Holiday Party Pains In The Ass

People are so shitty… It makes you wonder why you would even bother trying to be nice.

My boss tried to put together a holiday party, seeing as the GM and the company aren’t doing anything for it this year. She bought Qdoba for the office and bought everyone a silver ornament with Swarovski crystals and a bottle of wine. She also organized a totally optional gift exchange, and was just trying to do something nice. My boss doesn’t even like Christmas. It’s a stressful time of year for she and I, and she just wanted to do something nice for the office girls to show her appreciation for them.

In particular, this one chick was just fucking miserable. She’s on a diet she swears is going to get her into a size 6, which is fine, but to avoid eating the Qdoba she intentionally scheduled an appointment so she left during the party. On top of that, my boss went out of her way to find this woman a legit diet wine to go with her diet. Not only was she completely unappreciative, she fucking gave the wine away immediately, and the ornament because she’s moving so she didn’t want a small ornament with her initial.

I get not wanting presents. I’ve gotten many I don’t want, and the POLITE thing to would have been to take them home and then throw them away.

I know it shouldn’t be a huge deal, but this woman is fucking rude all the time. She has no fucking decorum, and my boss has defended this for her before when she’s snapped at someone she shouldn’t. At some point you have to watch what fucking hand you bite, cuz the lady that signs your paychecks and defends your dumbass when you fuck up is NOT the one you should be hurting the feelings of.

Also, can I just say I’m so fucking sick of hearing about my other coworker being homeless? Which she’s not, really. She met a guy online, and never spoke to him, but decided he was her fiance, and then sent him all her rent money, got kicked out of her apartment, and she’s crashing on an air mattress with some people from her church. She’s lucky she’s got nice church people to help her out, cuz I’m sick of her dumbass. WHO FALLS FOR THAT?! Furthermore, she ran around here asking everyone for money, and then when it all went to shit she ran around here telling everyone she’s homeless. We fucking know why you’re homeless, you did it to yourself, and I don’t fucking care anymore.

Also, there’s the new chick, who quite noticeably hates working in here. I’d tell her to get out and find a new job, but the pregnant chick goes on maternity leave at the end of the month and I need the new chick to help out. When preggers gets back, whatever…

Pregnant chick is irritating, too. She went months being sad and angry, then happy and told everyone she was pregnant, and now she’s moody, but also I’m discovering all the things she doesn’t understand about her job. I will never get someone who can do a job and have no idea WHY they do something. How do you do something daily and not know WHY you do it? It’s crazy.

I guess I take all this shit personally because making my boss’ life hard means they’re making my mom’s life hard. That’s the downside of working with family… I take it personally. I could have brutally murdered the rude ass diet chick today, and strung her organs around the office as Christmas decoration. Because I know how hard my mom tries to show these girls she appreciates them, even though half of them don’t understand their job, the other half doesn’t do their shit right, and all of them are fucking drama llamas… and all my mom did was try to makeup for the short-comings of the company, since the GM has gone all Scrooge McDuck and just wants to swim in a vault of coin instead of show any appreciation for his workers that he doesn’t talk to or know anything about, myself included.

It’s all just so shitty. I’ve been trying SO HARD to get a little festive this year. I put up both my little black Christmas trees. I wrapped presents in actual wrapping paper this year. I bought cards to send out. I decorated my desk at work. Christmas isn’t a fun time of year for me, and I generally hate it, but I’m trying SO FUCKING HARD this year, and people just ruin it.

Mom and I are supposed to go to Zoo Lights tonight… trying to be festive, since we’ve both been crazy sick and haven’t wanted to do much of anything… and I dunno if we’re gonna make it there. I’m not sure we’ll even enjoy it if we do. The perk of not working with family is that when you see each other it’s a vacation from work… mom and I are just a continuation of work… a reminder of the shitty place we have to go everyday in spite of hating everyone we work with.

I just wanted to try to have a nice Christmas this year… but I don’t think it’s going to happen.

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61 Days

My birthday is coming… Still got two months till it rears its ugly head, but it’s already darkening my door.

Why would a 29th birthday bother someone?

I’ve hated my birthday for years. It’s the culmination of a myriad of things, like the fact my birthday falls on Halloween. That SOUNDS like a cool birthday, but in reality it becomes inconvenient. I never get to take my birthday off because taking month-end off in my profession is impossible. People also make plans for Halloween. It’s a big party holiday. When presented with my birthday or some party with strangers downtown… downtown wins. It’s just a thing. So, with no one to invite to a party, and no way to take off for it to even really party, my birthday is just kind of a burden for me.

