We do for others because we don't know how to do for ourselves. We do for others because we feel it is the only way to make up for the damage we feel our craziness is doing to society. We do for others because it makes us feel good when nothing else in the whole world does, not even pills. We stay quiet and sit in the corner because others seem so much more needy. We require so little, you and I. A fact which does not sit well with others who would label us as too much to handle. When in truth, all those such as us really need is a bit of understanding, a bit of reciprocation, maybe a touch on the cheek once in a while and a sly wink. The rest of the world is needy. I'd rather be crazy. ~~Aimee

Wednesday, 29 June 2011

Truth, Deep Breaths, and Cake

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. He's 16. This could probably explain some of my weirdness lately. June and August are hard months for me. Reminders of things lost. Irreplaceable things. Reminders of hopes and dreams that are nothing more than whispers in the wind. Never knowing if they will ever be more than shadows I glimpse out of the corner of my eyes. June and August are weird times for me. 

I haven't spoken to my children since 2006. To be honest, there have been times where I didn't even try. Too much pain. Too much heartache buried in rejection. Pretending. Ignoring. Less pain in numbness than in feeling. I don't know what his favorite food is anymore. It use to be my lasgna but who knows now. He use to be an amazing futball player. He was a striker but now? 

I wonder if he knows how to drive or if he has plans for his first car. So many thoughts rolling around the darkness of my brain. I stalk my ex (his father) and my ex's wife on facebook. Their status updates always make me laugh at their hypocrisy. I think if people only knew your truth, but I remain silent. Deep breaths. 

I never pulled the rope in the tug of war with my ex. Whenever he put my kids in the middle, I just would let go. I never wanted them to feel they had to choose sides. I never wanted them to feel they could only love one of us. No matter how much I hated my ex I loved my children more so when he tugged I let go. Whoever said take the high road was a fucking moron. I wish I had been a bitch. I wish I had put his ass in jail when he didn't pay child support. I wish lots of things but they are just wishes. Unrealized moments of what if's and should have beens. Deep breaths. 

Then there is my ex roommate. The catalyst in what led me to sending my kids to live with their father. She told me she would help me. She told me she was my friend. That she would be there for me and like the niave idiot I was I believed her bullshit because I was so alone. I wanted a friend. I wanted to believe her lies were different. That this time it would be different and it was. For a moment, but then she was fucking a married man and well you can only fuck married men in so many places. She wanted our one bedroom flat to be that place, but my daughter has a mouth that does not close so she couldn't fuck him if my kids were there. 

They were an interference in her affair. When it comes to fucking married men, promises get forgotten and friendships become burdens. 

She told me I had two weeks to find a new place to live so I phoned up my ex and for the first time in the 8-9 yrs my children had breathed the air on this planet I forced him to take care of them. A part of me knew that I would never see them again. A part of me knew that I was opening an alternative universe that I would never again be able to visit. A part of me knew I was about to step off of the edge of reality. A part of me I have lost somewhere. 

Her affair was the final straw in my crumbling world. A world that was slowly being filled with delusions, insanity, turmoil. A world I allowed to consume me once my children were "safe". For three years I allowed it to consume me. Its embrace was comforting. In its arms I didn't have to feel the emptiness. The pain. I didn't have to BE. 

I gave up hope. Hope of a tomorrow with my children in it. Hope of a day when truth is real and not the fantasy my ex and his wife make it out to be. She was our babysitter. My ex's best friend's daughter. I trusted her. Invited her into my home. Even afterwards. After the lies and the divorce and the torture, I still opened my home to her. 

I taught her about religion. Stupid fucking high road. Don't ever take the high road. Don't ever be the "better" person. It's a dead end street to nowhere and nothing. Because no one remembers the truth. Just their illusions. No one remembers she was our babysitter. No one remembers she broke my home. Ask anyone and I am the evil bitch. I abandoned my children. 

No one remembers the unanswered phone calls. The threats for leaving a message on the machine. No one remembers the letters. No one cares about the years spent homeless. Never knowing if there would be food or a place to sleep the next month. No one cares why. They just care that they are the "good" one. That's all that really matters anyways. Not truth. Exhale. 

