Cycling Without Training Wheels

I'm cycling into manic. I can feel it. I haven't been sleeping properly for about 4 days now. My thoughts racing. Constant. Ever changing. The need to be moving. Doing. Something. Even if only mentally. Constantly in motion. Never stilling. Never calming. 

During these times I do stupid shit. Like stalk my ex's on FB. I told  you it was stupid. 

I look at them and their lives. I see how they just went on without me. Happy. Living. Loving. Laughing. Breathing. Never missing a beat. And I feel jealous.

Not of the ones they're with because I sincerely do NOT want to be with THEM particularly. I just feel jealous of the life they have. I feel jealous they have a life and I have nothing. 

I know that's not true. I have Jigger and a roof over my head. I have food to eat everyday and in many ways I'm richer than most people. 

But..there's always a but...

It's not easy. It's not the life I want. I love Jigger but not the way I should. There's no passion. No fire. No excitement. I love him because he helps me to conquer the beast and as I type this it breaks my heart to know that I will never be IN love with him. I would never leave him, but a part of me aches that it will never have that passion. That fire. That love that I see between those I stalk. 

I want that. I want someone to be obsessively in love with me. To be consumed by the thought of me. In my whole life I've never had that. Even Jigger doesn't love me like that. In many ways I think he feels sorry for me. He pities me. 

I don't want pity. I want fire and passion and excitement. Not manic passion, but just to feel alive. To know that there is one person in the world whose NEED for survival is me. 

I'll never have that. I have to accept that. But it still hurts. It hurts to admit this to myself because I deny it even within the confines of my spinning mind. I refuse to allow these thoughts to circumnavigate because if I allow them to even for a moment they'll make me spin out of control, but no matter how hard I try they're still there. And I torture myself by watching others. By seeing their lives and how they are. 

And I wonder why couldn't that have been me?

The Tickle

In the back of my brain. It's starting. It's not as strong as before, but it's there. Taunting me. Teasing me. I keep trying to ignore it. Continuously repeating the mantra of "everything is ok do not panic there is nothing that is going to hurt  you". If I repeat this enough, then the tickle remains quiet.

I don't know why it happens. Why suddenly out of nowhere I start to feel like chicken little and "holy shit we have to get to turkey lurkey or the whole world will fucking explode and there will be no turkey and dressing for you". This panic tickle has caused me to make a mess of my life. When it comes I usually react to it, like my life is in mortal danger when it's not. I react to something that isn't there and then create something I can't get my way out of. Digging myself deeper into the rabbit hole. 

Now I'm not so deep in the hole and I know the tickle isn't real, but there's another tickle now the "what-if-so-just-in-case" tickle. It scares me. Makes me want to listen to the panic tickle because what if it is real and I'm just so use to telling myself it isn't. A vicious cycle. 

Before I was alone. I had no central point to focus on to figure out if the panic tickle was real or if I should ignore it. Now I have people like Sam and Jigger around me. When the tickle comes I look at them. They keep me grounded. Focused. Breathing. They let me know when it's time to run.

That Look

It's been awhile since I've been here. Sometimes I get my blinders on and forget beyond the narrow space in front of me. Lately I've been so focused, so consumed by things that at times I've forgotten to eat, sleep, brush my hair, wash clothes, clean house, and/or shower. With more than one occurring on most days. In some ways the focus is good. I've accomplished a lot. Although, it's weird how hygiene is always the first thing to go regardless of which pole you swing to. 

But then today it happened. Again. Jigger gave me that look. The one that says 'dear lord she's batshit fucking insane crazy" look. If you're crazy, you know the look I'm talking about. The one where their eyes kinda glaze over and their head tilts slightly. Not quite the deer in the headlights stare, but you can see them wondering if they need to get the tranquilizer darts or just RUN for their lives. That look. 

