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
Scream and Rage and HATE and Yell and Hit and Cuss and Beat and Destroy and Rip and Tear and Demolish and ERASE and Deny and Annihilate
But instead I am
Silent and Invisible and Resentful and Hurt and Angry and Still
I want to rip the pounding from my chest, to tear it from my body and throw it on the ground. I want to stomp on it and make it feel pain the way I feel pain but instead
I type these few letters and syllables as silent tears no one will ever see slide down and make the floor wet and slowly stuff the pounding back down from whence it came to hide it from the world and from myself...
I married my first husband when I was 16. I was about 21-22 before I realized the "love" we shared was more that of master and servant than husband and wife. I would be 26 when I told him to fuck off for the last time and divorced his ass. However today there are still signs of my training. Signs that I never notice. Signs that I can't break even if I wanted to. They have become a part of me and will probably remain with me until I turn to dust. They are who I am and are unchangeable.
They become most noticeable when my husband asks for a cup of tea. He doesn't like the cup to be filled to the top, but my training DEMANDS the hot liquid be level with the top of the cup. The slightest of a fraction below is an insult to the person I hand the cup to. Even though I know my current husband PREFERS to not have his cup full, he never yells. He simply accepts the cup, says thank you and drinks. Occasionally he will simply say "make it just a half cup this time please" but it's only on rare occasions and he knows he won't get a half cup, but he asks anyways. Because maybe that time I'll be able to give him the half cup he has asked for. Except it's never half full. Although I have gotten slightly better. Now it will be slightly not to the top but not quite half way. It's taken me four years to get to the point where I can do that without my throat closing in panic or my hands shaking because "I made the tea wrong".
I don't know if I'll ever break my training. I don't know if it'll ever leave me. I was very young when it started and it has wrapped itself around me in ways I don't even realize. There are aspects of it I love and don't want to change, but even though I like the action, it still makes me shiver whenever I realize the reason WHY I MUST perform it. It isn't my love for it that drives me. It is the training.
This is an open letter to those who have given me unsolicited "advice" (aka telling me what the fuck to do) over the last few days. While I appreciate having a penis is a prerequisite to having an opinion where you're from, it is not however necessary in my world. In my world, a non penis owner has as much right to not only have an opinion, but to *gasp* make decisions based upon what they think is right. Non penis owners do not have to follow the advice (aka orders) of penis owners. In my world, having a penis, makes you a dick. It does not make you intelligent or know it all. While I appreciate your interference in my life and giving me advice I did not ask you for, I'd like to request you keep your nose and penis out of my life in the future.
I realize this comes as a shock to you because in the past I usually bended to your will, and now I'm not. I believe in my ability to decide what is best for ME and I know that your decisions are based on what is best for YOU. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I really don't give a fuck because it's my world and non penis owners make the rules. So suck on that.
It's been ten days since my last post. I feel like I should recite some hail maries or something. I need to make a concious effort to write here more, but I have people in my life that allow me to email them 25 times a day if I need to. So the need to write here has lessened. But sometimes I just need to write. To flow with the words. To bend and twist and twine with them. To let them tickle my toes and blow whispers on my lashes. Sometimes I need to let go.
Let go of the constant need of perfection. And of the constant fear of rejection when my imperfections are seen. I've made mistakes this week. Not life shattering mistakes. Just tiny little errors in my work. No major catastrophe ensured. They were rectified immediately. But yet I felt that gnawing pain of failure eating away at my insides. Consuming me. Trying to suck me back in. I could feel the wetness of its tongue as it slid over me. Then I pushed it away. It's still there. I can see its shadow. Hears its breath as it draws it in and out. I see him and he sees me, but there is a distance. A distance I wasn't able to put between us before. A distance I'm struggling to maintain, but somehow it remains.
While in many ways I'm alien, I'm still part humanoid. I'm going to make mistakes but that's ok.. Shit happens. That's why they invented bleach.
I work very hard to control my emotions, my words, and my thoughts. The one I have the most trouble with is my thoughts. They race. Constantly. Bits and pieces of this and that. Running. Within stopping. A thought comes in my mind and flies in a bazillion directions. It conjures up a bazillion more possibilities of what may be and may not be. Then it plays them all out which only creates a bazillion more thoughts with a bagillion more possibilities.
It's never ending. Thoughts constantly bombarding the inside of my head. At times I can literally feel them bouncing off the inside of my skull. Times like right now.
My hands are shaking like a drunk who's gone too long without a drink. I can feel my whole body just shivering from within. Thoughts zooming behind my eyelids. Even as I type this, I can hear the million other voices trying to be heard. Bombarding me. All I want is to sleep. Just for a bit of silence.
