28 February 2011

Meds update

OK So the Wellbutrin seems to be doing jack shit. I have an emergency appointment on Weds to either up it or change it. Otherwise I'm just trying to live minute by minute.

This deserved a blog

Anonymous said...

Sarah, I totally understand how you feel about wanting to sleep forever and withdraw from the world. BTDT. I hope they get your medication leveled out as I think that will help a lot. I hope you can come to see yourself as the one in charge and not base your self-worth on how you think others view you. I hope you will come to understand that no matter how much you may want a relationship to be a certain way, if those same feelings are not reciprocated, it is not your fault, nor does it mean you are lacking in some way, only that the other party doesn't share your feelings, and that is something you have no control over. None of us have the power to make people be what we want them to be. That can seem cruel at times, but it also means freedom for us as well, as no one wants to be controlled by another's emotions. I also know that there is someone out there that will come into your life when you are feeling strong, in charge of your life and not looking for anyone else to complete you. That's how it happens with healthy relationships. As long as you are looking for other people to define your self-worth, to complete you and view their unreturned ideas of what the relationship should be as a personal rejection of your character, I do not think you will find yourself in a healthy relationship. It is when you are strong and self-sustaining that people who are worthy of sharing your life with come seeking you. If you are feeling sad and full of self-destructive emotions, people may form relationships with you based on less than healthy reasons have nothing to do with true love. All this said, I do know that people don't know what to say to a very depressed person, and often their attempts seem to make things worse, and they are aware that this can happen, so they too tend to withdraw. People do care about you. I know this is true from all the people who comment to you. You have a lot to live for, and I truly believe that you can graduate and live a rewarding and even exciting life, that you have a lot to offer others just by being you and knowing things you know. I, like others, don't always comment because I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing. So I hope this wasn't something that I shouldn't have said and that you don't take it badly. I also know that sometimes pep talks irritate more than help, and people who come on like Mary Sunshine can have the opposite affect. So please forgive me if my comments are unwelcome and know that my heart's intent is to encourage you and to let you know that people really do care, even if they don't seem to.

It's not that the feelings are unreciprocated, it's that he was the only one I could trust to not look at me like I'm not a human - even if I had a breakdown at 3am. Normally I don't care what people think, except the ones I let in, like "him."

I'm not exactly looking for completion of me, just someone to share my shitty life with, someone to help take the fucking pain away, or at least help me tolerate it for another day. Whether it's a boyfriend or just a friend, it doesn't matter.

The one I trusted most, "him"... is setting up for full abandonment. He forgets I've been there done that, had it happen before, he's doing every single thing Jim did in the months leading up to the end of our friendship, including uttering words to the effect of I need my space.

He's withdrawing because he feels like he fails at "taking the dog away." The dog's never going to go away, just like ex wives, children and other baggage are never going to go away. He's withdrawing because I went to him most, mostly because he was the only asshole that would answer the phone. He's withdrawing because my depression is too much for him to shoulder. He's withdrawing because he thinks he's part of the problem, which he kind of is, but only because I was stupid enough to freak out, think he was abandoning me, and I had to tell him how I felt, because I couldn't stomach the idea of an ending interpersonal relationship without him knowing what was inside my heart.

Now he doesn't look at me the same. He doesn't act the same. He doesn't talk to me the same. It's like I'm now tainted goods to him. It's like the friendship has been damaged by a tornado, if not completely destroyed. I see him - I see other friends withdrawing, bordering on abandoning, if not fully abandoning me.

I can handle that he doesn't love me and never will (kind of), but to downgrade the friendship to that which seems more of an acquaintance is too hard to take. And that's exactly how my brain interprets "Keep the venting to me to moderate levels" or even worse, the condescending, "Dial it down a bit."

I thought we were "best friends," the type that could watch movies and hang out together, and bullshit on the phone, but it seems he doesn't want that anymore. The kind of best friends that don't leave each other when it get's thick. I guess those don't really happen. I've read too many books or watched too many movies. The downgrade hurts so much you may as well be ripping my uterus out by hand through my belly button.

For him to say I can still rely on him as a friend, he just doesn't understand. Now I have it in my head that he shoulders my problems too, so now I, in my consciousness, cannot go to him because I don't want to put more weight on him.

I honestly thought he was one of those people that let other people's problems roll off of their back. To know that he doesn't do that means I have to change how I interact with him. It means I feel like I can't go to him with my problems, for advice, for venting, or just a shoulder to cry on because that would be adverse to him. He forgets I'm a self-sacrificing woman - whatever's best for him - fuck what it does to me.

Him backing away leaves me virtually friendless aside from virtual friends and with nowhere to go except my 50 minute session once a week with my counselor.

Withdrawn

Let's put it this way, if I could magically take a pill that would make everything ok in my life again, I would. Instead I'm withdrawn from the world. I've pushed everyone away. Friends can only handle me in small doses because my depression is so severe. I find no joy in anything I used to find joy in. Everything makes me cry. I can't watch or read anything. Fuck if I want to fish which was my only out. Music is a double edged sword, it makes me cry and feeds my ability to write. I don't even want to write that much. I don't want to do anything.

I just want to curl up in a ball in bed and sleep 20 hours a day. Every conversation I have with every friend ends up the same way - me being hurt more because I see them backing away. I guess I'm just that big of a cunt.

I'm going to end up flunking this semester because I can't concentrate on shit because of the daemon dog at my throat. I see all of my dreams and hopes disappearing in front of my eyes, and there ain't a fucking thing I can do about it besides be a complete fucking failure and a guinea pig. I honestly don't even give a fuck if I fail or not. I'd much rather find the peace Mom finally got than go through this shit day by day.

It's not my fault I'm bipolar and goddamn depressed, grieving the loss of Mom and 2 friendships, so when the fuck do I get a goddamn say in my fucking life?

Isolation is bad for me, but I find myself not giving a fuck anymore. Not giving a fuck about anything or anyone.

Nobody gives enough of a fuck about me to return calls or texts. The phone never rings anyway, and if it does I hate it. There's only two people who can call me that would bring a smile to my face. And after the conversation with one of them last night, that may be down to one since "I'm putting too much weight on him." My lifeline is frayed. The lifeboat has a hole in it. And I have no fucking clue what he means by "keep the venting on me moderate." What the fuck? Really? What the fuck is moderate? I guess I'm just stuck with 50 minutes a week with a counselor for an outlet since I don't want to do anything more to put more weight on "him." I guess when shit gets thick is when you find out who's worthy to be in your keep and not.

TLDR; I'm withdrawn from the world. Nobody can handle my depressive states when I need them the most so I trust nobody. Nothing brings me joy anymore. And I'm a big fuckup at life.

27 February 2011

Night of Nightmares

Ok so it's 4:48 and I've been awake for 20 minutes since my last nightmare. I've had 3 tonight. The kind that make you get up swinging.  

I told you the black dog don't never leave me alone, ever.

Sweat is still emitting from every pore in my body. My pulse feels like it's in the 120 range. Breathing is fun, or would be if my respirations weren't like 25. And I'm dizzy from the meds on top of it all.

My muscles are stiff as hell. Apparently when you dream your body is supposed to paralyze itself so you don't hurt yourself or someone else. I wish my brain would paralyze itself so I don't remember the nightmares. Actually, I just wish my brain would fucking paralyze itself.

