Sometimes I feel like one day I will find out that one of the many times I thought about killing myself, I actually did it, and this whole reality is some sort of sick hell I trapped myself in.

Yesterday was hard for me. I dunno why.

That’s the thing about being bipolar, though, there doesn’t have to be a why. After four days of being manic and barely sleeping, a crash was a predictable happenstance. Yesterday I felt like I was drowning. Yesterday I felt so far in over my head that I just wanted to shut down. I brought home literature on all our products in an attempt to be proactive and gain some kind of footing on what I’m doing. It can’t hurt, but it won’t teach me how deals work.

Today I woke up and everything was fine. I went to see Suicide Squad with mom for breakfast. I wanted more of Jared Leto’s joker, but it was good anyways. 

Now I’m at home. It’s barely noon. I am crying. 

I am overwhelmed with my life.

I dunno what to do.

I just want to throw everything away, but I don’t have the energy.

But it’s just a crash, right?

It’ll get better.

Virginity (Or The Lack Thereof)

There are so many things I wish I’d known before I lived.

I keep reading these articles that all have the same title:
“Things I Wish I’d Known Before Having Sex.”

I guess, for a lot of people, sex is a really big thing that happened in their lives. It marked the end of their childhood, or… something…

I have a hard time relating to people that see having sex for the first time as a really big major thing. To be honest, I don’t even remember the first time I had sex, except that the bleeding wouldn’t stop, which made me really scared and generally upset, and it turned out that was because I also got my first period that day. It was a big day for me all around.

The guy was not significant. He wasn’t my first boyfriend, and he wasn’t at all special, unless you count that about a month prior to me letting him stick in I told the school counselor that he was suicidal and got him thrown in the looney bin for a week. He was, literally, suicidal. He even detailed it out for me how he planned on doing it. Apparently, he had a lot of problems, because the counselor was aware of who he was and didn’t even flinch at the idea he might shoot himself. So…
I made such poor life choices in high school.

What did I wish I knew before I let a large half-Egyptian-half-Irishman violate me?

The articles address a lot of things I understand but can’t relate to, such as the concept of “losing” something by having sex. I never saw it that way, and even though no one had ever really told me that virginity was special or that having sex out of wedlock makes you less valuable as a person, I knew a lot of people that WERE told that. For me, having sex was just a thing that had to be done, and that most people did in high school. I wasn’t good at fitting in with my classmates, since I was a year younger than them all and completely lacked normal social skills. It was for this reason that I dove head first into having sex freshman year. I was 13 and historically a late bloomer, so I just got it out of the way. Was I ready for it? I dunno, prolly not, but I don’t think it left any lasting effects on my psyche.

They also tackle things like, “it wasn’t like the movies,” and “I thought we’d be together forever.” I’m consistently baffled by the number of people that really thought anything in life would ever be the way they thought it would be. I went into it knowing that A, it would prolly be gross and painful, 2, that we would NOT be together forever, and D, that it would probably be laughably short on top of not being very fun. I knew that. I’m a realist, and it lived up to every single one of my sad, sad expectations. It hurt, it was brief, he sweat a lot, and we broke up within the month. Honestly, he should have been a LITTLE better, since he was three years older than me and a giant fuckboy (man-slut, for those of you not up to date with the lingo). I would later find out just how terrible he was, along with how much worse he could have been.
I wonder if thinking about the past is this disappointing for everyone….?

Real talk: I wish I’d known that I was asexual before I had sex. I’d still prolly have had sex, because why not, but maybe I wouldn’t have spent the next decade plowing my way through everything with a pulse trying to figure out why sex was so boring to me.

It’s a little bit fitting that my first time was with a crazy person, seeing as how I was on the fast track to being crazy myself. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t upset when that relationship ended at the four month mark. I WAS an idiot 13 year old, after all. I don’t look back and miss or desire that terrible crap, though. Like, some people look back on their first time with fond memories, like making love on a blanket next to a lake, surrounded by the lights of fireflies at the end of summer… and then they had to return home from wherever they were, but they’ll never forget that night for the rest of their lives! Then there’s me. I just went through a period where I wanted a happy ending… and Hallmark slash Disney promised me that I could find those with a high school love. They are dirty, dirty liars. This is why I’m so fucking cynical.

None of my high school boyfriends were worth a damn. Actually, none of my boyfriends, short of the most recent (who I should make a post on, because there was really nothing at all wrong with him) were REALLY worth a damn if I’m honest with myself. A lot of my romantic and sex life is made up of me seeing a man (or woman) and my brain going, “Maybe that one can fill the gaping hole in your life where a sense of security and well-being should be.
Spoiler: They did not.

