And… I’m Out

SHIT THAT CROSSES THE LINE:
Not taking shit I say seriously.
Withholding important information.

Last night I went to a movie with SupaNerd. The last entry toyed with the idea that I wasn’t sure that I liked him, so much as I wanted to like him. That thought hadn’t left my mind, but he asked and I like having plans. So we went to see Zootopia. I actually saw it yesterday morning with mothership, but it’s a really good movie. It’s a really good movie about discrimination, and equality, and I was really impressed with the whole thing. I hadn’t heard any reviews, and no one I knew was excited to see it, so I was just going because I like having breakfast with the mothership and watching a movie. Anyways, SupaNerd didn’t get off work till 8, so by the time he swung by to pick me up we had limited viewing options. Fortunately it’s a good movie.

Now, I know that I have a lot of pet peeves. Too many: I’ll throw it out there that I have too many pet peeves, but if I tell you that I have pet peeve that’s not a playful invitation to irritate me until I want to bash your teeth out with a brick. In fact, I would not recommend that. I have been known to enact physical violence on people that poke at a pet peeve. I don’t have a good tolerance for it.

That being said, when SupaNerd first tried to touch my curly hair, I told him I don’t play that. I also let him know that I smacked a bitch at work for touching my hair. It’s a thing. I like space. Stay the fuck away from my face and/or hair. I was nice about it. I didn’t snap at him. I didn’t swat his hand away. I didn’t punch him in the throat. I later decided that I should have prolly punched him in the throat, cuz all he did was proceed to poke at my face and hair. I hate that shit. I hate it so much…

I kind of hate people touching me at all. For whatever reason, he feels the need to do it constantly. My mom says my dad was like that, too. Just had to touch her ALL THE TIME. Why? Why can’t you just be a human being over there in your own human being bubble? There’s a time and place, motherfucker. You don’t need to touch me all the time. Since he was a such a fuckwad about my face and hair pet peeve, I allowed him to touch my thigh, instead. I still didn’t like it. I still hated it. I still wanted to beat his face in with something hard and sandpapery. Still, it was better than him trying to fuck with my face.

Another pet peeve is being OVERLY cheap. You wanna use a coupon on our date? Great. Whip that shit out. What else you got a coupon for? You wanna argue with a waitress about the DOLLAR that it costs to sub out french fries for sweet potato fries? Too cheap. He managed to con her into sending out a refill on my coke cray-early so he could have a free coke, since he was ordering water. Really? REALLY? 

Now, if he was cray broke and counting every penny, I could understand being cheap, but I still think it’s some rude ass shit to argue with a powerless waitress about the price of Coca-Cola and fries… Thing is, though, he’s not broke. He’s got a really good job. We discussed this previously because he eats shrimp and scallops all the damn time. I can’t afford shrimp and scallops on the daily, but he can. Can he afford that because he’s arguing with waitresses over a dollar? No. I don’t think so. It’s unnecessarily cheap, and it’s motherfucking rude. That waitress didn’t make the prices. I wanted to curl up and die… 

So, then we were watching previews. There’s this movie coming out called Storks. Looks cute, but makes me cringe cuz it’s about babies. Out of nowhere, SupaNerd says: “That’s how I’m going to teach Johnny about where babies come from.” Who’s Johnny? I, too, was curious. Nephew? I know his sister has a kid. Little brother? Cousin, perhaps?

NOPE. HE HAS A KID.

Now, don’t misread me. I don’t mind people with kids. I’ve dated a number of guys that had kids. I love other people’s kids. I could totally be a step-mom. What pissed me off is that it’s been too fucking long to have not mentioned this previously. His defense was simply that he forgot to mention it. Whoops.

Fuck that noise.

If you can forget to mention that you have procreated… what else have you neglected to tell me? Are you married? Are you married to like seven different people across the US who all have the same story of you leaving your wife and six children behind? Are you a felon? Do you have the Herp? Are you a Russian sleeper cell sent here by Vladimir Putin to recruit me? Are you the leader of a new cult and you need me to be the creepy serial-killery enforcer at your side? Do you sacrifice infants to the dark lord under a blood moon to gain the knowledge of the universe and the powers of night?