1) Reoccurring dream of my "friend" having a heart attack.
2) Finding Dave stabbed to death by his psychopath.
3) My best friend walking away from me because I can't get rid of this black dog and I tend to be mean and snippy when I'm stressed and depressed which means I'm a psychotic asshole.

I've had a wonderful triggered night concerning myself with getting the grades to get into grad school, finishing "The Waiting Years" in which the two people that die made me cry, something I didn't need to do anymore of this week. But mostly I've been triggered by fearing #3.

My cats are sticking close, I'm pretty sure Sir Yvain is super glued to me. The dog that was Mom's is keeping vigilant watch over me like a guard in a gun tower. I honestly can't figure out if I want to cry, go back to sleep or cry myself to sleep.

26 February 2011

Family - Water Is Thicker Than Blood

It is well known and accepted by those who truly know me that I am a firm believer in the "Water is thicker than blood" theory, as well as the "respect is a two way street" theory.

"Family" means nothing to me. My "family" is a pack of rabid fucking hyenas. Actually, that makes hyenas look bad. These people make mangy coyotes look like majestic wolves.

The only blood family who truly accepted me and loved me for who I am died September 27, 2010 at 5:17 a.m. and I wear her around my neck.

My real family are the few close friends I've picked up in my college life.

Furthermore, I will not respect anyone simply because they think they hold some power over me, be it familial, educational or rank. If you want me to respect you, you better goddamn well respect me.

Now to the real point; I am not this 12 year old child that you seem to think I am. I am an adult and I will make my own decisions and live my life the way I see fit. You do not even know me.

If you knew me you wouldn't have had the stupidity to say that I need to go to grief counseling, I need to do this, I need to do that. I already have a fucking parent. I don't need another one.

Dad and I are doing just fine without other people trying to tell either one of us how to fucking live our lives.

Also, for your information - I am seeing a counselor because I felt the time was right. I am looking at a true psychiatrist. I am adjusting my medications because it needed to be done.

I admit that I am a bipolar psychopath, but I have the intelligence and foresight to see it in me and at least attempt to live with it, even if I fail on some days.

I am sitting here laughing my ass off, remembering how you actually had the gall to say you think the bipolar skipped you, but hit everyone else in the family. Blinders on much?

YOU had better not tell me I need to go to grief counseling, or any psychiatric professional without first examining who and what you really are.

Breaking handles on the back of someone, threatening to blister someone's ass because a towel was left on the floor, tearing up a favorite blanket because yours got a fixable rip. That's not including what you do to your honestly developmentally disabled idiot savant child, like putting your hands around his throat when he was helpless in a body cast, the constant screaming at him over trivial matters, trying to do what you can to kill the gift of military history he was given, bitching at him because he eats because he's - omg, a fucking male teenager! Imagine that!

There's also the high manipulation you play on your daughter and every facet of her life, only she's not strong enough to tell you to fuck off so she can be a healthy human being with a healthy family.

Honestly, you remind me of Joan Crawford in "Mommy Dearest."

It's not just her you manipulate. You manipulate, or try to, anyone in your life. You try to manipulate me by telling me what you think I need to do and not do. For instance, we had a heart to heart; actually, I'll just quote from the book I'm in the process of publishing:
    "The following two weeks were pure hell. Hours were spent in the hospital and on the phone with [redacted] and [redacted], until I destroyed the engine in my truck several days into the fiasco, leaving me unable to visit Mom, to be there for her, unable to comfort her. I tolerated [redacted]'s excessive crying and hugging, her intrusions into my personal space, her suffocating me. "We're in this together. We have to be there for each other," she sniffled through her tears. She had decided that I needed to be her rock and that for some reason I needed her to be there for me. I didn't. I already had friends that didn't try to change me, that loved me for who I am, and the only person that I shared DNA with and considered true family was lying in a hospital bed in the building 250 feet away, slowly dying; slowly and painfully leaving my world.
    [redacted] thought she could step in and fill the role of mommy. She always talked to me like I was a child, her child. She was pretending in her delusional mind to dole out advice and try to shape me into a human being that would fit into her idea of what family and the world were supposed to be.
    "I'm gonna tell you like I tell [redacted]. You have GOT to let the abuse go." Right then I knew she had no clue what the hell goes on between my ears. With the exception of this book and the occasional nightmare, I don't let my abuse rule my world. I am not the one that freaks out, cries and overreacts to the thought of, let alone seeing my abusers or someone that looks like them. I am not [redacted].
    I am not [redacted]. I am not her precious do-no wrong [redacted].
    I am not Mom.
    I am me.
    She couldn't accept that. She couldn't accept the fact that I'm a woman in my own right. She couldn't accept that I didn't need her, and I especially didn't need her to be Mom or Dr. Phil to me. She still doesn't understand that I do not hang onto my past in a negative way or for negative reasons, it does not devour me or absorb every waking minute of my life; I keep it around because it shaped me into the persevering warrior I am, and I deeply feel that my words, my story, can help someone break their chains of abuse and heal."
In your eyes the world is fucked up and you're perfect. In the world's view - you need some serious fucking help. You make me look sane, and I'm the one that just got out of the loony bin.

The big difference (aside from everything else) between you and Mom is as simple as this: She saw that she was continuing the cycle of violence, abuse and hatred she was taught. She saw the bullshit she did to me and your nephews. She stopped it and honestly tried to make amends. She changed as a person.

You're still the same meddling busybody. Whatever you say is right, no matter what, and everyone else is wrong. You even had the balls to tell me how to grieve when I had just gotten slammed with the news that Mom was indeed going to die, I couldn't get groceries because Dad wouldn't give me the money, and then my truck died.

You had the stupidity to blast me because I use writing as a coping mechanism and because what I write isn't exactly flowery and purdy. You knew mentioning a certain relative's name triggers me to the point of a violent, blacked out rage, yet while Mom was dying you continuously stabbed me with that, and you STILL tried to force a relationship and tried to force me to change.

And really, what sane person retrieves things at 1 am?

You think I fucking need counseling? Take it from a psychopath herself - You fucking need counseling. You've already ruined 3 kids, and you're working on a fourth.

25 February 2011

Isolation and Bipolar

Depression level: 10, 8, 9, 5, 10 again

I slept from about 8pm last night until 1pm this afternoon. I simply wanted to go back to sleep. At least when I'm sleeping the dog isn't attacking as fiercely.

Then again, it does attack me in my dreams so I don't honestly get a break at all from his fangs. The weather is not helping at all.

I woke up today still a failure, still stressed, depressed, heartbroken, isolated, alone.

I know I have friends, people that care about me, but it seems when I need someone to do something with, to talk with, to get some relief from this evil fucking dog that has its fangs penetrating my corotid arteries, I'm alone.

They are either depressed themselves which I don't want to add to, they don't have the time for me which is often, or I simply exhaust them - which is what I unfortunately do to my most trusted, relied on and the strongest part of my safety net.

The phone never rings and I get far too excited to see an e-mail or facebook notification - "xxx has commented on your note" or "xxx has commented on your blog." You think I'm being hyperbolic when I say this, but I'm typing the straight truth.

I don't make friends easily, and anyone who knows my past can easily understand why. When you've been betrayed by most people who you stupidly allow in your life one is less likely to let other people in.

I've been told before I don't give people a chance. That's bullshit. I stand at the perimeter and watch people. I get a feel for who they really are. People show their true selves when they believe nobody is watching, or when they think they are around like minded people.