If you’re reading this, I’d love to hear what YOU wish you’d known before you had sex, or if you have a particularly lovely or horrible first time story, I’d also love to hear that.

The Ex. Again.

I ran into him again!

I went to a show last night. It was six local bands, a burlesque troupe, and a fashion show. Sounds fun, right? I thought so. I invited Cat and she brought her friend with her, but they aren’t “show” people. They’re more club people. So they didn’t stay that long. In the meantime… I fucking saw my ex again.

It’s baffling, really, the emotion that sweeps over me when I see him. It’s not remorse, or longing, or heartache, or any of the things NORMAL people usually associate with an ex…. It’s a lot of rage and the feeling of being invaded. I haven’t seen him in years, aside from passing him on the street when I went to the museum with Billie, so you’d think that I’d just let it go. No. I can never let it go. All the rage, wrath, injustice, and general loathing that I ever had for him is still there, floating just underneath the skin, ready to boil over at any minute like unwatched ramen noodles set too high. If I look in the mirror long enough I can see the contempt swirling around beneath my face.

I’ve heard of people seeing red and losing themselves in their rage, but that never happens to me. Everything stays quite clear, except that my brain is rushed with thoughts like, DRAG HIM INTO THE STREET AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE AS WITNESS TO HIS EXECUTION. I haven’t done it, yet, but if he keeps popping up at places I’m at, it might be the winning argument. This is my world, those were my bands, my show, my scene, my haunt. If he’s going to invade my territory, eventually we are going to tangle.

I was doing okay with his appearance, as okay as one can when every fiber of your being is screaming for you to murder someone, at least, until Cat and her friend left. I was then left relatively alone. Shows are weird for me that way, because it’s not that I don’t know anyone, but I know the bands… and the bands are there for business, so it feels like I don’t know anyone since they get busy. In poor judgement, as I tend to have under strained thoughts of homicide, I started drinking pretty fast… too fast… somewhere in there I tapped him on the shoulder and said hello and that he looked great (and he did, which pissed me off… I wanted to like kill him while fucking him in that moment, which is weird for me for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I don’t experience sexual attraction…), and then pretended I had people to go talk to… Now, it seems really pathetic, but honestly I felt better afterward. I showed I didn’t need to avidly ignore him. It might pay off in the long run…. Shortly after that, though, I threw up vodka in a trashcan on the patio and left…. I should have waited, but people saw me, so I got in my car and left. I did stop at an all night diner and eat, though. I know that doesn’t make me less drunk, but it did make me a safer driver, since it gave me something to soak the booze up with and I didn’t feel drunk and disoriented afterward. So… made it home.

I wish I could will myself to let my grudge go. It’s like a poison in my chest. Makes me sick to think about, even. I just can’t, though.He ruined two rooms in my house that I’m JUST NOW getting back, because I couldn’t afford to fix the flooring.He took away my sense of safety in my house when he got attacked by drug dealers and MY address was the one on his license. He wouldn’t fucking get out. He couldn’t pay rent. He cut his thumb off because he went to work high, but then they didn’t test him so he got to keep his job and he walked out on it. Like… It’s just so much offense, and I can’t let it go.

One thing bothers me, though… I know I didn’t love after him…. I liked Grant, and he was a sweet guy, but I had to cut him loose because I didn’t love him. My question is whether I loved before him? Did me make me Aromantic? I don’t know. But if did, if he took my ability to care about people in a romantic way, and a generally platonic way, because I can’t trust anyone… doesn’t that kind of offense deserve a punishment? I mean, I know that drug dealer set him on fire and everything… but… that wasn’t MY punishment.

It’s Not You… It’s That You’re Creepy AF.

Me: “Did I do something wrong?

Him: “Honestly, some of the things you say make me really uncomfortable.”

So it turns out that I am the psychopath.

I couldn’t take it. It was bugging me that everything was going so well and then just… Radio silence. So last night, when I was packing up my kitchen to get new cabinets today, I sucked it up and texted him like a sane adult to see what I did wrong. The not knowing was eating me alive inside! Know what I did wrong? Do ya? Nothing, I was just too overwhelmingly myself, and I creeped him the fuck out.

Let me clarify. I don’t say racists things, or offensive things, or think immigrants should go back to China, or anything like that. What he is referring to is that I say weird shit, all the time, and people never really know if it’s true or not because it’s things that make you wonder.
Example: I will knife you in your sleep. I don’t want to dispose of another body; it’s so time consuming. There is absolutely no one hidden in my crawl space. I wanted to tied you up and keep you in the basement, but I didn’t plan for it.
I say a lot of weird shit. No one ever seems to know if I’m kidding. I tell them I’m kidding…. but I guess the frequency with which I say these things makes people wonder. That, or the crazy. Being Bipolar and a high functioning sociopath doesn’t really help make the crazy shit I say seem less…. serious and worrisome.