It all started so innocently. Jigger asked me a question, "Are people who have premonitions common?" He was watching his favorite CSI-ish show and it was about a psychic with premonitions who solved the case. We then got into a discussion about beliefs and that lead to me opening my very big mouth and ramming my foot and part of my leg into it. You see I believe in premonitions because I use to have them. Admittedly, some weren't real. Some were caused by the synapses in my brain misfiring, but some I can't explain. I had them. I "knew" things before they happened. I told people such and such will happen, and then it did. This happened on more than one occasion while I was growing up. I would have probably continued and told him a lot more but that was when I noticed it. 

The look.

Jigger was sitting in his chair at his desk, looking at me like I'd sprouted two heads, and I instantly shut the hell up and diverted the topic to something else. 

Sometimes I forget how very different I am. I've grown comfortable with my differences and I forget others don't always share that same comfort. Jigger knows but he prefers not to have it shoved in his face. So when I forget and start showing my crazy to him, it's difficult for him. 

But whenever I see that look in HIS eyes, it hurts. More than when I see it on others. I expect it from others, but not him. He's suppose to be different. He's suppose to understand, and he is and he does, but sometimes it's more than even he can bear so I tuck it away in the silence. I say the right words, the words that don't bring "the look" and I hide the ones that will. But sometimes I wish I didn't have to hide the words. 

At least not from him.

Panic Room

Panic is an odd thing. Addictive. I've lived my entire life in panic mode. I didn't know it until recently when I stopped and then went into withdrawals. I no longer had to make decisions based upon what was absolutely necessary in order to simply SURVIVE for the next 24 hours. I no longer had to toss things aside in order to simply be able to exist beyond the next five minutes. It became my normal. Now it is not and well it's weird. 

At times I find myself, bored? No, not bored, confused? Yes, confused, definitely uncertain. Always waiting for the next catastrophe. Even creating  a few when none occurred because what the fuck else was I suppose to do? Just sit here and be "normal".  That was too weird. I need panic. I need chaos. Not really. It's just I know what to do in the panic and chaos. Without them I feel like I'm lost and in unknown territory. 

It's fucking weird to be normal.

Secure At All Costs

I have a thing with feeling secure and stable. The thing is I don't ever feel this way. Feeling as if my world can at any moment be sucked out from underneath is as much a part of me as breathing. Even when I KNOW things are ok, there is always this little tickle of doubt tucked in the corner that says prepare anyway. Just in case. 

From my birth my life was in constant flux. I never knew what the day would be like when I stepped off the bus each day from school. My home filled with drugs, alcohol, and abuse. While appearing neat and tidy on the outside was a constant roller coaster ride on the inside. Then whoosh I went to live with my grandparents. But that wasn't permanent either. Every six months or so my mom would pop in and I'd go live with her or a cousin or aunt or back to my grandparents. I never had my own room. Never hung posters on the walls or decorated. I was nearly 14 before I had a bed to sleep in. Usually I slept on the floor or sofa. 

Then there's the asswipe aka my ex husband. If my life was not chaotic before that so not intelligent decision then it sure as hell was after. It's only now today. When my life is starting to balance, when I'm finally connecting the dots that I realize how ingrained into my inner being this feeling of "be prepared" has become. Now as I build the foundation that most people grow up with I realize I have never lived beyond today. I have never thought of tomorrow. My entire existance has always been for the day. If I can find enough money to pay the rent for this week, this moment. To eat today I'll worry about tomorrow when it gets here. The downside to this living in the moment is that I always feel I'm in a constant state of panic. I am constantly in need of collecting, gathering, working, building and I never have that solid foundation that I know I can lean on if there's a bump in the road. 