Anyone who is going to be stupid enough to blast me because of my clothes, tats or piercings has proven themselves to be far to shallow to be allowed anywhere near my outer walls without being shot down in a rain of flaming arrows and trebuchet stones.

People who feel it necessary to complain about or make fun of people with mental health issues like Aspergers, Autism or Bipolar can honestly light themselves on fire and add gasoline to their faces.

So no, I don't have many friends and live basically an isolated existence... however:

Isolation is bad for bipolars or just people with depression. It does nothing but make our situation worse. I've been crying for days because I cannot get a break from this demon dog. There is such a thing as too much "me time."

When we're alone, especially in depressed states - we think. I'm especially bad about it. I think all sorts of things. I think of how isolated I am. How I'd love to just stop this struggle of a life and die. How I have no hope of getting into graduate school because I'll never get my gpa up to a 3.5. I'll never have a 4.0 semester because I always end up having at least one mental breakdown. This one was bad enough to send me to the asylum. Sometimes I think of how I just want out of my own life and into someone elses.

In my isolated existence I know that I am a failure. I know that I will never get a job, let alone hold one unless I graduate college and find something to do that keeps me hidden far, far away from human beings, like an archivist. I know that I can't do much with a mere B.A. in English-literature. I can't do much with one in History either, but it's a better shot.

I know that I'll never get anywhere near where I want to be without my unattainable grad degrees... which would probably be riddled with breakdowns just as my BA's have. I know that I have such a slim chance of making it as a writer that I may as well give up on that dream too.

I know that I once had independence, but because of the severity of my disease I've fucked it all up. I had a job. I had an apartment. I was a normal fucking human being. I pissed it all away. I'll never be able to find employment, let alone keep it. I'll never be able to live a normal life. I'll always have to rely on someone, be it Dad, which depresses me more, or the government, which has its own horrible stigma. Either way I'm worthless and useless.

I know that I'll never be loved. I know no man will ever want to rip my clothes off and ravish my grotesque body. I know no man will ever want to truly make love to me in a bed full of rose petals. No man will draw a hot bubble bath for two. The only hand I'll hold will forever be my own.

I know that no matter what I'll always be the little sister, the good friend... the friend. Always the friend.

I know I'll always be isolated, inadequate and mediocre to everyone and in everything.

Prisoner of the Dog; Isolation

Prisoner of the Dog

Scraping scarred nails against the stone walls of this asp infested pit that I'm held prisoner inside I shriek to deaf ears. My sounds of pain cannot pierce the darkness shrouding me, crowding me, suffocating me.

Disemboweled by the demons I've been drug by as they dance over my entrails being a fresh caught dinner with my destitute heart their delicate dessert.

Mortified morsel for the demonic black dog, the undead mammal set out to take my mortal soul for his own. The impenetrable mineral barrier traps me in this cold, dark, meaningless Hell - the demon dog's tasty morsel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Isolation

Isolation has become my soul companion.
Isolation has become my soul assassin.
 
I find myself without energy nor spirit,
Stagnant I live within depression's thicket,
Oasis be damned! I exist in quarantine,
Loathing this existence ne'er to be serene,
Aloneness forever - it's forever forseen!
Taunted am I by dreams of a life so normal,
Instead I'm tormented by a soul awful -
Ominously taunting my mind with seclusion
Never released from my tormented delusions!

Isolation has become my state of being.
Isolation has become my state of living.

24 February 2011

Once upon a midday dreary:

Depression: 10, 4, 5, 8, 10. Yeah it's one of those days.

I'm trying to write this in a dizzy haze so deal with it. I'm fighting the Klonopin. I'm fighting bipolar. I'm fighting life. I'm fighting my GPA. I'm fighting heartache. I'm fighting confusion. I'm fighting this shitty internet in this shitty weather. I'm fighting the negative thoughts running through my head as if they own the fucking place. I'm just fighting.

I still wake up finding myself yearning for the one who rejects me, keeps me as a friend. I try to tell myself it's because he's fucking stupid and can't see the real woman in front of him. That works for about 3 seconds before I start thinking that he's too smart to get caught up with an emotional psychopath like myself. Yet I still can't convince myself not to call, not to e-mail because in my head I'm certain he'll just be happy I'm not around and not bother calling or writing... because I'm honestly worthless to him. It's just as well, he's a perpetual optimist, I'm a pessimist, and we both call ourselves realists.

I still wander through the house looking for Mom. Smelling the air for her cigarette smoke. Listening for her coughing laugh. Longing for someone to talk to that was as smart, caring, forgiving and accepting as her. I've failed at that too. Apparently the one who rejects me isn't a good or willing replacement.

I can never get him to understand that yes, I have other friends to talk to, but they don't have the same interests, I can't talk to them for hours about everything from current events to history to the correlation between the two. He will never understand what it really means to be one of the few humans trusted enough to be allowed deep enough inside my keep that he is just free to roam around and apparently fuck all the females there.

I still wake up and remind myself of the failure I am. How I'll never get my GPA up enough to get into grad school. How I'll never hold a job because of my cycling. College seems more and more a distant dream and a waste of time every time I look at my GPA. It never matters how well I do in a semester, the fucking thing seems to go down.

The only thing I'm finding any joy in is listening to Christopher Walken recite Poe's The Raven, cheesy sound effects and all.

I have many poems, stories, novels, songs, mostly angsty and tortured, slamming themselves into my skull but they cannot cross the plane through fingers, pen or lips. Emotions, fuck emotions. They're literally driving me insane... Quoth the raven, Nevermore. As I'm sure you've been able to tell, a few shitty poems have been able to come out and play. But those are shitty ones.

They are not up to my standards of poetry. Percy Shelley is up to my standards: A Lament. When the Lamp is Shattered. Mask of Anarchy. All show this wordsmith to be the epic wordsmith he was. May we all drink to his scribbles being late enough in history to be kept alive for our generation.

23 February 2011

Hypomanic?

I feel rather hypomanic right now, which is better than what I've felt for the last few weeks. The sad thing is I'm dizzy as fuck from the medications. I should be reading and studying but I can't seem to keep my concentration on the task at hand long enough to do that and actually remember what I'm reading. Too bad the black dog will be back at my throat in an hour or two.

22 February 2011

Counseling Day 3, Tears Day 4

medbherenn.com
Depression level 10. Counseling session 3. Spent the time crying, which I did for 4 fucking hours yesterday. Trying Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Maybe it'll work sometime, but it's not working now. Nothing's working now.

I still feel rejected, thrown away with the garbage and worthless to him. When I hear "the feelings will never be there" it still finds its way into my brain as another attempt to tell me I'm not good enough to love.

It doesn't matter though. I'm only worthy of emotional and psychologically abusive men as mates. Oh, let's not forget lying pieces of shit. And with that I'll never find a man who will put me first, especially against the ex wife.

Being put behind children I can tolerate to a certain extent... the point in which the children do everything to keep me away because I'm not good enough for Daddy (Jim, Dave, ring a bell?) in their eyes. Needing a vehicle worked on is one thing, every fucking weekend needing repairs or to borrow the truck for moving stupid shit is over the line. That was Dave's grown children's favorite. Damn was it frequent.

Don't even get me started on grandkids. There is a reason time with Dave dropped to 2 hours every 2 or 3 weeks with no phone call between. I'd literally scour the obituaries of every paper I could access just to see if his name was in it because I hadn't heard from him in 2 weeks. I see that happening with "him," being pushed so far away I may as well not exist, even as friends; my heart should stop, my last gasping breath taken, leaving me to eternal peace, a peace which I yearn for.