This kid is like new, too. New enough to need a talk about where babies come from. Like… A, when does he ever see little Johnny? Is that REALLY why he goes back to Wichita every other week? 2, Why does the mother have full custody? It’s not the 80s anymore… a father can get full custody, especially if the mother is as cray as he’d have me believe she is. D, HOW DO YOU FUCKING FORGET TO MENTION THAT YOU HAVE OFFSPRING?! That’s a big thing.

Also, he tried to fucking talk to me during the movie… at a fucking theater.
I was so irritated that the sound of his laughter made me want to kill him.

It was all just the topping on the bad ju-ju cake.
I can’t trust him. I can’t tolerate his touchy-feely habit. I already felt like he was clingy and needy. He’s cheap to the point of rudeness. He makes gross noises when he eats, breathes, or generally exists. (Mucus problem? Idk.) He talks during movies. I’d rather have been on a play-date with a 6 year old. It was so bad.

So… I thought about it, and ghosting him wasn’t on the table, because I was in too deep. My friend in California agreed. My friend in Australia said I should just use the kid as a card to play, since a normal person might call it off because they “want to take that journey with someone for the first time.” Which is gross…

I didn’t wanna lie… so I ghosted him, and I don’t give a fuck.

This guy stood me up once. Then ignored me for a month. Then acts like a  freaking needy child AND FORGETS TO TELL ME HE HAS A CHILD. Is it shitty to ghost people? Yes. It’s shitty and total fuckery. And I regret nothing.

I don’t have time for the “but why”  and all the attempts to justify everything they did wrong. Even if you don’t answer their questions, they try to justify everything… and then they might get mad. He might secretly be a psycho. He’s got a shitty “I’m always right” attitude anyways. You should hear the shit he says about his sister just because she’s a single mother. So then a bitch starts to think… would he get more angry if I ignore him or if I tell him it’s over. What if he shows up to my house in an angry fit? These are the things a woman has to consider. Fortunately, I have four dogs and I say creepy serial-killery shit all the time, so he’s naturally a bit wary, but I wouldn’t write him off. He could still snap.

So… that’s the end. I’m out.

I deleted my dating profiles. I’m okay alone. I like being alone. I have honestly missed not having to text people. Yeah, I’d like someone to do stuff with, but I still hold out hope that one of these days I’ll meet someone when I’m out doing the stuff I like to do, and we can build off that…

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Getting Dragged Down

So I’m Bipolar. Amongst other things.
Let’s start there.

You may have heard the phrase “trigger” being thrown around the internet by people. Usually, and I don’t care who hates me for saying it, this term is used when someone says something that offends another person on the internet, or brings up something that reminds someone of something they’re trying to forget. It’s kind of a bullshit term for, “I can’t handle this, but I don’t have the common sense to get the fuck off the computer.”

As a person with mental illness, well out of my teen years, I’m not really into that scene. If you say trigger to me, I stop talking to you. I can’t even deal with your bullshit. I have my own, and I don’t run around trying to tell people not to say or do things just because they make me feel like I’m full of worms and decayed flesh. That’s not real life. Real life is a word stabbing pain into your gut like a knife, and you swallowing hard before plastering a smile across your face anyways as people laugh at something that brings you excruciating pain. Real life is getting up and dragging your ass out of bed even though your whole being is begging you to just lie there in bed until you die. Real life is feeling your world crashing down around you, and still just going about your life like any other person. Real life is going home and drowning your pain in some vice of your choice, and still getting up the next day like it never happened. That’s life.

When I say trigger. I mean a trigger. I mean that in the midst of all this fake living I do for the sake of appearance and normality, something has managed to work its way deep into the recesses of my inner being and poke at just the right spot to cause my chest to cave in. I mean that I’ve managed to crash through the floor of my depression, and that I now have to spend some time wallowing around in the black ink of despair for a while, all while maintaining the best outward expression of normality that I can. It’s quite exhaustive.

My trigger, more often than not, always comes from my mother. That’s not to say that my mother is abusive, or that she sets unrealistic expectations for me, or any of that. My mom’s great… But she is horrifically depressed. Most days I can more or less brush it off, but sometimes it just eats at me like a disease. I mean any conversation with her feels like she’s not even remotely listening to me, which bothers me immensely, and any time I ask her about things she puts such a grey cast on it that I can feel myself getting pulled down with her.