It's a difficult place to be. To know there is nowhere to turn if things go a little bad. It reminds me of how alone I am in the world. How many bridges I've burned in my quest of trying to find this allusive security I seem unable to get my hands on. I know this is something I need to gain control over, but it has become a survival instinct within me. To the point it causes panic attacks whenever I feel my "supplies" are slightly below where they should be. Even though I'm ok. Even though things are not in danger I still worry. Be prepared. Plan A, B, C, D, and E are minimum requirements for every day of my life. It's exhausting. I'm trying to let go of this. I've gotten much better than I was before, but still that lump appears in my throat whenever I think things are not as ok as they should  be. While you'd think all of this preparedness would always keep me ahead, usually it ends up putting me behind because I use what little I have for some made up "emergency" in my mind. Then if a real one comes I don't have what I need to cover it. 

Blah. It's a never ending cycle. I just need a sugar daddy. Anyone got an extra they might like to share?

Friend or Foe

In my world, there is only black or white. You're either friend or foe. I trust you or I don't. There is no middle ground no room for error. If you're able to walk the tight rope and cross over into friendom, then I constantly fear I've "misjudged" you. That you're really a foe and at any moment you're going to show your truth hidden within. 

This is all in my head. A battle of good vs evil that replays itself constantly. Even when the person hasn't done anything wrong I push them so hard and make them jump through so many hoops they eventually walk away because seriously who has time to put up with it and to constantly prove themselves to be something they're not. But then when they walk away I shout "ah-ha knew it" they were foe. But there is a hollowness in that victory. 

As irrational as all of this is I know it and while I"m working on controlling it, at times it controls me. Even though I know it's all irrational the what if game always wins. "What if I'm wrong", the earth will spin off its axis and we'll all be plunged into the sun and everyone will be melted and it'll be all my fault.

All. MY. Fault. This thought is embedded in my DNA thanks to my father. The many gifts he's bestowed upon me all of these years. My parents divorced because of his alcoholism and abuse. They divorced because I ran away to my grandparents and refused to live with them. My mother reluctantly divorced him. It was all my fault. Which is why he tried to kill me several times. All my fault. 

Even today, any wrong in the world no matter how far removed from me it is, I feel responsible. I feel I have to fix it to correct it. Then I'll be "good" again, but it doesn't ever work out that way. 

I'm not sure why all of these things are coming up now. I've been having nightmares this past week. Haven't had them in awhile either. Whenever the nightmares come, they fuck with my head for awhile. Then they disappear and I tend to settle down and be less irrational. Take enough sleeping pills and not even Freddie can get you.

No Reason Just Cuz

I cried today. I don't know why or what brought it on. I just went to pee. Sitting there,suddenly a death sob exploded from me and the harder I tried to push it back in the further out it came. Until my face and floor were soaked with saltiness. Then as quickly as it came, it left. Sucked back into the black hole from whence it came. I walked back into our room, smiled at Jigger, and went on as if nothing had happened. Yet my head is spinning and my heart hurts and I don't know why.

Alone

I want to be alone. To scream. To sit naked. To laugh. To cry. To breathe. I am never alone. Never silent. Never free. Today my tethers feel more like shackles. Manacles. Connected to the earth that will neither release me nor consume me.

I want to breathe.

Marty McFly & The Deloreans

Sounds like a cool band from the 50's doesn't it? I just finished reading a book and it's got me all contemplative. Thinking thoughts I hadn't in awhile. I started reading when I was about 5 or 6. Not The Babysitter's Club or Goosebumps or whatever kids were reading back in the 80's. I read for lack of a better explanation, Native American romance novels. These were books where white women were taken captive but fell in love with their captor and then refused to return to the white world. I would read a book a day. I loved the idea of living in such a simplistic way of life. Being one with the earth, and creatures around you. Sitting together as a community at night before a blazing fire as elders told stories of the ancients beneath a bright full moon. 

Not only did I dream about those times but I longed for them as if I had once lived them and lost it. I longed for it the way a lover pines away for a lost love. To this very day I long for a life I know I will never have and it haunts me. It makes me sad and unable to fully exist in the skin that covers my bones. I feel out of place and out of time. 