Jigger doesn't understand why loud noises bother me. Why I jump out of my skin at a raised voice. It is because the noise inside my mind never ceases. It just grows louder and louder until I can't hear my own self think anymore and I feel like I am spinning out of control.
Sometimes I get so worked up over these spontaneous bursts of irrationality that I convince myself they are true. I convince myself they will happen and I must act before they crawl out of my head and consume me. So I act upon these bursts of irrationality that truly only exist within the confines of my skull. I take preventive measures to keep them from occuring except you can't really prevent an imaginary thing from being. I mean if it doesn't really exist in the first place, how do you stop it from sneaking in through the cracks?
My preventative measures usually have the opposite effect. They usually dig me deeper into my hole. Right now I'm trying hard to not allow these bursts to escape their confinement. But as each burst explodes behind my eye lids. Blinding me with their intensity and screaming in my ears, I feel my hold upon them weakening. I fear what will happen if they are unleashed and allowed into existence. I fear what I may do in order to stop their escape.
To have quiet just for a moment. To actually sleep when my eyes close. If only I could find comfort within my own skin, instead of feeling so confined and suffocated. If only........
The events of the last 72 hrs have been turbulent to say the least. Not on the outside but on my inside. On my outside, I have smiled, laughed, joked, and nearly bitten my tongue in half. On my inside, a volcano has been erupting, lava spewing in all directions, a crazed missing link deseparately searching for a way out of its cage. It's been a very long 72 hrs.
But one of the things that I came to realize once I stopped for a few moments and simply breathed is that while we all may share the same roof over our heads we are from very different planets. I have watched with disgust as the people around me complained about things which they had no right to complain about and silently I seethed at them. In my mind, I plotted their deaths. Threw unseen daggers and filled their glasses with poisonous venom.
I came to realize one very important thing. Non crazy people disgust me. They are vindictive, unappreciative, greedy, selfish, and jealous. At least the ones I know are. While I am certain there are some crazies out there who are just like them probably even worse, I have not come across them. I don't know if it's the fact that we live inside of the chaos and therefore are more willing to lend a helping hand, a comforting word to someone who is hurting or in need. Or maybe it's because our worlds are so turbulent that whenever someone took a moment to offer a word of kindness to us it was worth more than gold and we want to give that to someone else.
I truly don't know, but what I do know is that I have been disgusted by these people. A resentment is building inside of me. I fear that there will come a day when I can no longer contain it and it will erupt. When it does, there will be casualties. I fear that I will be amongst them.
For all of the hardships, difficulties, and loss I have faced, in some ways I am glad I am bipolar. If being bipolar is what makes me offer kindness to a stranger, even if the only thing I have to give is my ear to listen, then I would gladly be bipolar instead of being the selfish vindictive non crazy that I seem to be surrounded by.
When I was about 10 or 11, I went to visit my mum. It had been months since I had seen and I hated visiting her but since it was summer I got out voted by the adults who felt that I needed to spend time with her. She lived with her boyfriend who was also a drug dealing gun trafficker. Real upstanding role model. He had a son from a previous relationship who was about two years older than me. We went to the same school but since he was two grades ahead of me we didn't hang out much. Merely smiled and said hi if we happened to pass each other in the halls. Neither of us really wanted to have to explain to our friends how we knew each other. It was an unspoken understanding and we both kept our end of the deal.
However that summer we both were there and attempting to make the best of it. One Saturday night our parents (my mum his dad) went out leaving the two of us alone. There was no A/C in the trailer so we were sitting on the front porch. The porch light glowed behind us as we chatted about school, parents, and not wanting to be there. Suddenly a car sped past. It was a black thunderbird. It didn't go far before it stopped. We could see the red of its brake lights. I remember Junior saying, "Wonder who that is" as the car slowly reversed. It stopped right in front of the house. It seemed like eternity but I am certain only seconds passed as we sat on the porch squinting through the darkness at the figures huddled in the black thunderbird.
That was when three figures exploded from the car and we were bombarded with loud bangs, but mostly I just remember the ping ping sound the bullets made as they ripped through the front of the trailer. I was frozen in place. Fear and the ping ping sound would not allow me to leave that spot.
I most likely would have died that night if Junior hadn't been there. I remember him grabbing my hand and screaming "Run". At his command, my feet unfroze and we ran. Through the night, through the darkness behind the trailer, through the woods, through the fields of corn, through the poison ivy and down a sloping hill. The entire time we could still hear the ping pinging of the trailer and voices coming closer so we ran.