What would I do differently? Honestly I don't know. I am the person I am today because of the pain. Because of the difficulties. Without them I don't know who I would be or what or where. I was slowly being sucked into a vortex that I didn't want my children to be a part of . I wanted them to know sunshine, and rainbows. I wanted them to see the flowers and feel the rain on their faces. I didn't want them to know what it felt like to have your breath sucked from your body. 

But somehow I think they know. All of the things I tried so hard to keep from them. They know. So today I wonder if my son is happy. If he is content. I wait for the day when maybe his curiosity will outweigh his hatred. A day when maybe just maybe. That is the day I wait for.

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Can You See Me Now

To all of those who have "poked" me over the last few days, I so appreciate it. My husband left last Saturday for his trip and since then I have just been "being". Don't ask me what that means because honestly I don't even know. All I know is that I needed some time to breathe so that is what I have been doing. I love you guys and miss you. I have been reading your blogs although in a more stalkerly fashion. I just feel without words at the moment and so I am going with that feeling. 

But I am here, lurking in the shadows. I am certain my words will return. I mean hello I am bipolar so it is inevitable at some point the verbal diarrhea returns but until then am just enjoying the constipation.

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Miracles Do Happen

Remember the other day when I told you about the twot stealing my post. Well you won't believe this. Blogger actually did something about it. They removed the post from the asswipe's blog. Although I personally think they should have removed the entire blog, but I won't complain. Much. 

They did more than I thought they would so I guess that's something. Although I will still be keeping an eye on that fuckard's blog just in case they get copy happy again. Except now they will have to at least type my entire posts. I disabled right click on my blog while it's not fullproof it will at least slow the fuckers down. Cuz I know you all are out there plotting to steal my brilliant work here. 

I'm waiting on my nobel prize nominations. I am sure they are already in the mail.

Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Mashed Potatoes Between My Toes

I grew up in the south. Not Gone with the Wind south but never the less I have redneck flowing through my veins. I don't remember much about growing up. I don't remember birthday parties or what I wore for Halloween. I don't remember slumber parties or weekends at Gran's. There are many blanks in my past. Sometimes I am grateful and other days I would just like to know. My imagination has a mind of its own and even if it's bad, some days I would just like to know which monster lurks in my darkness. Then I could stop wondering about the millions of possibilities of what might fill those blanks in my memory. 

But even though there are many blanks, some of them are filled with flashes. Flashes of a 5 year old little girl, hair blowing in the wind. Walking behind the mule pulling a plow. She would step as far as her 5 year old feet could reach, then drop a potato in the hole that had been dug for her. After she had dropped it in the hole, she would take her toes and push it down into the earth and giggle about the thought of mashed potatoes between her toes. The earth was cool under her bare feet. She knew no worries other than avoiding any presents left for her by the mule. The sun was warm on her face, it erased the darkness that clouded her soul. For those few moments, she was free. Just a little girl with mashed potatoes between her toes.

Monday, 20 June 2011

Madness on Mondays

Remember the other day before the asswipe came along and pissed me off and made me forget totally about today? I told you to go visit a lovely place? Remember? No? Of course not, I barely remember what day it is or whether I was going or coming from the bathroom how the hell do you expect me to remember what you told me two days ago?! 


So if you have CRS like me, then let me remind you about the Monday Madness link up over at WordsinSync. I truly am so amazed at how talented and beautiful craziness can be. I had planned on participating in this but the drama caused me to forget so I don't have anything prepared, but starting next week I definitely plan on linking up and having something half way decent. At least better than the drivel I usually spout about with. There are lots of people linked up so I am certain there is a crazy for everyone. Try to stop by and say hi if you have a few minutes to spare.

Something to listen to while you're off visiting:

Saturday, 18 June 2011

Does This Mean I'm Famous Now

To the asswipe who just became my follower, apparently you're stupider than you look. If you're going to steal my posts, then don't fucking FOLLOW me so that I can see you have copy/pasted my entire post and claimed it as your own, fucktard. 