The book wasn't about Native Americans though. The one I just finished. The one which brought all of these feelings and emotions back to the surface. It was however about a group of people who choose to live away from society without electricity or all modern conveniences. They live as one, work as one, do what is best for the group. Maybe worlds like that only exist in books. But I search for them and shed tears when I'm unable to find them. I miss them. My heart aches to be there. When I was younger everyone use to say  I had an "old soul". Maybe I just have a reused one.

Orgasmic Epiphanies

I like playing with words. Over words, written words, not spoken words. I'm still a slave to the spoken word. I dance and jump and twist and bow whenever it commands, but the written word I am its puppet master. Pulling its strings and making them dance to whatever tune I dream up. 

I didn't realize how important it is for me to write here. Until I didn't and then did. After writing those few snippets of syllables yesterday I felt as if I had exhaled for the first time in a month. The pressure in my chest eased and the chaos in my mind slowed. I need to vent here more often even if it's senseless drivel. It helps to empty the vortex in my brain that seems to suck everything into it. In real life,I don't have a voice. At times I feel like I'm in a freak show on display. Seen but not seen. Maybe it's all in my head but it seems very real. Prying eyes of unwelcomed strangers staring at me. Whispering because they think I'm too stupid or ignorant to understand. Not knowing I can read every word they say and even the ones they don't. 

I'm sort of in a weird place. Living a life I don't hate but that isn't the exact of what I want it to be and not knowing how to solve this inbetween existance I've come to accept for myself. The last few weeks I've been numbing myself. Killing my emotions. Not letting myself feel. Just existing, breathing, day to day. Unfeeling. Moving from one stop to the next. Avoiding the real issues. Pretending I don't see them until they're too many and explode. Like they did the other night. Now I'm once again picking up pieces of me. Bits and pieces scattered here and there. Trying to collect them back into the whole of me. Filling up the empty bits, gluing together the broken ones. 

Yes I have to visit here more often. It's revitalizing. Better than Calgon.

Prioritizing Distractions

My brain never turns off. Not even during sleep. It's constantly going. Never tiring. Never ceasing to function. Constantly processing thoughts and ideas and ways and whatifs and whatnots and maybes and shouldve's or wouldve's. An endless vortex of synapses firing sparks into a pit of nothingness. 

Occasionally these sparks drift down out of the crazy half of my brain into the small somewhat normal part, and when this happens, if you're close enough to me you can actually see the little light bulb appear over my mind and see Wile E. Coyote run by. I get ideas the way others get gas after eating beans. I'm constantly starting projects that are "totally awesome omg I have to do this" only for a few days to pass and the high to fade. That's when the realization of "this isn't quite what I really wanted to do sets in and the project gets scrapped". 

Now I have several ideas. Actual real to goodness ideas of things that not only ignite the crazy who is easily distracted and bored but ideas that have ignited the not so crazy part of my brain. The part that says "this is a really great idea. We like this. Let's do it." The only problem with this is that the crazy part is spitting out ideas faster than the non crazy can implement them. Kinda like when Lucy took that job in the factory on the conveyor belt and she couln't keep up. I'm Lucy in this scenario in case you're not following that well. 

I really want to do all of the things in my head. What is even more bizarre is the fact I have no doubt in my ability to accomplish these things and to possibly have a bit of success in them. What is tripping me up is that I need to prioritize, pick one project, begin on it, and work on it until I get it rolling. Then start the second project. Except I don't quite work like that. I get bored my ADD kicks in and I need something shiny new to play with. It takes ALOT to keep my mind active and non bored. Not alot of gossip or "omg did you see what  she was wearing" but real thoughts, real conversations, REAL things. 

So now I'm left trying to figure out which of these ideas to pull out first. Which to begin on until my brain can't work on it any longer, then I'll start the second. I know I'll be working on these various projects simultaneously, but I need to figure out a way that I can actually get a couple of them completed relatively quickly without fucking them royally. This is much more difficult than it sounds. Kinda like going to juggling school and on your first day the teacher throws you a chain saw, an egg, and a baby and says "GO!". Which one do you drop?