I don't know how long we ran, but suddenly Junior stopped. I slammed into him and he dragged me down behind a tree. He placed his finger upon my lips and pulled me close to him. There under the moon behind a tree surrounded by weeds and creatures of the night we sat and waited.
Eventually the pinging stopped. We heard tires squeal, loud voices, and after what was probably only minutes the bouncing beams of flashlights slicing through the night. We didn't move. I remember my teeth chattering as sweat poured down my face. Junior held me tighter. The bouncing lights danced on all sides of us. We didn't breathe. Finally a voice called out, "Junior, it's your dad. Where are you guys? Are you ok? Come out. They are gone. It's ok now."
Junior was skeptical. I remember his hot breath against my ear as his lips whispered "stay here don't move I'll be right back" and he disappeared into the night. He backtracked, up the hill, behind the bouncing lights, behind the voices, behind me. After he gone as far as he dared go, he finally stepped out into the night. I prayed he would come back for me. The bouncing lights fell upon his face and it was his dad, his uncle, and a friend of theirs. His dad hugged him, asked if I was ok. Junior said "Yes one sec I'll go get her" and he walked to our hiding place and helped me out. I remember holding his hand so tightly but he didn't complain.
My body was almost convulsing I was shaking so hard. His hand in mine and his arm around my shoulder we walked back to the trailer. Back to the ping pinging. As soon as we reached there, I phoned my gran. It would be a year before I visited my mum again. That would a decision I would also deeply regret.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
TEN YEARS!!!
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.
People are nice in the blogsphere. Have you all noticed this? The majority of the people here seem to follow the rule of "if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all". It's a strange world to me. Don't get me wrong there are asshats and fucktards in the blogsphere, but they seem to not be as loud as those in real life.
I have found that most people in blogsphere are understanding and non judgemental. They take the time to see the person beneath the flaws. Why don't people do that in real life? I am not saying that playing Farmville while your baby is screaming its head is ok, but I am saying that I understand why people get sucked into this online world.
In real life, most people don't understand me. I am considered rude, bitchy, inconsiderate, bossy, insert other bad word here and that is what people think of me. However, in blogsphere I am flawed but accepted. Understood but not judged. If those are my choices, then why on earth would I choose to live in a world that does nothing but belittle and demean my every action and word? Especially when there is a place I can go that I am accepted. A place where I am not evil. A place where I am "loved".
I understand why this online world is so intoxicating. I understand how it wraps itself around you and makes you feel loved and wanted and just "good". In the end, isn't that really all anyone wants? Just to feel loved and to feel "good" about who they are.
I know that is what happened to me at the beginning of my psychosis. In my real life I was villafied. Hated. Unwanted but online. I was important. Loved. Needed. I had "friends" who listened. Who were there at the click of a mouse. I got lost in that. My whole entire life I had been searching for a place where I was accepted and loved and I found it at the end of a mouse click. I didn't want to let it go. I sacrificed the real world for the imaginary one that was inside my computer. I understand why people get addicted. I understand why people get lost.
You know one of the things I have discovered while blogging? It is the cheapest therapy I have ever had in my life. Now don't get me wrong it is no substitute for the real deal, but it definitely has some unique advantages. The best being getting to hear input from others who are "just like YOU". Yesterday I wrote about how I lie. ALL. THE. TIME. and Aimee, who is one of the few women I would turn Bi for and is my MiniMe, made a comment. That comment led me to an epiphany. Of sorts.
Aimee said, "It's very easy for me to lose respect for someone who believes my lies. No respect, no real affection, which means the relationship isn't any deeper than a bathtub"
and I replied, "Yep exactly. If you believe the bullshit that comes out of my mouth, then get ready because you ain't seen nothing yet. I will take you on a ride that will blow your mind.".
Literally as my fingers typed those words a light bulb went off over my head and I had a WTF moment. You see for those of you new to my little corner of the blogsphere. I suffered from pretty severe delusions. You can read about some of that here. and here .
Now this little exchange got me to thinking about how I ended up believing I was some divinely appointed shaman-esque type person. You see I didn't come up with this idea on my own. Someone else told me this and well in the beginning I think I just played along with it because I was getting attention. At the time I was severely depressed and felt so utterly alone in the world. So it started out as a why not, let's play type thing, but you see another problem I have is that I tend to lose grip on reality. I mentioned yesterday I have memories and I am not sure if they are real or if they are lies because sometimes I begin to believe my own lies. My lies become as real to me as reality and I will defend my own lie because I BELIEVE it 110% without doubt even though it is an absolute lie. I "forget" it is a lie.