I am not sure whether I should be pissed or flattered that my posts are so awesome that you considered stealing them and claiming them as your own. Next time however write your own fucking shit and leave mine the hell alone!!!

Go Here Because I Said So

Since my crazy has decided to be all boring and stop working and I have nothing interesting to say to the 3 of you who actually read the rambling shit that I spew upon the page, I have decided to share a little love with you today.

No, get back! Not that kinda love! 

In my search for never ending insanity, I stumbled upon a blog who is doing something amazing and very very brave. She is collecting the insanity together in one spot and sharing it with people. See I told you she was brave. 

Every Monday she has a blog hop for mental illness which is way beyond cool. She also does writing and a lot of other stuff but you guys know me I am drawn to the crazy. 

So go check her out. WordsinSync you will not be disappointed. Make sure to save me a seat and don't forget to bring sour skittles. It's rude to show up to a party empty handed. 


Friday, 17 June 2011

When Crazy is Boring

I really had no intention of posting today. I am not necessarily inspired to write, but then I got to thinking that it is important that I document this "normality". Is that even a word? Oh well it is now. My blog is in some ways a mood journal. So why does that mean I document only the "negative" moods? Why not the good ones as well? Whenever the word "bipolar" is mentioned, most people and even myself sometimes, only think mania, crazy, out of control, hypomania, delusional. You never think calm, boring, normal, but those things do exist in our brains. It's just they are fighting for air and usually when they surface, we get so freaked out by their presence we either run away from them or push them back down. 

People with bipolar often live years undiagnosed, and those who like me developed bipolar symptoms during adolescence begin to consider that anxiety panic ridden state as "normal". We live with our brains on warp speed for so long that when they slow down we don't recognize that and it actually becomes a little bit scary.

Last night Jigger and I were lying down watching the cricket match and I was making fun of the rules because seriously they were made up by some drunk guy who was slipped some LSD. Don't believe me? Look at the rules sometimes see if I am not right. Anyways, we were sitting there laughing and suddenly it struck me that we were sitting there laughing. Being "normal". Enjoying each other instead of screaming at each other and the most shocking thing is that I actually kinda liked it. Before I use to feed off of the drama. I equated abuse with love. I didn't know how to love. How to be in a real relationship that wasn't toxic. I had to learn and I think it is important for loved ones of people with bipolar to understand this. 

Sometimes we crave the toxicity, the drama, the insanity, simply because we believe that is how things are suppose to be. If Jigger hadn't taught me that those things weren't normal, then I guarantee you that I would still be doing all of them. The only reason I am now able to see that my perceptions were not correct is because he taught me. Now I realize all of my perceptions are not simply because of bipolar. Some have to do with the abuse I suffered from my father and ex, but the bipolar didn't help. It twisted things inside my mind and it makes it almost impossible for us to verbalize what we are feeling. The only way we can express ourselves is through actions. Understanding the actions of a person with bipolar is extremely important. Most often they are telling you they need help, but it's just not in a language you might understand.

The point of this post? Not really sure. It's just a bunch of rambling thoughts that are rolling around. Hopefully a few of them made sense. I realize that my header usually is a reflection of the mood I am in, but don't think that just because I am "happy" that there will suddenly be rainbows, flowers, and butterflies in it. If you ever come and find those things,  then I have been kidnapped and someone pretending to be me is writing me blog. Please call 911 and report me MIA.

Thursday, 16 June 2011


 Complete First,            Second,                 Third Seasons

In the words of the world's most brilliant mind, BAZINGA!! I think I figured out this "funk", I am in. For about a week now I have been feeling, well off. I attributed it to a "funk". I wasn't necessarily inspired to write. At least not here. I have been writing, but I dunno I just didn't feel I wanted to talk about bipolar. Then yesterday Lance, the wonderfully talented writer who loves to taunt me with his well timed cliff hangers made a comment on my post, and I (can't believe I am about to admit this), well I laughed. 

Yes I know I am as shocked as the rest of you. All 3 of you who read my blog, but it was at that moment I realized EXACTLY what this "funk" is. I think for the first time in well EVER I am feeling "normal". I know what the hell is that, but I  am certain that is what this is.