It probably also didn’t help that before he left I played him one of my favorite songs….Chloroform Girl by Polkadot Cadaver. Rated number five on the most disturbing songs list by Billboard like two years ago, it’s about keeping a girl tied up in a basement for three years. Good song. I love Todd Smith bands.

So I get it. I’m creeptacular.

I, literally, creeped the fuck out of him.
He liked me.
He wanted to fuck me.
He liked fucking me.
I creeped him out and he no longer wants to fuck me.

It’s really very relieving, though… I thought I’d done something actually wrong.
I thought he was mad. No, he’s scared. I get that. I’ve met me. I understand the hesitation.

It’s just so fucking hilarious. I was excited, then sad, then mad, then sad again, and now I’m just like… good. I’m good. I’m totally good with all of it. I can comprehend me creeping people out. I’m a creepy human being.

This should be in a god damn sitcom.

Are You Banging A Psychopath?

You’re doing what you always do: try to find a flaw, because you are unsure that happiness can exist.

Not always, but sometimes my friends know me pretty well. I do that. I try to break everything good in life down to why it’s probably not going to work out, and then slowly try to self-sabotage whatever joy I think I’m experiencing. I don’t know where that tendency comes from.

I do know, that as quickly as it started, my infatuation may already be over. There’s just something…. off. It’s not that he doesn’t seem nice, and charming, because he does. It’s not that seems disinterested with me, because he doesn’t. It’s like cracks in white paint, and I can see something underneath it. He smiles, he winks, he tells me how lovely I am…. and yet there’s an aggression. It’s a well-hidden aggression. It’s not the over confidence of a man that will hit someone to put them in their place. It’s not the hint of potential evil lurking behind the eyes that Lifetime would have you believe stalkers and serial killers have when they smile at you. I’m not quite sure what it is… It’s just little things…

Maybe it’s because I’m crazy myself, but I notice things other people might brush off. In particular, it’s how rough he can be. To talk to him, he’s a puppy. He’s very agreeable. He’d be happy to do something that makes you smile. He doesn’t judge you for a thing. To bang him, however, is different. It’s not unpleasant, but it does hurt. I’m not opposed to being held down, but I take issue with unsolicited attempts at strangling (although I had a friend a while back that really liked to be asphyxiated during sex). Also, to be just a little graphic, his biggest excitement is impaling me with his over sized member to the point he can see it hurts me. I get this to a point, but usually people find the blood off-putting. More than one previous lover has been too freaked to even finish (because, yes, this whole thing where my vag tears and bleeds and I spend days bent over hugging my abdomen is not uncommon when I’m sexually active… and may or may not contribute to my being asexual).

The Huffington Post wrote an article called 10 Signs Your Man Is A Psychopath. It’s aimed at women, because statistically most psychopaths are men, and it’s a decent article that I think everyone should glimpse through if they start feeling uncertain about someone they’re seeing. Humans have a sense for when something is up. You’ve probably felt it. That guy in the gas station that makes you feel uncomfortable for no reason other than he eyed you a little too long. That moment when you’re walking down a street at night and you think you can feel people behind you. When you meet someone witty, charming, and attractive, just to later find out they are going to ruin your life. People can usually sense mental disturbance. They don’t always pay attention to it, though.

Psychopaths make up 1% of the general population, but that’s not as small of a percentage as you’d think. Also, Sociopaths make up 4% of the population. I should know, because I am one. Sociopaths are like psychopaths, both stemming from the same personality disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder. The difference? The biggest difference is that psychopaths are born, while sociopaths are made. Psychopaths are cold, calculating, but seem charming. They like playing with people without drawing attention to themselves. They can seem quite normal, and you’re not going to trip them up easily. Sociopaths are similar, but they’re erratic and impulsive. A sociopath is less likely to hold down a job for a long period of time, and they often have no plan. Sociopaths, unlike Psychopaths, can sometimes form attachments to people, though it’s quite rare. And sometimes, an erratic, impulsive sociopath can take on the less volatile demeanor of a psychopath, but they’re still operating without a plan.

Now, I’m not saying that this guy is a Psychopath. That would be a ludicrous statement about a person I barely know… but I am saying that crazy can spot crazy. I’m not sure how this is going to all pan out. I’m still feeling it out… and I have no plan, of course… so… I shall keep you updated.