One of Jim's daughters purposely made a sign. It was black with neon "Keep Out Freak" written on it. She admitted that I was a freak and I was not worthy of breathing her air. This fucking kid did everything she could do to make sure I knew I wasn't wanted, liked, loved or welcome.

As if I weren't having enough issues with Jim suddenly going from hugging, kissing, cuddling and slepovers to empty promises, lies, deceit and new women - Jennifer being one.

She was obviously right when she said I should have killed myself when I had the chance since Jim did nothing to defend me. He just drank more beer and betrayed me in the worst way - by not being a loyal friend, by not defending me.

The more shit that goes on between me and "him" the more parallels I see in my past hellships. I would never be first. At best I would be 6th, behind children and ex wives, until grandchildren appeared, then I'd be behind them as well. The ex would be (and is) always right and I would be (and am) always wrong. I'm not even sure the kid I've met doesn't think I'm a psychopath. Ok, I am a psychopath. I can see why she avoids me.

I guess fuck therapy, fuck meds, fuck breathing, fuck my beating heart. Kill the living and envy the dead.

Then again, anyone that knows me knows the easiest way to kill me is through my heart.

Hangin from a tree...

Guess the fucking depression level.

Hanging

O how easier 'tid be
To swing from a tree
No more thoughts of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Confusion

You
In my life
causing torment
confusion
i love you
i'm nothing
useless
worthless
to you
stuck the friend
loveless
joyless
engulfed in agony
you run away
pull back
avoid me
hate me
you talk
you listen
you've no feelings
i'm worthless to you
we're alike
but no love
what
the
fuck
why do i
do this
want you
need you
reach to you
cry for you
pine for you
die slowly
without
you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dying Wilt

The red, red rose
Drenched in blood
Suffocates itself;
Dying wilt.

The wet, wet tears
Drop to mud
'neath my feet;
I'm dehydrating.

The blue, blue blood
Slows in my veins,
No use flowing;
Dying wilt.

20 February 2011

Forlorn and Boundless Tears

Depression Level: 10

















Forlorn

Frantically sobbing with your ashes -
Oh forsaken memories please go away;
Retreat from my brain, heart and soul,
Leave me, tears begone, gheists depart!
O'er there lays another victim for you -
Run, fill them with the grieving tears
N'er to stop flowing from our eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boundless Tears

Boundless tears drop from my despondent eyes,
Remembering what it was - to have you nearby
Holding me, comforting me, watching me cry.

O how I desire to hear one more word from you,
To see the radiance in your eyes sapphire blue.
Boundless tears drop from my despondent eyes.

O why did you have to forsake me in this way,
Why couldn't you have abandoned me another day?
Boundless tears drop from my despondent eyes.

Couldn't you see that I still needed you here
And now my special place in this life is unclear?
Boundless tears drop from my despondent eyes.

O why can't I hold you and love you anymore?
O why couldn't you stay on Earth a bit more?
Boundless tears drop from my despondent eyes.

19 February 2011

Bipolar Spending

Depression level: 9. Paranoia level: 4. Pissed off at self level: 10.

Anyone who knows anything about bipolar knows that one of the wonderful hallmarks is spending. Most call it manic spending, but I do both, manic and depressed. The spending is what has me depressed at the moment.

I am essentially a failure at life when it comes to my own money. My father will tell you that himself. Instead of saving every cent I got for financial aid I went on a spending spree.

$300 for a futon when I could have made my shitty couch last another semester or two. $400 for a Wii and games to help lose weight (I can at least see how many calories I've burned and it keeps me occupied). $420 for body modifications and tat designs. $300 or so for credit card payments, which means late fees. An ungodly amount of money for gas, and cigs. Overextending on helping with groceries = $300. $90 on medicine. And probably $200 on stupid shit trying to make myself feel better for a minute or two.

So now, I'm sitting here crying, replaying the "talks" in my head from Mom and Dad. "You need to watch your spending. You just don't care about anyone but yourself. You fuck up and we have to pay the price. You're a failure. Why can't you be like your brothers?" And now I have to ask Dad for money for the England trip which is paid for so I can at least eat and call someone special a few times.

Kill me now.

18 February 2011

12:38 p.m. 2/18/2011 Thoughts.

Self Portrait
I discovered it is mandatory that I take a Klonopin in the morning with a Risperdal. I didn't take it this morning because I felt good. That was bad. I'd gone from feeling good to being awake for 2 hours and crying for no real good reason - other than I was thinking about things I shouldn't think about or be concerned with.

I'm still finding myself having paranoid and negative thoughts. - He thinks I'm a psychopath. He'll never defend me. She hates me. God loves to fuck with me. I'm fat and worthless. Who are these people being added as friends and am I as worthy as they are?

I ain't gonna make it anywhere with this school shit except further in debt. These assholes are just lying to me when they tell me I'm a good author. Even if I do get a gig as a historian or whatever, I'd still fuck it up because of how badly bipolar I am. I guess I've always been paranoid, so why the fuck should I expect that to ever go away. It doesn't help gain and retain employment or real friends for that matter. When you're always looking for the knife coming at your back or waiting to be abandoned or toyed with - it sucks.

It sucks more when you wonder/worry about what those very few people that you respect (if you got my toddler manuscript, you're one of them) think about you or how they see you, and it is so important to you that you get the same amount of respect from them that they get from you or that they see you as someone who has worth - that it eats you alive, especially if you disappoint them like I did with Frank the night I committed myself, and for the two weeks before and probably the 4 days after I was released.

Yeah I'm thinking too much, and would rate the depression at a 7.

I can't get this tattoo finished soon enough. Maybe the endorphins from that will kick in enough to even me out for a few weeks or months.

17 February 2011

Today Just Sucked

It all started when I was so slow to wake up I about pissed myself. When I managed to get up I slammed my skull into the bathroom door frame. I'm surprised there's not a mark. I decided it would be a good time to take my morning meds and lay down for half an hour... then I was stupid enough to pour me a bowl of Special K Red Berry cereal. I had not even gotten a bite and spilled the entire fucking thing onto my crotch, couch and floor.

I didn't want to listen to the shitty music on the radio on the way to class so I was going to listen to my mp3 player. The battery died in the middle of Nile - Ithyphallic.

In general I was being pissy and slightly paranoid. I ended up taking a Klonopin in the middle of the day, again, because I found myself pissed off at merely being bumped into by someone. I mean wolverine pissed. Naturally after that I couldn't concentrate in class to save my ass. I'm wondering how the fuck I'm supposed to make it through the term with a 3.5-4.0 avg. It's safe to say that at the moment I'd rate my depression at a 6 or 7 (no I'm not suicidal).

I came home to eat dinner, and half of it ended up on the floor and my shirt. I was going to do my Wii exercises and try to walk a mile... but with the way the day is going I'd fall and break my neck or something. Instead I'm sitting here eating Blue Bunny Personals Super Chunky Cookie Dough ice cream waiting for my nighttime meds to kick in.

At least I got to spend lunchtime with a couple of people that I give a shit about. That's about the only thing that went right.

I need a fucking hug.

16 February 2011

Alive and on Wellbutrin

I'm still alive. It's been a rough week without anti-depressants. Saw the doc today and she gave me Wellbutrin.