Triggers Not the Horse

Knowing your triggers. Absolute must for anyone with any sort of bipolar, BPD, PTSD, anxiety and more big medical words I don't know or have forgotten to mention. Triggers are to insanity what peanuts are to allergies. Know your triggers and avoid them or at least have 911 on speed dial so you hit the button before going into anaphylaxis shock. Yes, they're that bad. 

Triggers. I have many. Some I know. Some are hidden. Some sneak up on me when I'm not looking. I try to avoid them, but somehow they always find my hiding places. The last two days I've been triggering HARD. My safety nets were being pulled from under me. Even though they aren't real safety nets, they're actually harmful to me. In all truth, my so called safety nets are one of my biggest triggers. Fear, rejection, and abandonment. 

Yesterday the perfect storm was created. A long time friend who in many ways has helped me and in many ways not, I confronted. I stood up for myself. I refused to be treated like a steaming pile of dog shit he was scrapping off his shoe, but for ten years he's my one and only friend. The only person my insanity hasn't driven away. Even though he was at times verbally abusive, I clung to him because he was always there. I didn't fear him leaving me. Abandoning me. If that meant being called names, told I was stupid, and used, then that was ok. Because I wasn't alone. 

Except now I have started surrounding myself with people who don't use me, don't abuse me. Who respect me. Who see my flaws, my  broken pieces, and accept them. Who look over the frazzled me and see what lies underneath, and I like that. I don't want to be treated like dogshit anymore even if it means I'm alone. I'd rather be alone than be someone's dogshit. But still it's a trigger. 

Then there are normal worries, financial worries, that pretty much every person who sucks oxygen on this planet has, but when you put those worries inside of a mind that works overtime they become blown out of proportion. So I fight to keep my grip on reality. While things aren't great, they're not that bad either. While some things haven't worked out exactly like I wanted, they are at least working and I'm constantly looking for other ways of gaining income. At the very least I don't feel entitled. I don't feel that it is ok to sit on my ass while others support me. I might have little but it's all fucking mine and I worked through insanity to get it. It's mine fuckers and you can't have it. 

So I'm on a bit of a roller coaster. I'll have to start taking sleeping pills today. I've been awake for two days now. Not good. Not sleeping is definitely a sign. So today I'll take little pink tablets with my grape juice so my mind will slow at least enough for my eyes to close and for a few moments the ping pongs bouncing inside my head will lay quietly on the floor. Shhhh......

Conversations I've Had Recently

I talk to myself. Not in the muttering under my breath, aliens can hear, wear my tin hat kinda way. Also not in the "I hear voices that tell me to slap the stupid out of you" kinda way either. 

Take for instance, my BFF Sam. I talk to Sam pretty much on a daily basis. Literally and in my own quirky way. If I read something, see something, or think something, then in my head I tell Sam. I know Sam well enough I can pretty much guess what her reply will be and in my head I not only hold my end of the conversation but hers as well. I don't know what part of bipolarism this falls in or if it's just part of my own special blend of awesomeness, but after one of our conversations, I have the same exact feeling as if I had actually just spoken with Sam. 

I don't just do this with Sam, but pretty much everyone. Even people I've never actually spoken with. Some random nijjit on the internet might write something that amuses me and I'll make up a conversation with them. Maybe their replies are what I'd want them to say. Maybe it's a conversation I'd hope we'd have. Why I don't just actually message or talk to the person I'm not quite sure. Maybe it's some form of self protection. Maybe I"m just mind fucked (that's my word of the day btw). I've searched on the googletron, but that was less than helpful. I don't really know what to call this or if anyone else even does this. I've never actually told this to anyone either. Not even Sam. Even though we talk everyday.

I Want To

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...

Lustful Addictions

Back in the day when I was lost in the vortex that is my insanity, I longed to be "consumed". I wanted to become so lost inside someone and have them be so lost in me that nothing outside of us existed. It was this thought process and this longing that lead me down the road which ended in a total break from reality. There is a part of me that still longs for this though. 