Maybe my friend is right, and I’m just destroying this because I think I’m enjoying it. It’s not unheard of. Maybe I just think I’m better than this blue collar boy, so I’m projecting this onto him as a reason to abandon him. Maybe the back of my brain realizes that with happiness comes the potential for complete destruction, and therefore it’s protecting me from that by tearing him apart. Maybe I just already got bored, and my little black and white brain has thrown him over to the DONE side of the wall, to be picked apart by the vicious parts of my brain just for the amusement. Maybe.

In a world where as much as I hate myself, I’m still better than you…. how is a girl really supposed to know what she’s feeling?

Post-Christmas, Whatnot, & Crazy Bitches

So to follow up from last time, that guy never met me. He just randomly stopped talking to me at all the night before we were supposed to meet up… So that was a fun disappointment. But, I had a lot of fun that night. I went to Scruffy Murphy’s and partied my ass off with my darling hippie bestie. (I have 3 besties… the cali bestie, the bird bestie, and the hippie bestie.) It’s hard to feel bad about it, since he was just some internet guy, and I totally had a blast listening to 90s music and drinking beer with my hippie… and we got pizza at the Marquis… so what more do I really need?

Christmas has come and gone. It was actually pretty nice. Mom and I just hung out at the house, as we do every year. Every year I’m always amazed how many things she gives me. My mom goes above and beyond the call of a 26 year old’s mother. This year I got a Ninja Blender, an organization cube, kitchen knives, potholders, measuring cups, jewelry, an Adventure Time video game, the Deathnote series, and a slew of other things I didn’t even know I wanted until I opened the presents… including a microwave grill, which is really cool. I gave her some premium pedicure products, a new coffee maker for work, some pecan pie coffee, and a blanket I made for her. She cried cuz I made her a blanket… and I’m just sitting there like, OH GOD DON’T CRY!!! You’re not supposed to cry!!! And she was very grateful for the blanket, because I made it… meanwhile I’m going, I was seriously just trying to replace the not as good blanket I made you last year… >_>

For Christmas food we had chips, dip, salsa, boiled shrimp, and ice cream. We also made a pie… but that… did not turn out well.. We were kind of winging it anyway, but then we let it cook WAY TOO LONG… Pumpkin pie doesn’t really burn… it just… tastes… not… great… Lol. It still tasted like pumpkin, but it wasn’t very good. Mom liked to have died laughing at our failed attempt at pie making… And then I tried to make little apple pie things… and they turned out alright, but I totally burnt my arm… and it looks gross today. We are not baking people.

At work… there has been… conflict.
So Christmas Eve we were open. The billing clerk that was friends with my mom/boss 15 years ago didn’t come in. She didn’t call in, either. She texted the mom/boss at 11, when the mom/boss was in the GM’s office having to explain she had no idea where the billing clerk was. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t show up to work on Friday, either. She did call that time… but, she has a real problem with being absent. The reason this is a problem is because A, she has no PTO or vacation time left, and B, because it appears that she intentionally feigned illness to get Christmas Eve and the day after off.

Quick Recap: This is the woman whose crazy ass fucking daughter I went to Vegas with in March, against my own wishes. This is the woman whose oldest is in jail, daughter is so many shades of crazy that she’ll never recover, and youngest is generally fucked up and depressed. This is the woman whose husband died this year, so she was off a lot taking care of that, and prior to that because he was in and out of the hospital. She’s also only worked here since, maybe February. The significance being that mom/boss has given her more than her fair share of time off to deal with all of that.

This bitch lost her mind over the weekend. I went to a movie with the mothership (we saw Big Eyes… see it) and she got this message SO LONG that even after converting it to a large message format, the message STILL cut off. That message was full of things that the billing clerk can never take back. She said shitty things about the mothership and she said shitty things about me. She’s the last human being that should be giving out parenting advice, A. Can we just address THAT for a moment? Her golden child is in prison for armed robbery and assault. Her darling daughter, until recently, beat the shit out of her if there was a disagreement, including ramming her car into her garage. Her youngest doesn’t leave his room, is totally conditioned to people just dying in the house and people being arrested… I hate to say it, but he’s a prime candidate for potentially shooting up a school, because he officially feels nothing anymore. And then she wants to tell the world that her and the mothership have been friends for 30 years, but then pull this shit? No, bitch. No. You were gone and silent for 15 of those years… and now you’re just a fucking psycho.

