Fuck Bipolar


So today sucks. Not gonna pull any punches, it’s been crap since I went to bed last night and woke up 6 times to see if it was time to get up. Swimming was crap. Floating in the water was crap. The swans down at the canal were crap. News was crap. Even the sun, bright over the horizon, is crap today.

Fuck all of it.

To make my day extra crappy, I received a message out on FB from an acquaintance of mine. At one time I would have said we were friends, but that would have been prior to me realizing that she was just another narcissistic user in my life, and she used me as a ‘friend’ whenever it was convenient for her. Friendship isn’t about convenience. It isn’t about hanging out with me because you’re pissed off at everyone else you know. And it sure as fuck isn’t about blowing me off as soon as you’re back in the good graces of anyone else you think is cooler than me to hang out with. So this person – who I haven’t had a message from in over two years – now wants to come and ‘visit’ me. Translation: I fucked up here, I want to run away, you’re someone I know in another country, I’m gonna use you again. I’ll lay odds on that she wants to stay here, and not just for her visit. She claims she’s gonna move here. I know what that would look like: use me, cling to me, call me friend until she finds other people to hang with.

Not gonna let it happen.

So my thin facade of cool is out the window. This morning I raged, I cried, I seriously thought about committing swan-ocide.

The part of me on suicide watch made me walk yesterday. It made me swim today. Nothing is working. It’s all pointless. Great; I go out and get fresh air and exercise. It doesn’t change the fact that my life is fucking shit. That everything is pointless. I just end up sweating and breathing hard and think, ‘Man, this is still shit. And now I’m hot and sweaty.’.

Laughing once in a while doesn’t help, either. Just makes the rest of the time feel worse.

Thought maybe today I could call Heike. Not anymore. I’ve barely stopped sobbing. Calling is too big of a thing right now. Getting past the receptionist in my lousy Dutch, talking to Heike – it’s all too much. Again. Maybe tomorrow.

I’ve got 5 hours to get my head together before I go down to the shoe shop to try on my dummy pair of shoes. That’s my big goal. Pull it together so (1) I don’t cry on the metro ride down there and (2) I’m not a bitch once I’m there.

Fucking marvelous, isn’t it?

I feel like I’m being stupid. Because my heart is breaking just thinking that I won’t be able to spend quality time with George anymore due to the damned swans. George isn’t my pet. I don’t even see him every day. But not being able to feed him by hand anymore, not being able to enjoy his funny little ways, not having him trust me so because a couple of uppity swans have moved into the neighborhood and they keep trying to drive me off…It’s killing me. It’s like George is dying. I’m in mourning for a fucking duck and I’m being ridiculous.

But there it is.

My brother has quit smoking in a show of solidarity with me. I miss the smell in the house.

It’s day 4. Twenty-six more to go.

The rise of the right-wing here, including the neo-nazis, is making me more nervous than ever to learn the language and fit it. Forget what you hear on the news. Forget what everyone is telling you. It’s different on the ground. I can understand the sentiment going on. I just don’t want to get caught in the middle of it. Thank the goddess that what Dutch I can speak, I speak well with no discernible accent.

I’m nervous just thinking about taking the metro this afternoon. It means getting on the platform. Seeing those tracks down there. Thinking those thoughts. I get all funny feeling inside. It’s almost vertigo. Almost hysteria. I need to stay away from the edge.

My morning oatmeal tastes like dust. It’s dry and flavorless. Hard to swallow. I eat it anyway, because I’ve got pills to take.

I’ll play games today. Try to lighten my mood, tho I don’t think anything is gonna do much good.

I should be feeling pleased. This week a large debt is off my back. My brother’s been talking more about finances to me, to try and calm me. We’re actually a month ahead now; the money coming in this month is for next month’s bills. I’ve been given cash and the green light to buy nice things for myself. Just can’t think of anything I want or deserve right now. Clothes? I’m fat. Let me lose weight first. Massage? I don’t want to be touched right now. Games? *sigh* Yeah, I could. They’ll keep me occupied for five fucking minutes. Film? That means going in public, and I’m not into that right now. I’m avoiding people whenever possible. Travel? Maybe, but it’ll take more planning. My bro needs a letter from his doc to take his prescription over the border, and he only sees his doc once a month.

I just don’t care.

I’m trying. Trying to care. Trying to lighten up, to keep the faith.

I’ll keep writing. Keep talking. Keep telling my truth, at least out here. It’s getting really difficult.

This depressive episode is late in coming; usually I’m here by December. I’m afraid this may be worse than usual, particularly with quitting smoking thrown into the mix. I’m afraid I’ve just begun to be depressed, just begun sliding down, down, down, with no end in sight.

Fuck bipolar.


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