A little tiny part tucked back into the corner. It occasionally peeks his head out and tickles my insides so I remember he's there. A part of me would give anything to be just someone's everything. To be the air that swims through their lungs, the blood that courses through their veins, the beat of the drum within their chest. 

Another part of me has given up on ever having that. My husband loves me, worships me in ways I've never been loved/worshipped/desired, but even with all of his love poured into me, it still is not all consuming.  The part of me that contains the few normal brain cells realizes having what I have with him is worth more than the few moments of time I might have being consumed, but another part of me, a part that lives fully within the insanity longs for the consumption. Longs for the brief moments of time where I become consumed by another and I have to remember to push that part of me down and lock it away. Otherwise I'd lose everything.

I've been on the other side before and I've come to realize I'd rather be empty is consumed.

This spat was inspired by Haven and her Quotes from the Borderline

Confessional

I don't talk much about religion on this blog, and while I don't follow the ritualized dogmas of religion, I do have a very strong set of core beliefs. My every non crazy action is based upon those core beliefs and values. This is why next month I'm taking a week off of work. Because it is more important to observe my beliefs than to earn money. While I believe this to the very depths of my being and existance and have no desire to actually work, the crazy part of my brain is freaking out. I recently started my own business and after a lot of hard work, it's doing pretty well. The crazy part of my brain is paranoid that if I take a week off work, then people will think I've disappeared and I will lose all of my business and all of my hard work will be lost. 

Even IF that happens I'd still take the week off work, but having such conflicting thoughts troubles me. I want to be firm and strong in my beliefs, but when these thoughts appear it's hard to know if it's just the crazy talking or if there is a crack in my foundation. I don' t really know and while I hope people don't forget me so easily I worry so much that they will. It's a strange place to be. Wanting to be seen while remaining invisible.

Not June Cleaver

Tomorrow is my anniversary. Jigger and I will have been married four years. It doesn't seem that long and at times it seems even longer. In true us fashion, we had a major argument today. Seems only fitting since it's been about two weeks since the last one. We were overdue. Today's argument, like most of our arguments, started over food and the fact that I don't eat it. I know how hurt and upset it makes Jigger and even as he was sitting there I could see the pain and hurt in his eyes, but I could NOT put the food in my mouth. Even though a part of me wanted to for him. A part of me wanted nothing more than to just be normal and able to pick up the food and eat it like normal people do, but I'm not normal. The normal brain cells are way outnumbered by the crazy ones and like usual the crazy ones overruled in this case and the food sat in front of me untouched. 

I hate being this way. I hate being unable to just be like everyone else seems to be able to do. I hate causing Jigger pain. I hate that I'm so fucked up and broken. During these times, I so wish everything would end. Don't take that the wrong way I'm not suicidal and don't have suicidal thoughts, but there is  not a day that goes by that I don't wish it were my last. There is not a breath that escapes my body where I don't pray that another doesn't follow it. I so wish for this existence to end. I'm so very tired.

Well Trained

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.

Facing the Fear

I just had a very strange thing happen. Two days ago I had a major panic attack. It was brought on by the thought of having to speak to someone on the phone. A very close friend of mine, a  person who has ridden this bipolar roller coaster with me for more than ten years now, and one of the few people I've not managed to drive away asked me to make a phone call for him. I agreed and two hours later began having a MAJOR panic attack at the thought of having to make this phone call. Four hours later I was in the middle of a full blown panic attack that has taken me almost two days to recover from. During those two days I deleted his emails without reading them and turned my phone off so I wouldn't have to answer his calls. For two days he continued to email and phone me until finally I was brave enough to open the email, and when I did I got the shock of my life.

It wasn't an email telling me to fuck off like I had expected. It was an email asking if I was ok, why wasn't I answering my phone and what was wrong with me. Nothing more so I replied and I told him why I hadn't done what he asked of me.. His reply? No worries as long as you're ok. 