I don't feel anxious or panicked or stressed or frustrated or like my skin might crawl off of my while I am sleeping and attempt to strangle me using my own veins. I don't feel particularly paranoid or worried. There's a big bright yellow thing up in the sky that I had never particularly paid attention to before and apparently it makes the world a little less dark. I don't know how I couldn't have seen it but this is the first time I have noticed it. Jigger and I are enjoying each other again. We have watched TV together, laughed, had conversations and just been content in each other's presence. 

It's strange I tell ya. I don't know what to do with this. I am not my sarcastic self and well it's weird. I was diagnosed at 13 with "manic depression", the name of bipolar before bipolar was called bipolar. I have always lived with this inner storm. Always boiling, churning, ready to burst free at any moment, and now it's as if the waters have calmed. It's actually kinda nice. It  scares the hell out of me that when the bottom falls out that I will fall farther than I ever have before but still for the moment I think I will just enjoy the calm waters.

When people hear the word "bipolar" they instantly think crazy, mania, mood swings. I think that the main issue or at least for myself is that I went so long untreated. So long without knowing what was wrong with me, so long believing that I was "broken". Now my life is kinda normal or at least as normal as my life can be under the circumstances and I don't even recognize this feeling. I think this is why a lot of people with bipolar fight this feeling and run from it. It's new, different, strange, UNKNOWN. It's just human nature to run from the unknown. We crave the things that we know even if the thing that we know is a monster hiding in the darkness.

Wednesday, 15 June 2011

I'm Melting

(imagine a really cool pic here; blogger was being a bitch and wouldn't add it
I got tired of waiting I don't do patience so consider this a lesson 
in expanding your imagination)

It's hot. I know everyone keeps saying it but I mean it. It's 1-2-0 right now and I am melting. My SIL and her two boys came today. I was surprised to see them I thought they weren't coming until next month. She spends every summer here with her kids. I really do like her. She is one of my favorite SIL's, but I am already feeling claustrophobic in this house so I know this won't help.

In better news, Jigger got his visas. Due to some drama that happened we were a bit worried. All I can say is people be careful who does your medical exams. Be very very careful.

I haven't been very inspired this week therefore haven't really written much. I have sat down to write a post several times, started a draft, and half way through hated it. Then I just deleted it and went off to watch cricket. The sport not the bug.

So yea not sure what is going on with me. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's Jigger about to leave in less than ten days. Maybe it's a snowball's fault at the north pole. I honestly don't know. I just feel confucked.

Hmm what else can I tell you? Oh the fridge finally got fixed. Yea we live exciting lives people, aren't you jealous?!  Since I can't think of anything else. Here listen to this:

Sunday, 12 June 2011

I Just Might Have a Life

So I haven't been around much the last few days. There has been a lot going on. Jigger is preparing for his trip so there were embassy meetings and medical exams. Then there was the whole fridge fiasco which is fixed now btw. I know you all have been dying of anticipation to know if we had got it fixed or not so yea it's fixed. You can relax now. 

This is Jigger's first real trip and I think I am more excited about it than he is. I mean he is very happy to be going, but I love the whole process of traveling. Seeing new things, meeting new people, learning new cultures. I love the smells, the sounds, the whole sha-bang. I am so excited that he will get to experience it. It is definitely something that he never even bothered dreaming about because he considered it such an impossibility and now he is doing it. 

This is also a very strange new feeling for me. Being happy for someone else especially when they are doing something I want so very badly. I would literally chew off my arm if I could go, but sigh I am unable to. Stupid ass visa. 

Ordinarily I would feel cheated and I admit when I first found out I couldn't go, I could feel the pain of loss and rejection beginning to seep into me. But I forced myself to be "happy" for him. He deserves this just as much as anyone else and hopefully one day I will get to go too. At first the feelings were forced and not genuine, but now seeing him starting to get excited about going, I really do feel happy for him. I don't feel that pain of loss. I don't feel like I am being cheated or forgotten. In some ways I feel like I am also going. I can feel it through him and that is definitely new for me. 