If you don’t know, there are levels of to mood… I arrange them by color.
The white zone is mania. I love the white zone. I can get so much done… I’m irrationally happy… I am just excitement and awesome and life is grand.
The red zone is manic anger… I like that one, too, but it’s because I come up with the cruelest revenge plots… I don’t usually get to act on them, though, because I burn through the adrenaline too fast.
The blue zone is contentment. That’s the moment when I wake up feeling refreshed, and I look around at my dogs and just smile to myself and spend all day reading and sipping tea, and everything is just kind of okay. I don’t get to spend a lot of time here.
The beige zone is what I imagine most people live in. I’m not up, or down. I’m just kinda here. It’s where usually am when I go out with friends, because I like going out, but I don’t usually like whatever my friends might have dragged me to.
The gray zone is where my mother lives. It’s sad, but it’s not bawling or anything. You just feel shit, and you enjoy nothing, and even if you think you might enjoy something, a piece of your brain kicks on that reminds you why you can’t enjoy this moment… I don’t spend much time here, myself… instead…I end up in the black. That’s usually a term for not being in debt, but I’m crazy in debt… For me in the black refers to the void. When I get dragged down, you can see nail tracks in the grey as I speed past it down into the black. It’s where my soul goes to die. I don’t like it there, as you might imagine. It’s like my brain is stuck in a tar pit. Everything I try to do to get out makes the experience worse. I get dragged farther and farther down until I can’t even see a glimmer of the white zone anymore. It’s usually when I curl up somewhere (the shower is a great curling spot) and just try not to feel anything.

Feeling nothing is better than the black. Or maybe it’s part of it. I’m never sure. I just know that if I can manage to feel nothing, I can resurface somewhere in the gray or beige zone and work from there. The important thing is to get out of the black… to find some way to rise up out of the darkness and not kill myself or something equally as irrational and stupid (because all that shit makes perfect sense in the black).

At work or anywhere that isn’t home, however, I can’t curl in a ball somewhere and wait it out. No, instead I have to figure out some way to claw my way out of the black without losing my composure… without anyone noticing. Some attempts are better than others. Sometimes I can sit at my desk, take a Xanax, and listen to music until I’m kind of okay. Sometimes I end up snapping at people. Sometimes I end up hiding in the bathroom until I’m sure I’m not going to lose it. None of these things are particularly effective. I’m going to be in the gray or the black all day. There’s no way to pull myself out, because I have nowhere to reset.

Today that overwhelming feeling of of black has decided that I’m not going to eat. Fortunately, I’m fat from all the binge eating I usually do when I’m upset, so I won’t actually suffer for it, but it does give me a queasy feeling that makes me irrationally sad. Also, I’m cancelling things I love… I might re-up later, but when I get like this I just want to get rid of everything I own or do, and just stay in my house forever…. never seeing anyone, never leaving, just me and the dogs… maybe order some books from the internet to occupy my mind… It’s a bad feeling. I don’t like it. I don’t like this side of me. I don’t like the monster I turn into when my moods change.

Werewolf

I’ve been told that his is what it’s like to watch my moods change.

Nothing’s going to make this right, right now. Maybe when I get home eight or so hours from now, then it will all be fine. Maybe I can crawl into bed and sleep it off, or cry it out, or throw something at a wall and watch the shattered pieces as a metaphor for my insides…

13/365/2015

So I’ve been looking for a job.

I thought you liked your job?

Yeah, I do, but I can’t keep coming here with all this ridiculous bullshit. It’s so unpleasant to come to work and know that the bitch in front you, that you trained, has tried to get you fired. She has. Since Christmas this crazy bitch has launched an assault on my BossLady Mothership and myself. So, that’s made work real fucking unpleasant.
Also, I’m getting tired of working with the Mothership. I love her. She’s not a bad boss. She just… doesn’t treat me like an employee. I am her daughter, so I have to work harder, fly higher, and never be wrong. And I’m sick of it. I’m not opposed to hard work, but this is a double standard. That maniac bitch is allowed to go out and socialize on the showroom floor because Mothership doesn’t want to correct her, but I miss getting up for break and it’s a big thing.Everywhere I’ve applied is unimpressed with my resume, though. Apparently my 9 years of work experience means nothing without a CPA… which is depressing as fuck. So, I’m looking into college again… which is frustrating in itself, because it’s just going to add to my student loan debt that NEVER FUCKING GOES AWAY. So… that’s fun. I’m depressed. I hate everything. I’m lonely. My life is not going well. Earlier today I had a thought… “Well, bitch, maybe you should have just killed yourself back on the 1st. I mean, it’s not like shit seems to be getting better.” I never said it was a positive thought.I’ve been trying to be vegan, but I’m not good at it. So then I decided to be vegetarian and eat cheese, but that really just resulted in my binge-eating cheese. So, I had to drop that shit. I like food, but I hate cooking every single night. I hate that eating meat now makes me tired, as realized when I ate some this weekend. I hate that I don’t think I’ve lost any weight. But I have 18 days left… and maybe I’ll just keep doing it. Or… close to it.I’m not gonna lie to you, I have a whole chicken thawing in my fridge right now… and I fully intend on cooking it tonight. Last night I had rabbit… I am eating LESS meat, overall. I feel good when I don’t eat meat. I don’t necessarily feel bad when I do eat meat, but not as good as I do after a non-meat meal. I recognize and appreciate the effects a meat-less diet offers. I’m attempting to eat more kinds of grain (tried quinoa last night… weird but good), and I have main veg staples that I eat, now… but vegetables are not good for binge eating.