Now I think that is what led me down the rabbit hole. I began to believe my own lie. I got lost in the fantasy and couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. This is something that scares me to death. I have lost so much of my life because I had toxic people around me and I ended up believing the bullshit they did/said.I fear that if I again choose the wrong people to be near me that I will end up in the same situation again, but then another part of me fears being alone.
It is a catch-22. I am afraid to have people near me and yet just as afraid of being alone. I don't know what the solution is, but at least having a bit of understanding into it can maybe one day help in finding the solutions. Maybe.
Slowly the sky began to darken as the vortex made its way closer. I had been sensing its arrival for days. It had been slowly making its presence known. It's always more vicious and destructive when it creeps in because while you may know it's coming, you don't know exactly when. Then when you least expect it. When you're unprepared, when you have let your guard slip just ever so slightly, it swoops down. It unleashes its full wrath upon you and all of those around you. It sucks you into it and begins to toss you here and there. Savagely. It rips and tears at you. Tossing you here and there, and all you can do is just allow yourself to be thrown wherever it decides to throw you. The more you fight it the more destructive it becomes to you and all of those in its path.
Then once the vortex has consumed you, has destroyed everything in its wake. It will toss you out. Leaving you dazed and confused. Uncertain of exactly where you are or how you even got there. You look around you and wonder how things got so messed up. Even though you have spent the last hours and days inside of the vortex the minute you exit it, you seem to forget that it was ever there at all. You're confused by the destruction you see in front of you. You can't understand why everyone around you is hurt and angry.
At you.
Because it wasn't you that did this, it was the vortex. It was totally out of your control. If you could have stopped it, then you would have, but you were just another helpless victim of its destruction. No different than the innocent by standers who were touched by it as it passed by them.
Then the clean up must begin. You must begin to pick up the pieces and try your best to glue them back together. To rebuild what was destroyed by the vortex. Some things will be rebuilt and show no signs of destruction. While others can be repaired they will never truly be the same again. They are forever changed by the damage done to them by the vortex. You have to live with the damage. You have to accept that what was will never be again and that what is left is all you have.
It is a heavy burden to carry, but carry it you must. Because you know the vortex will come again. It always comes again. All you can do is try your best to minimize the damage it causes and rebuild what gets destroyed.
This is for a writing prompt at Studio 30+. The writing prompt was THE STORM.
So for those of you unfamiliar with the bipolar mind, let me explain something to you. It is impulsive. It does not think. It does not consider the possibility of time existing beyond the next five minutes. It does not realize there might be a different and better solution than running away. It does not know there are people who care for it that will be there for it when the darkness comes and bends it over and fucks it up the ass. All it knows is the darkness has come and it either runs or dies.
I wanted to apologize for the apparent misunderstanding of my last post. You see when I talk (or type as this case may be) I tend to have a running monologue in my head. I can hear every word I say/type, but unfortunately my mouth/fingers only vocalize about half of the shit that is running 500 mph through my brain, and the shit it chooses makes no fucking sense to the person who is listening/reading. Like my last post for example. I got quite a few comments, before I removed the ability to comment that is, from people saying things as if I was about to commit suicide and I had no fucking idea what in the hell they were talking about.
My life is more complicated than trying to get Google to answer you. I am certain breaking into the FBI would be less complicated than trying to navigate through my brain. So to the three of you who read my blog, whenever I post some stupid shit just know it's just the moment and this too shall pass. Don't ever think I am considering suicide because I am way too narcissistic to believe the world could possibly still exist if I were not in it. For now I am just taking a break. I could be back in five minute or five weeks or five months. I don't really know, but for now I am just going to breathe.
I have noticed recently that the voices in my head do not like being "praised" or told they are "good". I have never really known what to do when someone complimented me. Does saying "thank you" mean I am conceited? I never know what is expected of me when people say "wow that is amazing". What do they want from me? I just don't know.
Until recently I never realized how much I degrade and belittle myself. Mostly because there was no one really to "praise" me. Jigger doesn't count because he is married to me and therefore subject to torture should he not say nice things so his nice things don't count. It's my world I make the rules and change them as I please.
I have been doing some freelance work and the people I have been working for do nothing but compliment my designs. Which is odd for me. I instantly think "they must be lying, why won't they just tell me the truth". I constantly say "if you don't like it, please tell me. It won't hurt my feelings. I know I am not that good". It's bizarre hearing such compliments and I don't think I realized how little I thought of myself until these last few weeks when I started doing this design work.
I have always said things to myself, but before I had no proof that the thoughts were wrong. I was a whore. I was/am a bitch. I was all of the negative things my brain said I was. I was doing those things. I had no reason to doubt the thoughts in my head because they were true, but now I am not so sure. Don't get me wrong I don't think I am Picasso but maybe I am not the horribly bad person I have told myself I was my entire life.
