands of followers that anger isn’t part of bipolar disorder. Hell, even Hollywood and the movies managed to get that part right.
No day is complete without a belly full of outrage. As I’ve said over and over, my anger, when well placed, is fuel for my soul. It’s what keeps me fighting. I won’t have it invalidated by those whose approach to life is different. I will cling to my anger when it is justified. I will not “let it go” or “lighten up”. Knowing the sheeple mentality on the net, I am sure I’ll be facing some major trollage after that past. Because we can’t have strong women speaking up against bullies’ right to be bullies. No, no, that won’t do. Must. Spread. Own. Opinion. Forcefully. With. Insults. Or. Sunshine. Fuck that shit. So stop waiting for me to assimilate and move along. Lots of shiny happy blogs to read, don’t waste your time on mine.
Yesterday was another spoke in the mood cycle. After the missed Lamictal, the ensuing hypomania, then the crash…I was at a loss what to do with myself except sit in front of youtube videos. I let the spawn take the kitten in her room, watch her DVD player all day…I was just…of kilter. Low. Jumpy. Lost. Ya know, that restless place where you know all you should be doing and feel shitty for not doing it, yet you have no idea where to start so you simply don’t. My dad visited briefly and I know he probably thought I was on drugs or something, because I was acting downright weird. Avoiding eye contact, crossing my arms defensively, antsy…I just hate an audience during my down cycle. I don’t want the inevitable questions, especially from my sperm donor. If I say I am depressed, he will snark, “What have you got to be depressed about? I’m 70 years old and I put in a 40 hour work week and mowed lawns and when I was a kid, we had to walk to school barefoot on broken glass while being chased by dragons…”
The happy part of his visits…when he leaves. Of course, in my depression, that’s become the happy part of any human interaction. And yeah, yeah, I have to fight it, being around people is GOOD for me, oh vomit. What works for others usually has an opposite effect on me. Because I am by nature an introvert and solitary. It’s my happy place. People…Not so much. I don’t hate everyone. I just like my own hobbies more than I like hearing women chat about pastel colored bridesmaid dresses.
I cooked last night. Made myself this monster burger with sauteed onions, mushrooms, colby jack cheese, bbq sauce, grilled buttery bun. Kid refused fresh food, wanted frozen. Whatever, she got fed. And bathed. I did dishes, washed all the laundry, cleaned a cat box. By robot me. I’d cryptified before 8 p.m. my mood was so low and my anxiety due to her fits and noise so high.
Sleep didn’t come for hours, of course. My mind kept spinning and the Xanax wasn’t making a dent. I woke up from a nightmare at one point, thought I heard my kid screaming, stumbled out of bed, went to her room, the living room, yelling her name…And turned out, she was right in my bed, I woke her up. It’d been a kid crying on the show I’d fallen asleep to. Dumbass me. That’s what happens when I take a Xanax too late in an effort to sleep. I become disoriented when I wake up, can’t quite tell reality from fiction. Which is fucked up because I can pop it all day long and stay awake, no problem. I am a big jar of what the fuck.
Spook had a fit last night, that while not new, it actually scared me. She’d had Abby in her room for hours and it was hot in her room, I nicely said, “Let Abby come out to cool off…” And that was all it took to set her off. Screaming, stomping, thrashing followed. I took away her dvd player. More screaming. I grounded her, no friends for a week. More fit. Then I shut the door to let her scream it out. I came back, and she was still at it, sitting there, looking almost possessed, as she stomped her feet on the floor and growled in what could have been a scene from the Exorcist. I’m not dramatizing. It was scary. And all I could think was, this child is gonna kill me when she becomes a teenager. If I can’t get control of her at six, by the time she is 13…She is literally going to try to murder me. Paranoid and dramatic?
I hope to fuck so.
Today I am lethargic. It’s dark out, looks like a storm, but midwest likes to do that then the sun comes out and yells PSYCHE! Whatever. I have no plans today but to vegetate. I get so much more done when I don’t pressure myself. If it works, I’m gonna go with it.
Okay, my kid’s playing her fish game and the fish are going “woof” in her world. Was I that creative at her age? I mean, the underwear hat I wore to kindergarten was pretty ground breaking…
Maybe pegacorns go woof. It’s the only reason I stick around. Just to see what happens next. Though I think I may start wearing a rain poncho when on line. Just so none of that sunshine vomit gets on my skin and infects me. Okay, I’m taking the dark tortured thing to the brink, but I think it’s funny. If you don’t have dark sarcastic humor, you and I really aren’t gonna get along.
Call it negativity, pessimism, whatever.
Just keep your sunshine shitting unicorns away from me. I have enough litter boxes to clean.