So… that’s a lot of fun. Mom/Boss is going to have to write her up. I’m waiting to see if she walks. I’d love it if she walked. I hate her, as of right now. I didn’t much care for her to start with, but it’s full blown hate, now.
What’s important about that, is that I have a very poor grasp of self-control. I’m impulsive, I’m volatile, and I can be dangerous if the situation gets too far out of hand. So, the fact I’m sitting here, writing this, instead of bashing this woman’s face in with an object randomly chosen from the office until she apologizes to my mother… that’s a fucking accomplishment, and it should be recognized and rewarded…

In 2015 related news…
I’m not going out for New Year… I was going to go see my friends’ cover band play at an Irish pub I like, but I hate driving on New Year, I work New Year’s Day, I’ll probably be at work really late New Year’s Eve, and since I work and would be driving myself around I wouldn’t be able to drink… so, since I hate drunks when I’m not drunk, I’m going to stay in. Maybe I’ll catch up on my reading or some shows.

Next month, I’m going vegan… So that’s going to be fun. Fortunately, I’m pretty good with vegetables, and my vegan friends have sent me a few recipes and things to pick up so I don’t miss cheese. Because, really, at the end of the day, I’m mostly just going to miss cheese. I love cheese.

I have no resolutions. I’m just trying to make some positive life style changes, but I’m not making goals…

How Often Do Normal People…

…want to curl up and die?

It’s a legitimate question.
My shrinks have told me since I was 19 years old that sadness, anger, and even overwhelming joy are normal human emotions, while the whole world has told me that my depression, blind rage, and mania are not normal human emotions. So what’s the line here?

  • At what point does happiness and excitement become mania?
  • At what point does sadness become depression?
  • What’s the difference between anger and rage?
  • And at what point should one be concerned they’re experiencing the latte of these normal human emotions?

That’s the bit that no one tells the crazies, and I think they should. If you can pinpoint when you spiral out of the normal emotion range into the severe range, I think you could better know when to check yourself.

My full diagnosis, as I’ve collected from three different psychiatric professionals, is Bipolar I with Borderline Personality, Narcissistic Personality, and Antisocial Personality traits, along with sporadic anxiety and mild paranoia. What that means, is that I am an emotional enigma. I could feel anything at any time, even if it’s the incorrect response to stimuli. Also, that feeling could change on a whim with no warning. I also lack a capacity for empathy, think unusually high of myself, and have a very bad impulse control problem.

When I occasionally tell people this, they don’t believe it.

But you’re so well adjusted. You’re not very moody. If they don’t have you on medication, you’re obviously better.

No. You’re wrong.
I’m not well adjusted. I’m conditioned for how I must act in public and at work to keep my job and not get arrested.
I’m extremely moody, but, again, I have a job and must maintain a face that is conducive to my keeping that job.I am very much supposed to be heavily medicated. I didn’t like the pills, any of them, so I just stopped taking them. That was, of course, a dangerous move on my part, and they were not happy with me any of the times that happened. So I stopped seeing all of my psychiatric professionals.

Just because you make the decision to see someone doesn’t mean they can fix you in time for you to accept help. Likewise, just because you stop seeing someone doesn’t mean you can’t implement ways of functioning in society. This does not, however, mean that you are at all fixed.

Maybe it’s stress. My job is stressful. It’s the last month of the year, we just wrapped up Month-End, and there are so many new people around here that I’m pretty much a proofreader, at this point. I also just dealt with the fact that I did NONE of the things I wanted to do this year. I lost no weight. I repaired none of my house. I didn’t landscape my backyard. I didn’t go back to school OR manage to save any money. I didn’t find a new significant other to try and invest time with. I just existed in my horrible monotony and let this year slip by like it didn’t matter…

But it did matter. I had goals. I wanted to change who I was. They say that once you hit 30, you are who you will be for the rest of your life. I’m terrified of 30… and I only have 4 years left to figure out who the hell I want to be. I’ve never known. I still don’t know. I just know it’s not THIS person. I hate this person. I hate everything about her, from her weight to her level of crazy. I hate how she lives. I hate the things she loves that no one else does. I hate how lazy she is and how much she just wants to not exist like 90% of the time.

So maybe it’s the stress. Stress of life. Stress of expectation. Stress of not knowing what the hell I’m doing. Maybe I’m just tired since I don’t sleep anymore.

I’m just sad today.
I want to curl up and die.
Or maybe just not exist at all anymore in a non-deathy kind of way.
I want to mean something important, or nothing at all.
I want to eat everything to try and get that nice feeling I associate with food, but I don’t ever want to eat again in the hopes that I can become scary thin.
I am a walking contradiction.

In better news, I already know I’m getting a cool blender for Christmas…
I’m I’m thinking of going on a smoothie diet. Get some Shakeology or something, and just give up solid foods…It could work, maybe. We shall see.Excited about my blender, though…
Totes been wanting one for months now.