Honestly I don't know. I am afraid that I am going to sabotage this path I have started on because that is what I always do whenever anything good comes near me. I destroy it. Rip it to shreds because I don't deserve "good". Then I distance myself from those who think good of me and surround myself with those that degrade me because that is what I deserve.
At least that is what the voices say I deserve and I am their slave. Sometimes willing. Sometimes not, but in the end, they usually get their way. They know the real me. The me I hide from the world. They know the truth. The people who say "good" about me don't know what I have hidden in the closet. If they did, then they wouldn't say those nice things about me.
When I first met Jigger, he asked me why I told people about some of the things in my past. I replied, "it makes it easier to weed out those who are fake and those who have potential". I mean if I tell you and you stick around, you're either as sick as I am or someone I can trust. I must test you to find out which. Jigger just looked at me like I was speaking Klingon or something. But in my mind, it makes sense. Why invest six months or a year of my time and life in being "friends' with people who in the end are just going to leave. If they are going to leave, then damn it leave now. Don't waste my fucking time.
Trying to figure people out is like trying to solve a crossword puzzle in Japanese except I think I could figure the puzzle out before I did people and I don't even speak Japanese.
My brother, you love her
But don't give up your instincts
Hang onto you know what
They'll be gone fast as you blink
They're trained to seduce you
Suck you dry quick as they can
They bite down, reduce you
Now you're barely a man
Oh my God
How could You deny the flood
That's flowing through You?
I have many demons, skeletons, or whatever you prefer to call them hiding in my closet. Things that would make some people run for the hills to get as far away from me as possible. Things I am not proud of and things I regret deeply. Things that most days I would love to forget and pretend they didn't happen. Things that I bury deep down inside of me. Things that I keep hidden in the dark so people won't see the "real" me. The ugly me.
I make myself pretty. I show the world a pretend version of me. One that is likeable. One that people want to be around, but it's not the "real" me either. Truth be told I don't know what the real me is. I don't know if I will ever put my puzzle pieces together so that I can finally see the image they make.
I look at other people and they seem to have it all put together. They know exactly what they want and who they are and where they're going. A part of me wishes I were like that, but another part of me thinks it would be boring. To know everything. A part of me says there must be "more" than "this" or is "this" really all there is?
Honestly I don't know what the answer is. I know I have spent years searching for some magical land that would make me feel "whole", but it doesn't exist. It's just a fairy tale. It's not real. After I married Jigger, I gave up on that magical fairy tale land of completeness. I stopped searching for it and a strange thing happened. It found me. I didn't have to go anywhere or do anything. When I finally stopped running, I realized that part of me that was missing, wasn't really missing after all. I had just hidden away in the darkness and forgotten it was there. All this time I had been running around trying to find it and it was behind me the whole time. I just never saw it because I had been searching for it in all the wrong places. If I hadn't met Jigger, if he hadn't made me stop, then I would have probably kept on looking in the wrong direction and I would have never found "peace".
I am still not whole. There are still parts of me that are missing, but I am closer today to putting my puzzle together than I have ever been in my whole life. It's all because I stopped running from the demons hidden in my closet. I opened the door. I turned on the light and I faced them. I looked them right in the eye and accepted that they are a part of me, but they aren't all of me.
It takes a LOT to make me distance myself from people. I can overlook most things. My house is made of glass so I tend to pick and choose when to throw my stones. How do you know when enough is enough? When the person has crossed that line and it's time to separate yourself from them? This is probably the hardest thing for me to do. I have done so much shit in my life. Hurt so many people. Who am I to judge anyone or say that what anyone does is "wrong" and I don't want to be associated with that?
This is the situation I find myself in at the moment and I truly just don't know which direction to take. On one side I am angry that I have been put in this situation because I shouldn't have been and on the other I think it's really none of my business so I should just look the other way. But I just don't know. If it were an "acquaintance" then I would have no issues walking away, but it is someone I care a lot about so I just don't know what to do. I have so much already going on that no one knows about and now this is dumped on top of it.This always happens. Every time I think I have found someone who will be there. I mean truly there. Regardless of the shit I pull, something always happens and I lose that person. Jigger always says to me that "a person is known by the company they keep". He asks me "do I know want to be known as "that"?
Honestly the answer is no. I don't. but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I am afraid to have people near me and yet just as afraid of being alone. I don't know what the solution is, but at least having a bit of understanding into it can maybe one day help in finding the solutions. Maybe. 