I am not quite sure what to do with these feelings. They are very strange and foreign to me. I think that is something a lot of people don't understand. People think I don't want to be happy, but since I have never truly known "happiness" or "calm" whenever those feelings come I honestly get scared by them. I don't know what they are. I don't know if I can trust them. I have become so attached to my pain that anything that tries to take it from me I push away and that includes the feeling of "happiness". The pain is the one constant in my life of chaos. The one thing I could always count on being there. In some ways, it has become my "security blanket" and the thought of it being taken is as traumatic to me the same way it is traumatic to a two year old who has to wait for his/her blankey to be washed. 

So I am just sort of riding this new found feelings. Trying to get comfortable in them. Trying to enjoy being with Jigger and spending time with him because he will be leaving in a couple weeks. 

I actually am starting to think I might miss him when he is gone. Just a little.

Thursday, 9 June 2011

Why Every Bipolar Needs a Jimminy Cricket

I've had this post rolling around in my brain for quite awhile, but there always seems to be some other thought that is screaming "oh pick me me me me pick me" much louder so I haven't posted on this. Then yesterday I read Haven's post about Denial. If you have BPD, bipolar, anxiety, or just breathe, then you need to read her post. After reading her post, it really brought up a lot of memories for me. One thing that I have come to realize is that it is extremely important that those of us with PD, bipolar, anxiety, etc have people around us who are positive influences. One comment I get the most is that I am extremely self aware. However if you had met me even two years ago, you would have seen little more than a sniveling snotpile of denial. 

I only became this way because Jigger shoved a mirror in front of me and forced me to look at it. He did it in a way that allowed me to grow and learn and make my life better. It wasn't easy. In the beginning I fought back like hell. I didn't want to see. I didn't want to deal. I wanted to forget. Be numb, but Jigger refused to allow me to remain in that snotpile. He dragged me out of it kicking and screaming. 

Now being able to see the world with a bit more clarity I can see how detrimental my ex was to my sanity. He use to do things and then totally deny them. We separated in 1999 but were still legally married. I just moved out of our house. Over the next couple years we would have moments where we would get back together for the sake of the kids, but he would continue to cheat on me with other women and now looking back I can say that he tortured me psychologically. What he did went way beyond abuse. It was downright torture. It literally drove me over the edge. I remember one of the last time he and I were together was at New Year's . To be honest I can't remember if it was 2000 or 2001 but I know it was New Year's. Time gets jumbled in my brain. We had gone out, had dinner, celebrated New Year's, talked about new beginnings, making a better home and life for our children, and I actually believed everything he said. Then a few weeks later he started distancing himself from me. He was short, snappy, argumentative. Then one day he showed up with his girlfriend. Who I should mention was 16/17 years old at the time. She started out as our babysitter. She was the daughter of my ex's best friend. When I asked him where he spent New Year's, he stood there and looked me in the eye and swore that he was home alone. That he hadn't seen me or been with me. That he didn't want to be with me. 

He told everyone that I was lying. Then she and him started this campaign that I was trying to keep THEM apart. That I was coming between THEIR relationship. That I was the CRAZY bitch who wouldn't let THEM be together. I really felt like I was in the twilight zone. Yes he and I had problems, but ultimately we were still married. We had two children together. We had been trying for two years to fix things. Well I had been honestly trying to fix things. They made ME out to be the bad guy. I was the wrong one, and all of our friends and my family agreed with THEM. I was evil. I had done wrong. I should just GO AWAY. If I wasn't there, then the world would be perfect. I was the cause of all things wrong. I heard this twisted reality so often that I started questioning my own perceptions of reality. Everything was so chaotic and my brain could not process it or make sense of it, and I slipped into a fantasy world. I controlled the fantasy. I "controlled" the delusional world that I created. It made sense. In my delusion, up was still up. 

The last time I spoke with my children which was several years ago, they told me not to call them or harrass them. So I told them ok this is my number if you want to talk to me or see me just give me a call. I won't call you again, and I didn't. They proceeded to call me as much as 50 times a day to tell me they did not want to talk to me to stop harrassing them. At the time I was living with a friend who got so fed up with their bullshit she answered my phone and bitched them out. Eventually I ended up having to change my number, but I was harrassing them. If you ask any of their friends or my family or anyone in general, I was the wrong one. 

Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming that I didn't do anything wrong in the marriage. That I was a saint or perfect. My point which is buried somewhere in all this is that it is so extremely important that you have strong positive people around you. People who will be there to help you glue the pieces back together. People who will help you to see the world as it truly is. People who won't judge or condemn you. Even if they are 1000's of miles away. Even if you only speak to them via email. It is so important for your health and well being. 

I wouldn't be the person I am today without those people. They know who they are. Just like Pinnocchio, bipolar people need a Jimminy Cricket in their lives. That doesn't mean that your life will never have bumps and potholes. It just means that you will have someone there when you fall into them.

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Then I Exhaled

When I was writing yesterday's post about monkeydickfuckers, Jigger walked in and I stopped at the spot where the post ended which is why it ended so abruptly. I had asked him to bring some juice home with him because I had a horrible migraine, and he did, but as he handed it to me he made some remark that just broke me. Honestly, I have no idea what he said all I know is that it caused me to fly into a blind RAGE. I unleashed upon him all of the shit that I have been keeping inside of me. I was CRUEL. I knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and when to say it so that it would inflict as much pain and hurt as possible. At first he tried to put up a fight but really he was way out of his league. While we have had screaming matches in the past, I don't usually go full force, but this time was different. He stood no chance. The more I screamed the less he did. Until finally at some point there was only silence, and we simply stared at each other.

But I refused to blink first. I stared him down. Stone cold death stare. I did not cry. I did not show emotion. I am good at it. My mother trained me well. All those times of being beaten with belts and switches. "If you cry and apologize, I will stop she would say. Except I hadn't done anything wrong. At least not enough to deserve the beating I was getting and fuck her if I cried or apologized so she beat me. Until blood ran down my legs and I stared. Until the switch or belt broke and I simply stared. So really Jigger had no chance and I broke him. 

I hurt him deeply with my words, but I was also hurting. To be fair to him, he is as much a product of his environment as I am. I react the way I do partly because of bipolar and partly because of the abuse I have lived through. He is no different. He wasn't abused in the same sense as me, but he wasn't loved either. He is the "black sheep" in his family which is ironic considering all he does for them, but simply because he chose to live his life slightly differently than their traditional way he is the outcast. They talk so badly about him. So it's hard for him to accept that I truly am with him because I love him and want to be with him. We both have scars that are healing. We both have issues that we each are dealing with. We come from very different worlds so sometimes he doesn't understand my language and I don't understand his, but we have reached a point where we both realize and accept we have done wrong to the other one. 

After he broke down last night, we talked. I mean really talked for several hours. He finally told me all of the things he had been told. He doesn't really believe it, but he says that sometimes when I do or say something it makes him think that maybe it might be true, and anyone who has bipolar and/or BPD knows how easily it is to make yourself believe the "worst". So we both agreed to be more open and talk to each other more honestly. Even if it is hard. Even if it is something we don't want to talk about because if we don't then we are going to tear each other apart. 

In some ways I am glad he is going on this trip in a couple weeks. I desperately need some space and living in a house full of people it is very difficult to find that space. I have always found comfort and calm in the water. Before whenever I was upset or anxious, I would go to the river and just sit and stare at it. Watching it always brought me a sense of calm and peace and now I don't have that. I feel like every nerve ending in my body is exposed and my flesh is burned raw. Every touch is painful and I just need some space. This time apart will give me that space I am so desperately in need of. Then maybe I will be able to breathe. I'm sorry for leaving that post the way I did yesterday, but it was important for me. I needed that physical reminder of where we had been and where we are going.

my spot

So for now I am just going to exhale.

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

Honesty Sucks Monkey Dick

First I would like to preface this post by saying I am being forced against my will to blog. I did not want to blog. I wanted to crawl into a dark little corner and have a pity me party but oh no, bitch would not let me. Bitch had to stick her gawddamn nose all up in my bizness and is forcing me to blog because it will be all therapuetic or some such nonsensical shit as that. So yea bitch, I love you.

