Disclaimer: The following post is a bipolar’s depressing realization that life is not and probably will not be what I wish it to be. So if you don’t feel like reading a downer – please discontinue reading at this point. Thank you.
Everything is all messed up. Well, it’s not really – I’m just totally overwhelmed with it all. Everything. Jobs, house, money, cars, kids, life in general. I feel like my head is filled to the brim, maxed out, like there is packing material in my brain pushing on the sides of my skull. And that everything has swelled as a result. So all that mess is just pushing on stuff that shouldn’t be pushed on.
I don’t know. I’m tired. And hungry. And the kids won’t leave me alone when I come home. They want attention-attention-attention and I just want to be left alone. To do, you know, whatever. I want to take my clothes off and my shoes off and go to the bathroom and get something to eat and then read a little bit and then make some phone calls or something.
I need to relax. But I can’t. And even if they weren’t bothering me, I probably still wouldn’t know what to do. I’d probably just go to sleep.
I left my cat Ashton with some lady. I was thinking about that today. This morning, when I woke up. It would have made sense if I had dreamed about him or something, but I hadn’t. I just woke up with him on my mind. And how he was really sick with his enormous bladder or whatever and how it was going to explode and he would die. And that maybe instead of giving him away to some unknowing alcoholic lady, how I should have probably put him to sleep instead, since I wasn’t willing to pay for the surgery and all of that. But I didn’t. I gave him to a poor, alcoholic lady who probably just let him lose in her yard and maybe he crawled under something and just died. I don’t know.
My eyes hurt. I’ve been reading too much. I’m reading this book right now about these four people who wanted to kill themselves, so they all went up to the roof of this building on New Years Eve and they ran into each other. Then they became friends who kind of kept each other alive. And now I’m almost to the end and no one has killed themselves and I guess that is a good thing. Or at least that’s what they are getting around to right now, at the spot that I am reading. There are only a few pages left, so I suppose they will come to some sort of conclusion about that. Or maybe not.
This post went on to talk about alot of other things. Like my house search and the way that I worry constantly and how if I wasn’t worrying about one thing, I’d be worrying about another. Then, it continues…
So whatever. Maybe they all see it and maybe I see it, too. That I’m not who I was. And it’s not like when someone changes for the better and they have learned shit about themselves and they’ve matured or whatever. I’m just stagnant.
Hey, that’s a perfect word for what I am now. Stagnant. And the definition of stagnant that I just googled is: having no current or flow and often having an unpleasant smell as a consequence. A “stagnant ditch” it says. And worse yet is the actual definition in the Merriam-Webster version: not advancing or developing. And worse yet than even that is this: “What made you want to look up stagnant? Please tell us where you read or heard it (including the quote, if possible).” What could I say? “I wanted to look up the word stagnant because it so perfectly describes my life at this point and probably the future until I die.”
So there. I’ve come to some meaningful conclusion about my life. My life for the past 10 years. A stagnant ditch. That’s what my life has been and currently is and will be for the next ten years and the next ten years after that, also. Good. That’s an accurate assessment. It might not be positive, but at least it’s a conclusion of some sort.
In my last therapy session, I again reflected on the fact that I am currently stable. And I felt cheated. Is that all my life is going to be? Just STABLE. That’s all I can really aspire to – that I remain stable until I eventually die. Because the opposite would be that I become UN-stable. And that causes too much aggravation for everyone, including myself.
But maybe it’d be nice to be unstable for a while. Just for something interesting, just for the purpose of excitement, something happening, something occuring to me. Something to occupy me for a while, something more than “a stagnant ditch.”