As I sit here feeling like a m£$%f%^n’ adult with all the stuff I’ve been getting done lately, I am wary. I know at some point, my brain is going to throw up its hands, declare, ‘Fuck this shit!’, and plunge me back into the lack of functioning known as depression. I don’t know when it will, only that it eventually will.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be getting stuff done. It makes me feel like I assume normal people feel — capable of doing things as desire comes to mind. It feels especially good when it comes to writing, as I consider it a challenge to my fractured brain at the best of times. That I can sit here and see a notebook filling up with notes for a story, with more written in notes than I have ever written for a story before… well. I have to say it feels pretty good. To know that I can put it aside and pick up my crochet and make productive stuff happen there too is even niftier. I enjoy doing things, yanno? As mine Heatherbat has often said, she cannot imagine me ever stopping working, because I need to be doing things. I don’t know whether it’s my way of running from my brain trying to poison me with intrusive and hateful thoughts or what, but doing and producing is always satisfying.
Anyways, just wanted to get that out. I think I’m going to go make a nice mug of chamomile tea, pop on my earworm of the week (Swoon by Silversun Pickups), and see if I can write out a few more chapter summaries. And if not, that’s okay too. I’m doing my best to stretch out this feeling good and doing good by not doing too much. As most of us with bipolar know, that is an extremely easy mistake to fall into time and time again.
By looking you could not see the storm of unsettle that was she at once perfect stillness and then complete madness without warning could lay waste to a heart With love all mixed up in her head she loved deeper than others compared with her heart not her head ruling there was no one she … Continue reading
As this post goes live, I’m under IV sedation. I’m having oral surgery (again) to implant a #6 (again). Warning: …
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i have made a decision.
the realization that a decision needed to be made hit me during my warm-up jog in the construction site where i take my boys for some off-leash time.
let me back up.
this morning, i had breakfast with a friend. she was confiding in me about some atrocious behavior she has experienced in previous relationships. i won’t lie; i could identify with most of it. it sounded to me like she’d crossed paths with some major douche bags, but she didn’t suspect that the behavior might have been intentional until i suggested the possibility. i could also commiserate with many of the dick behaviors she brought up.
i let the conversation percolate a bit. i felt compassion and pain for my friend, and morbid curiosity about how amazing women end up in such situations.
and as i jogged, i reflected on my relationship with XBF and on the negging, backhanded compliments, and undermining confidence that made semi-regular appearances in our relationship. i kept flipping back and forth, as i have many times before, on whether he was an asshole or just an idiot.
an asshole. or an idiot. those were the two options i came up with to explain his less-than-desirable behavior. and this isn’t the first time i’ve oscillated between these prize-winning descriptions of a partner. oh no.
so. my decision is this: no more passive evaluation if i face this choice again. i need to clear it up, quick style, so i can decide whether to stick around or not.
that decision entails not getting involved with anyone until i have the emotional fortitude to do so. because let’s face it: i suck at confrontations to begin with. mood fluctuations and depression aren’t going to do me any favors.