I don't really know if monkeys have dicks, but if they did, then honesty would blow each and every one of them because honesty is a big fat crock of SHIT. I don't know who came up with the idea of HONESTY but obviously it was someone who never has been honest in their whole life and thought hmmm how can I make money oh I know I will get people to believe my bullshit.

I was honest with my husband. I am no angel. I am not proud of the shit I did but I also don't feel the need to LIE about it either. Some of what I did was when I was manic some was when I just plain fucking stupid, but either way I did what I did. I have never been one to shy away from that. Most people misinterpret my honesty but that is ok they suck monkey dick too so I could care less what they fucking think. Monkeydickfuckers.

The reason I was so honest with my husband is because we have a LOT of mutual friends. Friends who I was certain would be more than happy to fill my husband in on my past. I thought by me telling him that it would keep us from having problems, but oh how naive was I. Because what I didn't plan on was the fuckholes LYING about my past. What I didn't plan on was my husband BELIEVING the fuckholes lies instead of me. But that is what happened and for three years now I have tried my best to make him believe me. I have been patient because he has been patient with me, but I am human. I have limits and I am at the end of my rope.

I cannot continue on being called a whore, slut, and any other word you can think of to insert here simply because two people decided making me look like a fuckass would somehow alleviate them from their participation in our relationship. By making me out as the controlling manipulative bitch, it would somehow make their cheating on their wives less important and you know what, they were fucking RIGHT. So divorce #2 is drawing near. I have already started making plans and most likely will leave right after Jigger comes back from his trip in July.

Sunday, 5 June 2011

Manic vs True Self

Due to a recent argument with Jigger, this thought has planted itself inside my brain and will not budge. Therefore I am forced to vomit it all over you guys because that's just the way things are. During the two years I was psychotic/manic, I did ALOT that I don't consider to be "me". Like fucking anything with three legs. That isn't me, but now everyone considers that to be who I am. I am the slut. The whore. Promiscuous. This has become my "true self" in their eyes. According to them, this is how I truly wished to be so when I was manic that is why this side of me came out. 

It doesn't matter that I was a virgin when I married my now ex. Yes I consider myself a virgin. Just because my hymen was not intact does not mean I was not. I do not consider the forcible removal of a hymen to make someone NOT a virgin so yes I was a virgin. Then I spent almost ten years celibate after my divorce. 


Does someone who is really and truly a whore, slut, promiscous spend TEN FUCKING YEARS celibate? Why did I spent ten years celibate? Because the only reason any guy wanted to be with me was simply to fuck. After the birth of my second child, I had myself sterilized due to health reasons (I almost died during childbirth and considering I had become pregnant twice on birth control I wasn't willing to take any chances) so from that moment forward all I was to guys was a good fuck. No one would consider me "marriage material" simply because I was unable to have children. So I didn't date/fuck/look at men. I worked and did my best trying to make ends meet to take care of myself and my kids. 

Then I flew over the cuckoo's nest and suddenly I was the star of "Debbie does Dallas". I have no idea why. Actually I do know why. I remember thinking "well if all I am is a whore, then I am going to be the best gawddamn whore there is". Except I wasn't, but I tried to be. The whole time there was a very small tiny voice inside of me that said, "this isn't me", but yet no one would listen. Not even me. 

So which is the real me? The me that doesn't fuck around. The me that I feel I am inside or the manic me that spread her legs for any one that breathed heavily. I don't want to be that person. I don't want that whore to be me. But am I just lying to myself or is that really who I am?

Because honestly at the moment, I have no fucking clue.

Friday, 3 June 2011

The Mist

Awake without seeing
I walk through the darkness of my own imagination
Lost amidst a sea of dreams and broken promises
My hand reaches out into the unknown
Searching through the mist of uncertainty
Grasping for what once was but shall never be again
My mind wanders through the mist
No destination no longing
Just vastness, emptiness
Point of no return as life slips through my fingers
 I watch it fall and I wonder
Was that really me
In the mirror stands a stranger
Fractured by the shards
Broken but complete
Come it beckons
A siren that I willingly follow

Another 100 words from me @ Velvet Verbosity 
the prompt this week was UNCONCIOUS

Thursday, 2 June 2011

I Shit You Not

A few of my USA friends have mentioned the heat and that they are "hot". I laugh at them because they have no freakin' clue what hot is. If you don't need to do this, then it is not hot where you are. A little background info so that you can truly appreciate the situation.