This looks like it could be a fun drug. Naturally, I know that side effects often go away in a couple of weeks, but I can make fun of the list anyway. NCBI Bupropion.

Bupropion may cause side effects. Tell your doctor if any of these symptoms are severe or do not go away: drowsiness, excitement, dry mouth, dizziness, headache, nausea, vomiting, uncontrollable shaking of a part of the body, weight loss, constipation, excessive sweating.

I may end up quitting smoking and can't drink no more. Wondering if the Hydroxycut Max for Women is a good idea, though it looks like I may lose weight with this medicine anyway. I'm already twitchy and have been dizzy and lightheaded for some time, Klonopin makes me want to sleep anyway, but I'm looking forward to not being able to take a shit!

You, your family, or your caregiver **COUGH - FRANK, LINDA - COUGH** should call your doctor right away if you experience any of the following symptoms: Be sure that your family or caregiver knows which symptoms may be serious so they can call the doctor if you are unable to seek treatment on your own.
new or worsening depression;
thinking about harming or killing yourself, or planning or trying to do so;
extreme worry;
agitation;
panic attacks;
difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep;
aggressive behavior;
irritability;
acting without thinking;
severe restlessness;
and frenzied abnormal excitement.


Well, I'm already depressed, I tend to be agitated, prone to panic in crowds, sleeping is always a give or take, I'm already a pissy person, I twitch a lot, I've been told I worry about shit too much and frenzied abnormal excitement seems like regular manic to me. I also scare people, though I don't usually exhibit aggressive behavior unless I'm in the "agitated manic" phase.

Some side effects can be serious. If you experience any of the following symptoms or those listed in the IMPORTANT WARNING section, call your doctor immediately: I already have paranoia and irrational fears, hence being locked up last week and the rapid, pounding heartbeat happens when I'm high manic. At least I don't normally hallucinate. I'm sure many people would love it if my throat and tongue swelled so I'd shut up for a minute or two, the other meds make me confused already. Edema of the extremities sounds fun though! So do seizures!

seizures
confusion
hallucinating (seeing things or hearing voices that do not exist)
irrational fears
fever
rash or blisters
itching
hives
swelling of the face, throat, tongue, lips, eyes, hands, feet, ankles, or lower legs
hoarseness
difficulty breathing or swallowing
chest pain
muscle or joint pain
rapid, pounding, or irregular heartbeat!

All in all I'm just hoping this shit works. Being locked up, even for a day or two sucks, haldol sucks worse, and well, I just fucking hate being locked up like a zoo animal answering the same questions a million times while under the influence of some powerful drugs.

Being 3 people in the same body and not having whatever they call multiple personality disorder is not fun at all. At least the MPD people switch from person to person and don't seem to know they're switching.

I am intelligent and aware enough to know when I'm slipping into being psychotic.

Admittedly, sometimes I don't realize how hard or far I'm slipping until it's too late - especially with the paranoia and fear of abandonment (like last week according to Frank).

Sometimes I have no clue how the fuck to stop it or what to do. I'd prefer avoid institutionalizing myself again, thank you very much. I guess I'm learning as much as I'm teaching.

14 February 2011

Safety Nets in Mental Illness

What is known in the mental health world as the "safety net" is the most important part of being a sufferer and carer.

Unfortunately I made one carer the most important part of the net rather than keeping him even with the rest, weakening my support system. One frayed section of mesh weakens the rest of the net.

The closest thing I can relate it to is the poor schmucks who ride bikes across tightropes (mentally ill people) need some sort of safety device under them so when they fall they don't die (mentally ill safety net). Anyone who is mentally ill and recognizes it, knows their ass is going to fall off of the rope, several times, and hit rock bottom hard. The net keeps us safe from death. Literally, death.

I personally fell off of my tightrope on Feb. 9th for a myriad of reasons. I did have at least one strand of safety net still in place so I ended up in the psych ward for a couple of days... but at least I was still alive. Highly depressed but alive. Even now I'm bouncing around, mostly sticking at a deep depression... but I'm not suicidal nor wanting to self harm because that part of my safety net worked properly. Thank you Linda and Wizwom.

What I personally expect from a safety net is:

A) just fucking listen to me and let me get it out of my system even if it takes 3 hours of me crying uncontrollably.

B) Ask if I've taken my meds, and remind me to take another one and breathe for half an hour to see if the feelings go away.

C) Let me cry and don't tell me that I make everything difficult, including the friendship - especially if I'm crying and fucking telling you I'm tired of fighting and really want to die.

D) Believe me if I tell you I'm sick of fighting life, feeling like shit and being depressed.

E) LET ME VENT, LET ME VENT, LET ME VENT and STOP TRYING TO SOLVE MY PROBLEM! LET ME VENT! The doctor can solve my problem, I just have to last long enough to get to the appointment.



I relied far too heavily on Frank to be there for me 100% of the time and therefore he was to be able to talk me away from the razor blade every time. That was wrong. It put too much on him. Especially since he's still a n00b to this whole mental illness thing. I'm teaching him for the most part.

That's interesting, a psychopath teaching a friend the ways of how to deal with a psychopath even though I'm not always sure how to deal with my psychopathic self.

Now, sadly, I've pushed Frank away. I personally never see him having much contact with me until I get my meds under control (which may literally be never.) Honestly I'm not sure he'd want anything to do with my psychotic bipolar ass even if I do get the meds fixed.

'Tis sad. He was so close now he's thrown me out of the car 10 miles outside of town in the fucking snow and freezing rain. Totally my fault for being out of control, though it's hard to control a train wreck.

13 February 2011

About the Blog II

If you can't handle reading my pain or my lashing out at the pain being caused at the very moment, don't read the fucking blog. If you can't handle seeing the world from my view, don't read the fucking blog. It's that simple.

You know nothing of me, nor the blog, because if you did you would have a grasp on what the blog is about. It is a journal, it is a place to vent, it is a place to teach and learn about bipolar and other mental illnesses.

I have few friends, mainly for paranoia and trust issues - the blog is the best one I have since it doesn't get pissed if I call its ex significant other an asshole for ripping my heart out and throwing it on the ground and stomping on it because the ex significant other is in the process of abandoning me. It doesn't accuse me of using the ex significant other as fodder. It understands where I'm coming from and allows me to let my thoughts and feelings out... where humans do not.

Cycles

Happy manic, manic happy - manic
Energetic, elated - ecstatic
Achievements are effortlessly attained;
Thanks to the rapid, malfunctioning brain,
Rumination and contemplation whirl
Cause intense insomnia to unfurl.

Ecstatic manic forcing quill to stroke
Conscribing paintstrokes into baroque.
Sweet manic with it's vibrant impacts -
Be they realistic or high abstract;
Beloved manic mind's creativity
Soon leads into rabid depravity.

The extravagant manic disappears -
Soon the days no longer have any cheer,
Amusement quickly turns to apathy
Apathy deviates to agony
Which instantaneously devolves into fear -
Disquietude - everything and peers.

Paranoia, violent love of mine -
Oh how you've my soul tightly entwined
Strangling my mind, destroying my base
Forcing me to walk the world in disgrace,
Burglarizing my life - lovers and friends
Until on knee I pray for life to end.

Depression, the black demon dog from Hell
Arrives to the ringing of my death knell.
His sharp, bloody fangs sink into my neck
As he's starving from his prolonged trek
Simply to plunder my small will to live -
A will so small it cannot even be sportive.