I began telling him how I wasn't ok and as a joke at the very end I asked him if he knew anyone who could prescribe me some Seroquel 300 mg. That is what I was on in 2004, the last time I actually took meds for my bipolar. He replied with a "WTF do you need that for?". I said, "Because I have bipolar and went into graphic detail about my illness, symptoms, and hospitalizations. I fully believed he would run away. He knows I'm not "normal" but he's always just thought I was a bit overly dramatic. Even though I've said to him "I'm bipolar". It never clicked with him because you see he's a brit and in UK they don't use the term "bipolar" often. Or at least not according to him. So it never truly sank in as to what I meant when I said that, but when I sent him a link from a UK pharmacy with the UK name of the meds and UK description he knew instantly and had an ah-ha moment of sorts. All the ten years of irrational illogical moments fell into place for him and he finally understood why I am the way I am. That it's not because I'm just high strung or a bit melodramatic, but because I have a true psychiatric condition that requires meds I'm not taking and do not have access to. 

He even said he would help me get access to my meds. If anyone can, I'm sure he will. Sometimes I'm so afraid of rejection, so afraid of abandonment that I send myself into a full blown panic. Even though he's been with me for ten years, I still am terrified I'm going to drive him away. I couldn't believe that he didn't run away when I told him the dirty bits of my insanity. He didn't call me names or criticize me, but he understood. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me. It's rare that I feel like people in my real life are on my side. He's one of the few people I count on and the thought of losing him is beyond bearable. So I'm actually feeling quite a bit better now. Which is rare for me. Even all of the other shit going on seems less. I'm going to take this moment while it lasts and enjoy it.

Riding the Emotional Roller Coaster

For the last two days, I've been battling the inner me. The me that worries and overreacts. The me that panics and freaks out if someone doesn't reply immediately. The me that fears rejection and will do anything to please you. The me that hates the me that will do anything to please you. 

There are a lot of me's. 

I've started my own business which is good and bad. Good because it helps me to be independent and work from home. Bad because I suck at dealing with people. I don't understand them. I don't know what their actions and words truly mean. These last two days I've battling the me that wanted to email contracted clients because they have been distant lately. 

I have been listening to the me that worries if it is because they are unhappy with me, if they are planning on leaving me, sneaking off in the night to find another partner. The 1.5% of my brain that is capable of having rational thoughts keeps telling me that all of these thoughts are untrue. That I haven't done anything wrong. That they are happy with me. These 2.3 brain cells that understand my clients are in between projects and on a mini vacation visiting their family back in their original homestate realize everything is ok and I just need to chill, but the other 4537829 parts of my inner being are totally freaking out. 

Those few rational brain cells are screaming at me to not do something stupid. There was a time not long ago I would have never listened to them. I would have gone sniveling and snotting to ask what had I done wrong, why was there this distance between us that wasn't there before. What did it mean? Were they leaving me? I've kept busy. Kept my hands busy. My mind busy. Even if the busy was watching pointless reality tv shows. It kept me from emailing and that was the end goal. 

Not doing something stupid. Not creating that thing which I fear most. I need that constant physical connection. I don't trust it's still there if I am not physically "touching" them. Since they are oceans away, my physical touch is email. When I don't hear from them, I panic. I know on some level things are ok but on other levels it is hard to believe. Even with Jigger, I cannot sleep unless I am physically touching him. Reassuring the inner me's that he really is there. It doesn't matter how late or little I've slept. Within 5 mins of Jigger getting up, I instantly become awake. The emptiness beside me is like a screaming banshee forcing me to awaken. If he takes too long in the shower I can feel the panic creeping in. I hate being this way. I can hide it to some extent but when it begins to overwhelm I need to reach out. Luckily for me my clients emailed me today to tell me a joke. It calmed me. Reassured me of their presence. They hadn't disappeared. They were still there. 

Still connected to me. 

So far it seems to be working. I just hope it keeps on.