Bought a pack of Marlboro Blacks that I can’t afford especially now that I’m quitting (says the woman sitting in the plastic lawn chair smoking.)
I made up my mind not to call but I did anyway and I’m not surprised as I often make up my mind about things only to find me ignoring myself (oh, shut up, you/me/whatever.) She was sitting there lonely, my disabled mother, on Christmas eve of all days, and as I listened to her speak I wasnt sure I heard. I’ve smoked so many cigarettes since then that my breath comes out in tiny wheezing sounds, but I couldn’t care less.
I’ll probably smoke the whole pack and then be shit on cause it’s Christmas and every store is denying us our goods per preference of a holiday no one even cars about anymore (oh wait, they do?)
I want to punch someone in the face or maybe just me for being so pitiful and overweight and annoyed and irritable and such of myself. Writing is freedom; let’s me click-click-clack my way out of this hellish mind of mine.
You’d think hypomania would be a good time, a nice fling, a fun vacay, but it’s not. It comes with too much baggage to get on the plane at takeoff and then you’re just left standing there holding your empty yet overloaded luggage watching as your flight leaves the runway.
Funny how I call myself all kinds of nasty names that I’d never let my kids repeat inside my own house, but I never really seem to make any progress in that department. Therapy reminds me of boundaries and mindfulness and positive self-talk but my bipolar self shits on all that and laughs hysterically.
I love the way this phone makes an old- timey clickety-clack sound as I tap the letters on the screen. Click. Clack. Clickity-clickity-clack.
Whoosh, ka-ching. I’m done. Peace.
For some reason, I always used to say this to myself when I would cry. Through college, through the awful transition into real life, through everything. I’d lay on my mattress, hold myself tight, and repeat the same phrase, “I want to go home.”
Only eventually, home wasn’t any longer a place where I wanted to be.
I held onto the phrase, and now I feel it come back to me again, only I don’t know what or where is home. Sometimes I think the psych ward is home. Sometimes I think under the covers on my own bed is home. Sometimes I think home doesn’t exist at all.
If there was a home, it would be a place where this bipolar madness wouldn’t get at me. Where I’d be safe from its ups and downs, its tug and pull, its POS grip on me.
Sometimes I’m manic. Sometimes I’m depressed. But never am I home.
Oh, crap. There it goes. I just lost it.
Me: I know, but it’s really hard sometimes because I really expect perfection from myself, and I am in reality so far off of base that I can’t even describe it.
Me: Come on, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.
Me: I know, I know.
Me: If you were talking to a friend, would you place demands on them the way you do to yourself? Talk to yourself like a friend would.
Me: I know, but all that positive self-talk b.s. is just that. B.S.
Me: No, it’s not. Have you ever tried it? Have you ever honestly tried it?
Me: …uh, no.
Me: Okay, then.
Me: I make mistakes. I make mistakes, and that’s okay.
Me: You’re right; it IS okay.
It’s 5:39 am.
Time to Leave for Work and Not Be Late: 6:00
Things I Have Done So Far To Facilitate Leaving: none.
Went to the psych on Monday. Said I’m hypomanic. Trying hard to just ride the wave, but honestly, it’s been difficult. I’ve wanted to write the past couple of days to let you know how it’s been going, but I haven’t had a chance due to the multiple distractions I experience per each and every minute of my waking life.
– “Ohh! I’m going to write a letter to my former friend from high school who doesn’t even remember that I exist!”
– “Oooh! Let’s play Grand Theft Auto and ride the boat all the way out to sea!”
– “Oh! Let’s talk to this stranger and ask them 20 questions about their past! We’ll just see where it goes!”
– “Oh, I know! We can run-play-smash-eat-dance-shake-jump-beatbox!”
It’s been distracting, being in this mind of mine.
Please endorse Bipolar Hope Dyane, a mom with bipolar disorder who wants to help other mothers with bipolar. Her goals include mental health advocacy and providing free support groups for women with bipolar. via Hi!/Asking for your WEGO Help (even if you already voted!).