The Paranoid

I've said it before but some people do not seem to remember things or comprehend them.

Paranoia is the second most dangerous phase for most bipolars, especially me. IT MEANS I AM DANGEROUSLY LOW! It means I am not thinking clearly at all.

It means you can easily throw me into either A) A violent rage against you or B) A psychotic, bawling, suicidal, self harming mess (like Wednesday night) who ends up with a shot in the ass of Haldol and Ativan and locked away with other lunatics for awhile.

Things such as:

"I don't want a relationship" = "Really you're too fucked up to be a part of my life at all and I'm just going to abandon you like most other people in your life have." It also equates to "You're a piece of shit, Sarah, please die."

"Relax or Hang In There..." actually that makes me want to strangle you because if I could fucking relax and not be a paranoid psychopath I would, and if I wasn't hanging in there goddamnit I'd be dead and you'd be talking to my ashes.

"You think too much..." Well no shit! If I could stop thinking I wouldn't be triggered and depressed anywhere near as much and logic might be effective. My brain does not have an "off" button. It is constantly thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking.

Given the right circumstances the thinking becomes seriously out of control, I feel under attack, I especially feel my intelligence is under attack (I'm fucked up in the head, not goddamn stupid, I understand shit the first time you tell me), and I become rapidly suicidal (again, like Wednesday).

If you are going to have the balls to not be a fairweather friend you have to deal with your bipolar buddy at their worst. You're going to have to understand when the fuck to back off with the assaults unless you really want to attend that person's funeral.

This includes defending the paranoid, depressed, psychotic bipolar when she cannot seem to get the trigger to go away  herself. You gotta remember, I'm the type that when I'm cornered and feel attacked, I'm comin' out swingin' like a motherfucker so ending triggering conversations are highly improbable with me.

Shit you say that's meant in an innocent way seriously comes across as a personal assault.

Paranoia leads me to distrust people who may have proven themselves a million times over. It doesn't matter what you say, the world IS against me, including all inhabitants, friend or enemy. Somehow, some way they are stabbing me in the back, be it just attacking me outright, or not defending me, or not knowing when the fuck to back off because they don't know that they are opening Pandora's Box.

Yes, in a clear mind one realizes the paranoia destroys relationships, no matter what level or context the relationship is. In the paranoid mind, the relationship is already fucked and the other parties are just going to abandon you. I experience thoughts/realizations/feelings/reactions that may or may not be real.

Paranoia leads to and exacerbates angst, jealousy, anxiety, depression, and possibly psychosis. 

The paranoid/depressed state the point where it's probably the hardest to deal with me, and proves one's fairweatherness. Everything you do or say either gets taken wrong or is simply not believed. You're an angel one minute and a lying, manipulative, evil piece of shit the next.

If you call a friend and they don't answer the phone, obviously they're avoiding you.

If you ask a friend if they want to hang out and they decline, obviously you're not good enough to hang out with, or you're just the charity case pity friend who's only good enough to deal with occasionally on the phone, or in very short sessions.

Any excuse used to not hang out (gotta babysit, gotta wash my hair, I have "something to do" - man-speak for I'm getting laid, - I'm busy, whatever) is an obvious "fuck off, I don't want to hang out with you because you're not cool enough/good enough to hang out with".

Crushes or significant others purposely gawk at and flirt with other women in front of you just to hurt you (giving the obvious emotional response of "why the fuck ain't I good enough for them")- because honestly it's apparently fun to rip people's hearts out and then rub salt in the wound.

There is no such thing as logic at this point in time. At all. If you do have a moment when your logical brain is able to break through and kick in, it is quickly overcome by the overactive paranoid part of the brain.

I'm really not sure how a carer is supposed to deal with this, other than have a thick skin and an endless supply patience. And possibly a shoulder to cry on, and a hand to hold during therapy.

Simply put: Imagine yourself going fucking nuts, knowing you're going fucking nuts, and not being able to do anything but let the train run over you. I think I'd rather be nuts and not quite know it, like Ferdinand I.

11 February 2011

Since sleep eluded me...

I'll start by saying I think I found my "inner Scaeva" again, even after a shitty phone conversation that brought me to tears again. Also, HALDOL SUCKS!

I'll just say there is no number one reason for my horrid state of mine. It is a myriad of reasons.
  1. I miss my fucking Mommy. It sucks losing your best(only) friend and the only parent who cared to understand and accept you for you at the same time.
  2. I am/was going through a breakup and the adverse reactions of that.
  3. I thought I loved someone who was simply a friend. Though we will never agree to the fact that it's simply - I'm not good enough.
  4. I was/am seriously missing the long term relationship I alluded to in 2.
  5. I'm simply bipolar. This helps nothing.
  6. I'm a woman and have hormones... this helps nothing either.
  7. Isolation: I have few friends, and the ones I do have we don't do much together. With Mom dead, I have nobody to talk to, nobody to excitedly tell the details of my day to, nobody to cook for. I have nothing but me and the animals.
  8. I just can't get rid of the fucking depression.
  9. I'm intelligent enough to know I'm going fucking loony but powerless to stop it.
  10. I am at my weakest when it has things dealing with the heart. I'm a romantic, deal with it.
At the hospital, I made a big hit with my fresh piercings and my tats. The people I got on with there were like me, just depressed, intelligent and took responsibility for their own actions. They were there for a reason, as was I. That's not to say there weren't some more interesting people.

I was released because I was no longer a threat to myself and others, I have a treatment plan (GP for meds, Counselor Steve for Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and finding a true psychiatrist to deal with the rapid cycling bipolar), and I have a network of safe houses set up. Instead of checking in again, I have a few friends where I can go crash while waiting for my meds to work and the feelings to go away as they do and they will make sure I don't do anything stupid except they'll laugh if I fall off of the couch.

While I was having my vacation from the real world, some realizations came to light:
  • I need to take my meds earlier in the trigger mode
  • If I'm paranoid I need to make sure to isolate myself, take my meds and avoid all triggers and conversations.
  • I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to try to somewhat control it.
  • I need a new anti-depressant, one that might actually work.
  • I'm not stupid, nor helpless, though I still feel worthless (CBT works on that).
  • If a friend cannot handle seeing me at my lowest lows and considers walking away, I must question the strength of the friendship.
  • Dave (the ex) called 8 times when he found out I was in the loony bin. He was legitimately concerned, baffled and just wanted to show me that he does love me.
  • I cried and triggered when I thought of a relationship unattained with Mr. Unrequited, and smiled when I thought of Dave telling me he cares, he still loves and misses me, and hopes I can get evened out again.
  • I learned who my best friends are, and who cannot handle me at my worst without wanting to walk away, supposedly for my benefit, though it comes across as for their benefit instead.
  • I learned, I am never checking myself into the asylum again. 
  • I will fight it, I will fucking win.

OK Back...

Exhausted. Learned shit. Got away from suicidal thoughts and self harm. Gonna go to bed now. Write more later. Also, Haldol sucks monkey balls.

09 February 2011

Going to the Asylum

Hope you're all fucking happy now.

Rescue me!

Rescue me! Remove me! Love me! Kill me!
Excuse me? I don't need a white knight -
Someone to emancipate me from me
Championing for my heart in the night -
Understanding, yearning to set me free
Even opposing me fighting my fight.

Murder me! O let my body be slain -
Evermore liberated from your bane!