Towards the end of last summer our fridge died, but during the winter it's no biggie. We don't really use the fridge for much of anything anyways other than keeping water cold, and during winter that isn't an issue so we weren't in too much of a hurry to replace it. We figured whenever we found a good deal then we would. So a couple months ago, my BIL* who owns a fridge/AC repair type business came across an almost new fridge and told us we could have it for basically next to nothing. Of course we said "gimme" and since then have had a wonderful fridge until three/four days ago when it decided it did not want to work. 

So we called a local repairman who fixed it but that lasted less than 24 hrs. That is when my husband called his BIL to ask him about the fridge. Well his BIL lives in another city kinda far from us and said he couldn't come by til next week. So for the last couple days we have been managing without a fridge but it's hotter than fuckin' hell here and drinking water that could literally be straight from hell it is so hot does little to nothing to quench one's thirst. My husband calls said BIL back and leaves a msg. He calls while my husband was sleeping and talks to my MIL. He gives her instructions on how to temporarily "fix" the fridge so that it will work until he can come to repair it. 

This is what I found when I woke up. IShitYouNot:

There was this:
sitting behind our

 I asked my husband why there was a FAN sitting behind our FRIDGE. He said this as if it was the most logical natural thing in the world. Apparently according to said BIL the fridge might be getting too hot and to put a fan behind it so that it could get cool. That would keep it working until he can get here to fix it permanently.  (although in defense of the fan, the water is frozen solid)

So now at this very moment, we have a fan sitting behind our fridge on high, cooling our fridge so that we can have water that does not taste as if it is from Hell itself. So if you don't have to put a fan behind your fridge to keep it cool, then it's not really hot where you are. 

I swear when I moved  I thought I would be leaving behind redneck solutions. I could not have been more wrong. Sigh.

* Said BIL is my husband's sister's husband's brother and if you can follow that, then you have more white trash in you than you admit to

I Am Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, yeah, yeah 

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Riddle Me This

(This was a draft I found in my drafts folder. I wrote it back in March. Just found it today thought I would hit publish so I did. Suck on it)

One of the hardest things for me is being misunderstood. I am not sure if I am different because of bipolar or if I have bipolar because I am different. Either way, I am different. However I am content in my difference. I would be happy in my difference if other people would accept that I am fine without being like them. I don't need to wear the latest name brand. Forget wear it. I don't even know it. I don't need to be bought things on "days". Forget bought things, I don't even remember what "day" it is. Just because I don't remember the day doesn't mean I don't love them. It just means I don't think love is contained within a "day".

It's funny to me how people are told to "be themselves", but when I am myself, people seem to get offended. Why is this my problem? You told me to "be myself", but people don't really want that. They want cookie cutter happiness. They think only their happiness is real happiness and unless I act just like them then I cannot possibly be "happy". So I do what they want and pretend, but then I am not really happy, and my insincerity shows. Then people get upset with me because I am not being sincere but instead being fake.

I don't understand what it is people want. I don't understand why it is that I am the crazy one when it is them who can't make up their fucking minds about what they want me to do. Which is why I don't give a furry rat's ass what they think and just do what I want instead. Of course that could explain why I have so few friends. I don't need to smile like the Joker to be happy. Did you ever see Batman smile? No. So why in hell do you people want me to be the Joker when I so obviously have perfected the Batman no smile?

While I would like to think their concern is out of care and love for me, it really isn't. It's their own selfishness that causes them to want me to be "happy". They don't care if I am truly sincerely happy. They just want the appearance of their definition of happiness so they feel better. So they can have their own little make believe Gotham.Except Gotham doesn't work like that and neither do I.

It really is possible to be happy without owning heels or makeup or jewellry or insert other girly thing here. So just let me be.


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