Then don’t binge eat?

Yeah, that’s how I cope with stress, so that NOT DOING IT thing really isn’t going to work for me. Also, no one tell me to exercise to relieve stress. Exercise makes me think about suicide. There are no endorphins, there is only me and my brain doing something mindless, so it wanders off into why my life is worthless and how I should just kill myself. So save your breath, because I cannot exercise to relieve stress. Recently, since vegetables are SO BAD for binge eating, I’ve been eating cookies… and ice cream. I hate that. I don’t really like sweet shit… but it’s all I have to play with, here… I just… I am miserable… and lonely… but at the same time anyone that would want to see me I can’t stand being around right now… I’m hoping that it’s a phase that I blow out of, like all my moods… but it’s a persistent and very upsetting phase…

What Is My Life Now?

I found a journal I’ve been keeping on and off since Senior Year yesterday. Read some it… how lost I was, then.

But then I started thinking about it… and I’m not less lost now then I was. Not at all. I can’t even answer questions I used to be able to answer anymore. Older people will tell you that your 20s are meant to be when you figure out who you are, but fuck… I haven’t any kind of idea. I’ve had the same job for eight years, I live in the same house, next door to my mother…
I mean the only thing that’s really changed between 2006 and now, is that I have four dogs and a cat, instead of two dogs. I also go out significantly less. So… I guess I got more boring and became more of an animal hoarder. AND I stopped dating people… So I dropped that slut status… But is that gonna be the rest of my life?I know they say not to compare your life to the lives of others, because they don’t share your experiences and nothing will be comparable… but it’s almost impossible not to make the comparison. Social media throws it all in my face.Things other people have accomplished:

    MarriageChildrenLaw schoolNot growing up at allMoving awayGetting big awesome jobsJobs in the field in which they got their degree

I got none of that. I don’t even have a significant other… because people suck… but I haven’t really DONE anything. I got a graphic design degree from a horrible for-profit college… and that’s really the end of the achievement list. I haven’t even lost weight since high school. I gained it. It’s like my life is standing totally still.

But, then I had this scary ass thought…
I don’t wanna get married. I’m not going back to college, more than likely. I have a house and a good job here, so I’m probably not going to move any time soon. So… aside from either accidentally getting pregnant (which I don’t foresee since I’ve decided to stop banging people for good this time) or adopting a kid, there is nothing else for me to look forward to. I have no achievements left in life. That’s the most depressing thing to happen to a 25 year old, EVER.

Bird’s got a new man, and her graduation is coming up. Who knows what she’ll end up doing in the next five years.
Davy gets his bar exam scores soon and, in spite of his doubts, will probably get a lawyer job somewhere. Knowing Davy, this will take exactly five years for him to become some kind of partner in the firm and then he and his man will adopt some kids and sale off into the golden sunset.
And… that’s like the end of my friends list.

I have this horrible fear that nothing will change in my life in the next eight years… What if I wake up at 33 and I have 16 dogs, no significant other, no kids, and I’m still here at the dealership? I’m gonna kill myself, that’s what will happen… Probably not. I can’t leave dogs without a home… but for fuck’s sake. I just…

I can’t even… I’m scared. I hate this crap. Living with total uncertainty CANNOT be the endgame to life… You reach 25 and your world falls apart because it has no where left to go?What kind of shit deal is that?