Rescue me in romance? I need it not!
Owain and Gawain and Lancelot I want NOT!
Mutual interests and mutual love,
And an angel from silver clouds above,
Nibbles on the neck and an I love you,
Caresses, laughter, and talking to you -
Everything I want in romantic affairs.

08 February 2011

Medicine Medicine Medicine

I would like to begin the blog with a long, frustrated scream. And these pictures:


Because I was not paying attention to how many Lexapro tabs the nurse called in for me, I am out. This is good and not so good. I'm sure the Lexapro wasn't working at all and the little bit of relief I felt was from the Risperidone acting as a mood stabilizing agent.

I had no Lexapro last night, nor will I tonight. Instead I took 2 mg of the Risperidone in an attempt to head off seriously negative effects. I don't think it worked well but it's better than nothing. Thankfully I have an appointment on Friday.

Unfortunately Lexapro is one of those wonderful drugs you are supposed to taper down from. Guess what's not happening here? I'm already feeling the withdrawal effects. I'm dizzy as hell especially when I move my eyes, I can't concentrate, I can't see straight, I get a tingly sensation and see cool colors if I close my eyes and look one way or the other, and my lips are so tingly that I find myself poking at them just to get the giggle from the sensation. Imagine Novocaine wearing off after a dentist appointment... that's my lips. It's going to get worse. I'll start twitching and shaking. I'll probably get sick to my stomach, and bounce between high manic and suicidal depressed about 12 times a day. Then there's the bouncing between starving myself and gorging! Oh and there's the pissed off rabid wolverine temperament as well, between that and whiny I'm sure life is fun for Frank the Friend/object of my affection.

Not like the depression thing hasn't been a serious issue for a couple of weeks (hence back blogs).

I would like to apologize in public to the object of my affection who has offered me rejection for handling it like a fucking psychopath, not the person I am and lost somewhere inside me.

I just love my paranoid brain and the fact that everything has to be NOW since I feel like I'm living on borrowed time. Hey 1 of the 3 suicide attempts should have fucking worked. It didn't, so now I'm stuck... and Awesomesauce said he'd duct tape me to the ceiling if I tried the shit on his watch. Not just duct tape - HOT PINK duct tape. I cannot have that.

On Friday I get to be a guinea pig again! It's time to break out the bigger anti-depressants since I've been on 40mg of Lexapro for 8 years, and I'm not sure we can up it more without going into danger zone since 40 is twice the normal dose given. Also, since PMS seems to sway the swings more, I should probably check into Depo as well to see if that helps calm shit down. I guess I'll have to become a prostitute just to pay for my medicines.

I'm sure the side effect phase of a new anti-depressant and possibly Depo or some sort of hormone changing birth control will be absolutely wonderful! Zombification, insomnia, puking, shitting, being bitchy, depressed immune system, being paranoid, shaking. It'd be my luck the damn anti-depressant works the opposite for me and depresses me more and induces suicidal thoughts and dreams of cutting again.

And when that anti-depressant doesn't work, try another one, and another, and another. Eventually get stuck seeing a real psychiatrist which costs money and arguing with them about why I will refuse to take Prozac and Lithium. And when that shit fails, guess what?!?

ELECTROCONVULSIVE THERAPY!
And probably many stays in one of our welfare mental health care facilities. I can hardly wait!

Who wants to be normal when you can be zapped into having a seizure and be pumped full of Haldol and Thorazine?

07 February 2011

Torturcide - Lyrics

Torturcide - Lyrics
I wrote these, steal and die.

[Spoken in brutal death metal voice]
Here's somethin' I want you to see

(brutal blastbeats, double bass riffs)

Fuck with me and you'll soon be
Enduring endless khukuri slashes
And steel toed combat boot bashes;
You'll be granulated in a bloody mass
And scalped with a sliver of glass.

I'll hang your skins on my gates
Flayed and tanned to show my hate.
Dismembered heads impaled on halberds
Incite the call of the blackbirds
Who will flock to feast on your eyes
While I gleefully watch your demise!

(drum solo)

[Spoken]
You're too fuckin' pussy to see Valhalla

(brutal blastbeats, double guitar riffs)

The paradise is for me and mine alone
Instead I'm gonna pulverize your bones
Starting with your toes to hear you howl
That is until I get to your fuckin' jowl!
Then I'll rip through your flesh and spine
Giving your sacrifice to the divine!
Your fucked skull will become a mead stein
And I'll drink to victory being mine!

(instrumental)

I'll hang your skins on my gates
Flayed and tanned to show my hate.
Dismembered heads impaled on halberds
Incite the call of the blackbirds
Who will flock to feast on your eyes
While I gleefully watch your demise!

(drum solo)

I'll hang your skins on my gates
Flayed and tanned to show my hate.
Dismembered heads impaled on halberds
Incite the call of the blackbirds
Who will flock to feast on your eyes
While I gleefully watch your demise!

Bound From Love

Bound From Love
a poem by me

Bound by rusted chain to a desolate wasteland -
Shackled to the forsaken, orange, blistering sand.
Evol, the deplorable daemon, keeps her in chains
Raping her with scaled phallus as the moon wanes.

Piercing lamentations, only heard by the daemon Evol,
Eject from pale white, dehydrated lips once regal -
Screaming spurned screeches from her destitute chest
Mourning affection and lust, romance and conquest.

06 February 2011

When the Lamp is Shattered - Percy Bysshe Shelley

When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead—
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot. 

 
As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute—
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.


When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?


Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

05 February 2011

Night 3

Because you forgot to call, I was stupid enough to call you. That was a mistake. I ended up crying to you on the phone upset because you've ripped my fucking heart out and smashed it to pieces.

You pretend to be upset that I'm upset but in reality you're just upset that you're the asshole causing the tears this time and not Dave. You have no clue how deep my emotions for you run.

It used to be when I was upset and crying I could gain some solace by pretending I was cuddling with you, or even call you. Now you're the cause of the pain and I have no way to relieve the agony. I have to endure it, constantly wiping the snot and tears from my face because I'm not good enough for you to love back.

Yeah, fuck it, since it's never gonna happen - I love you.

Not a day goes fucking by I don't goddamn think about you. Not a day goes by that I don't wonder how you're feeling, if you're tired, happy, sad, pissed, stressed. Not a fucking day goes by that I don't want to be in your (now known as fake) tight embrace. There used to be a time when just the look in your eyes and smile could make me feel better. You were there when I needed you most and too blind to see the fact that I "had a thing for you." Wake the fuck up dude. Everyone could tell. Everyone fucking knew. Now you have the balls to be upset because you don't know how to make me feel better? WTF?!? Guess you shouldn't have ever lied to me.

All my other friends are telling me to stop contact with you. How the fuck do you stop contact with someone you have feelings for? Because I'm damned sure you're not going to take the steps to contact me, to continue a friendship and definitely not to spark anything more since you're a pussy and can't see it in front of your fucking face.

Yeah, I wasn't looking when I met you, I was happily with Dave. I wasn't looking when I met Richard the stalker. I wasn't looking when I came across the one you are becoming more like - Jim (Howard in the manuscript). I had sworn off all human beings when Dave wormed his goddamn way into my life and heart.

I sure as fuck am not happy I ever opened up to you and let you into my heart and mind. It's been the cause of much pain and torment with your mixed fucking signals, your refusal to communicate unless it's to remind me of painful things like "hur dur I'm not looking, just thought I'd say that for the 100th time to make you hurt more!"

