I think that title may be evidence I am channeling Yoda.
Tis Memorial Day, 9:45 a.m. I have no plans for the day except, well, to have no plans for the day. Will probably pick up some around the house because no matter how hard I work, it’s never done, it’s like an evil jack in the box, every time you think you’ve mashed it down for the last time, it comes back out to taunt you. There’s a peek into my messed up psychology. I find clowns and jack in the boxes utterly gruesome and terrifying but hey, decomposing corpses and grisly wounds, no problem.
I don’t know what my mood is. I do know I feel misanthropic. Why? Because R texted me last night at 10:30 pm just to ask if there was lightning here in town. He was up north with wifey visiting her daughter and he was hoping for lightning here because that means TV’s get zapped and he makes money. Jesus. He never texts or calls to inquire about our health or anything. It’s ALWAYS about busted shit. I am so sick of it, I could puke. He says we are friends but it no longer feels that way. I am at the end of my rope. I think now would be a good time to take a week of mental health leave, get my mind back on track. This happens any time I do something job esque for more than a few months. I end up feeling overwhelmed and panicky and then I either get a dr’s note to take some time off or I just quit.
I don’t want to do the latter, I am sick of failure.
At the same time, the way I am feeling, it’s only a matter of time before I tell this man to fuck off and die. He is making me feel shitty about myself constantly. That’s not a friend. And ya know, if someone is going to make me feel shitty about myself, I should at least be making a minimum wage full paycheck every week. Trying to talk to him is pointless. If I ask for a break, he will just manipulate me and guilt me. He’s like my three year old, for fuck’s sake. But I think the break away time thing is a good idea because I am to the point where I want to bash him over the head with one of his busted TVs. Some days, the sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I bite holes through my tongue trying not to explode.
Maybe some time off could get me back in a better mind frame to not take it all so personally. He is who he is. Just like I am who I am. Of course, I doubt me being who I am even makes a dent in his self absorbed world. I am apparently too weak and fragile to be oblivious. I worry about my personality issues making others feel bad. Maybe I worry too damned much, to atone for all the years when I lived in my own little world and didn’t even consider other people.
Does the atonement ever fucking end?
Of course, I just read a blog article by a bipolar depressed woman who says “depressed people are depressing and self absorbed and boring and irritating and make everything about themselves and their disorder.” Hmmm. Well, that was the whole point of having this blog was to discuss my disorder without having to feel bad for being a bummer to people who just want an amusing read.
NOW thanks to a simple entry in a blog, I am guilt tripping for being a self absorbed bitch talking about myself.
I consider venting here therapy, now it turns out I am just stroking my own ego?
I am not buying it. I almost never discuss my issues with anyone outside the shrink, counselor, and this blog. My entire life revolves around my kid, my cats, housekeeping, errand running, being R’s shop wench…There’s barely any room in there for me, some days if I get a shower and enough time to feed myself and remember to put on deodorant, I consider it a success. But okay, I am self absorbed. I mean, when the freezer broke, I lost $120 worth of food, so I am basically living on popcorn for the next two weeks so I could buy my kid food. But, yeah, that’s totally self absorbed.
If there is something to obsess about needlessly, I will find it. I try not to, but it’s like a fish hook lodged in my brain, I can’t seem to get it out, so it’s poking me and causing me pain and forgetting about it just isn’t in the cards. It’s like mental OCD. Instead of checking the door to make sure it’s locked five times, I rehash the same thought a hundred times for three days straight.
Sometimes, I think I am such a mental train wreck, if I were a horse, they would shoot me. There’s no coming back from this many issues.
Now…The struggle to find clothes to wear is on. They’re all clean. Unfortunately, they are also piled in baskets awaiting me to work up the will to fold them all. I must excavate. Though getting dressed seems pointless with no plans. I think I do it just to say “fuck you” to the draggy depressive feelings telling me nothing matters. The Cymbalta is helping but man, the nagging negative thoughts the depression brings never really let up, they are relentless. Another blog said I can retrain my brain to “unlearn” the mood swings.
I am gonna drive myself nuts with this shit.
Maybe I am not misanthropic. Maybe I am just allergic to people.