Why the fuck did you ever pretend to be my friend and concerned about me? Why the fuck do you lie to me and tell me I have a future and shit when I know damn good and well I'm stuck being poor white trash for the rest of my fucking life? Why did you ever pretend to care about  me? Don't tell me it's not pretending, it is. If it wasn't pretending you wouldn't have sent mixed signals.

You want to talk about me putting the cart ahead of the horse? Well here it goes buddy. I've wanted a relationship with you for a long fucking time. I want to do shit with you like go to dinner, watch movies, travel the fucking world together. I want you to see me as something better than "just friends," I want you to see me as not only compatible, but lovable. Now that I know that's never gonna happen it's back to me doing everything the fuck alone, again, as I've done my entire fucking friendless piece of shit existence.

Mom totally should have had an abortion when she found out she was pregnant with me. She would have saved me a lot of pain and torment, and I never would have had to meet any of the exes or you, Mr. Unrequited Pussyface.

04 February 2011

Night 2

This is the second night in a row I've been brought to tears by the sudden realization that "He just ain't into me." It doesn't help that I'm fucking sick, PMSing, tired of being stuck in this goddamn house, and tired of being alone. I should have stayed with Dave, maybe I should call him. Maybe he's learned his lesson in how to treat me and accept me for who I am.

I'm so fucking stupid for not noticing the signs with Awesomesauce... I cuddle with him, he don't cuddle back; I kiss his cheek, he don't kiss back; I hug with all my might, he pussy man hugs. He has the balls to get pissed off at me for having a low self image. What kind of fucking self image am I supposed to have when the gods decide to shit on me again?

Oh look here's this awesome man who's perfect for you in every way! Hahahahahahaha. We'll give him commitment issues, we'll make him so detached that he can have no emotions, we'll make sure he never sees you as anything other than the stupid little friend with delusions of grandeur! Yeah, that'll fuck with you, Boudicca! Hahaha!

Why is it so wrong for me to want him to see that I'd treat him like a fucking god, and want something more than just friends? Why is it so wrong for me to actually want to love and be loved without all the dysfunctional bullshit? Why the fuck does this shit have to happen around Valentine's Day when the only shit being played on TV is this mushy romantic shit that will never happen for me?

The only thing I've ever wanted my entire life (aside from my black Arabian horse) is for a man to meet my intellect, have the same interests I do, want to travel and love me for who I am - bipolar and pms included. So why, dear gods, do you deny me this every single time? Why did he have to be my friend? Why didn't he just tell me to piss off?

I feel manipulated, hurt and pissed. Pissed because I get fucked over again in the love department, I fall, the object is repulsed and I was too stupid to see the same signs that Jim displayed. Hurt for obvious reasons, because Awesomesauce is literally one of a kind... and the only one that can handle my moods because he is so even in his moods, and I can't have him because he's not interested in relationships or me. That hurts more, that he's not interested in (thus rejecting) me. I guess I really am a big enough piece of shit that no matter how much I can match a man's intellect or how well I can feed his ass I still repulse them. I wonder if I still have the power of turning a man gay too. That'll be the next fucked up relationship... "I'm dumping you because I want to be fucked in the ass by James over here."

Feeling manipulated may or may not be a legit feeling or thought. This man "is" a friend, he's been there for me through thick and thin, and naturally he's given out mixed signals. Oh I'll let her cuddle with me, I'll let her kiss my cheek, I'll talk to her for hours on end about everything we can think of to talk about every day. Then when I'm stupid enough to proclaim my feelings for him... BOOM! I'm not looking. I'm probably never going to be in a relationship again. Sorry for hurting you though. Yeah. Thanks.

My fucking feelings have been developing since March. I think we'd be an awesome couple if someone wasn't too big of a pussy to try relationships again. Intellectually and emotionally we are compatible. Then again I'd rather be with someone who has a big brain as compared to being with someone with a big dick. We both accept each others flaws and deal with them. He has done nothing but show me loyalty, honesty and respect and this is what I get. Depression and tears and depression and tears... because I'm not even good enough to give him the bravery to try to be with a real woman instead of some bitch who's just gonna use him and cannot meet his intelligence.

03 February 2011

Love, Lust, Infatuation... whatever.

Love. Hahahahahhaha. Love. Fuck love. Men should start wearing their cups because I'm about ready to go nut kickin' for the hell of it. Damn deities are always going to deny me love. I haven't even completely fallen, but I am falling... falling into a deep abyss of hell, hate and pain.

Most assholes call it unrequited love. I call it the asshole doesn't see me for the awesomeness I am so the gods punish me and my weak heart with my strong need to find the one person who can make self-imposed isolation tolerable. I also call it "dude's being a pussy because he got hurted."

"I'm not looking for a relationship" means: "I'm too big of a pussy to try another relationship because the ex still has my balls in her kitchen; You're not good enough for me; I just like playing with you." A.K.A. Rejection for no reason other than pussification and the gods thinking it funny to make me the perpetual worthless friend.

Now, if I were truly an intelligent human being, which apparently I am not, I would never have violated my number one rule: Do not ever, under any circumstances open up to let the dick swinger really know how you feel. As per usual, breaking this rule causes pain. With this dude it is more and more difficult to hide my feelings and thoughts. I never had that problem with any of my exes, most likely because they would berate me for even having those damned things called feelings and emotions anyway.

I'm not even with the dude, I'm just pining for him. So why does it piss me off and hurt that I can't have him for whatever the excuse of the day is? Why should I be pissed and jealous that he "goes to dinner" with other females? Why do I think he's lying his ass off when he says he's not going out to get laid? Why do I fucking feel inferior to all these bitches he goes out with? Oh, that's right, because I am goddamned inferior and I know he is of nobler birth than I, me being perpetually poor white trash undeserving of a soul mate. Then again they always start out awesome. They all have flaws which I generally easily overlook unless they raise the "abusive, controlling dickhead" red flag.

Why should I be taking notice of the mixed signals he's apparently too blind to see only to know that sometime in the near future I'll be squashed to the ground again in a reminder that he isn't looking for a relationship or, even better, I'm putting the cart way ahead of the horse. I'm not getting ahead of myself. I'm not fantasizing about marriage or any of that meaningless bullshit. I'm just trying to savor every second of conversation on the phone, every minute spent together in the real world and every letter typed in e-mail.

So why do I think I'm fucking nuts for a) falling for this guy that has proven more than loyal and trustworthy, b) wishing he were mine and mine alone, c) continuing the friendship, almost needing contact with him, knowing that I'll "inadvertently" be hurt continuously with reminders of the fear of relationships, the dumbass thinking he's bad in them, that whatever the fuck I do makes him think we're "going in the relationship direction" to the point that I have no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Do I just sit on the goddamn couch like a statue with my face perfectly glued to the tv and my mouth shut? Do I turn off all of my emotions? Do I limit myself to two syllables or less on the phone instead of in depth 3 hour conversations about everything? Do I hide who I really am, my thoughts, my feelings, my very fucking being just to make him comfortable? How the fuck am I supposed to read no resistance to snuggling, hugging, cheek kissing and kind words telling him how awesome he is in my eyes? Because I apparently read it wrong. I apparently read everything wrong.

Fuck men. Fuck love. Fuck the gods for fucking with me so much. When I die I'm kicking all of the gods in the nuts and goddesses in the twats... with steel toed boots.