The last GOOD birthday party I had was when I was 15. Mom paid for me and some friends to hang out at Dave & Buster’s, and then all us lil goth kids when to see The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003). We ruined the experience for the mid-thirties couple behind us, but we didn’t care. We laughed, tried to scare each other, cringed… did kid shit. I think my mom was just excited for me to have some friends. They were fleeting, even at the best of time. I can’t recall doing anything for the rest of my birthdays after that… until I was 21.

A 21st birthday in America is a big deal. You can finally drink! Woo! Rager! Or something. The thing about my 21st first birthday is that I didn’t WANT to do anything for it. I was scarce on friends, as I had been for a while. My live-in boyfriend of the time decided it was a great excuse for a party. So… he invited all of HIS friends. To his credit, he tried to invite mine. Some showed up for a minute, but most didn’t even filter through. His friends were nice, though. This guy we called Fargo cut my birthday cake with a Samurai sword, and everyone got wasted. I tried to have fun, but I actually went to bed before everyone even left. It was a great attempt at a party, but at the end of the day it just had nothing to do with me.

The next year (I think) I didn’t even try to have a party. Instead, my friend Billie and I went to Zombie Crawl and then to a Polkadot Cadaver concert. It was great! I had a lot of fun. She’s in Oregon now, though. So… not really something repeatable.

I’ve had other people try to wrangle something together, but over the years my birthday started marking more than my inability to maintain healthy friendships. People’s careers took off. People got married. People had kids. People moved away. People changed. I’ve been at the same place for 12 years, even though my position has changed. I’ve got an alright career, but nothing to metaphorically write home about. I stopped dating. I lost friends. Every year my birthday just seemed to come around and remind me that another year had passed where I had earned no real adult points, and nothing had changed.

Obviously I’ve changed. I’ve clawed my way up to office manager, so far from the little file clerk I was 12 years ago. I have a house, four dogs, a cat, and I’m doing well for myself. I’ve stopped being a little goth kid and even found a moderately classy sense of style. I earned a college degree. There’s a lot in my life that’s worth being proud of. Still, every year, all I can think about is what I haven’t done… the typical adult milestones I haven’t even tried to get to… and it depresses me, because at 28 and 10 months, I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.

My mom tries to console me. She was 34 when she had me, so there’s plenty of time for family. She never knew what she wanted from life till she decided she wanted the best for ME. She was a party girl and a serial bride. I appreciate her sentiments, but I’m not a party girl… and I haven’t even had a boyfriend since 2012. That boyfriend, by the way, has been married for over a year now.

So, I’ve been trying to think of things to do to avoid my crisis. I’m still unmedicated, still very bipolar, but I’m back to rapid cycling (pretty sure, now). I’m TRYING to do something different, which is leave… but I still feel like there’s so many things I just DON’T do, and I will probably never do.

And really, that’s fine. There’s no REAL obligation to DO these things. I don’t believe in marriage. I don’t really WANT my own kids. I don’t really want a big, fancy career. I just want to be debt free, with my dogs, and have a job that pays the bills without making me cry. I could use a significant other, but a best friend that lived in the same state would do. But knowing these things, and being rational about it doesn’t fix the feeling that I’m missing out and being left behind.

So… if you’re reading this… if you have a suggestion for something I could do to NOT have a total crisis this year, that would be fucking stellar. All suggestions appreciated.

IT’S BACK… I think?

Morning Time

The hardest part of my life is giving a fuck, especially on a Monday morning.

Part of me is really into the idea of running away from life and living in the woods as a crazy homeless person until I die of exposure or hunger… I mean at least I don’t have to spend time at a job I’ve grown to hate with people I’ve grown to resent. But the bigger part of me wants to care for my dogs and buy books… so here I am.

I mostly cleaned my room yesterday. You’d think that would make me feel accomplished or something, but all I could focus on was everything else I need to get done, everything that needs to be cleaned or purged or packed. Tonight I think I’ll go get some packing supplies and pack up my record player, vinyls, and all my electronics except my PS4. I also need to finish my room, or try anyways. Then I have some stuff to list for sale, and see if I can pull in any money. I’m just going to start packing everything up… it’s a little early for it, but why not. My stuff will either collect dusk being out, or it can collect dust in boxes. At least in boxes they’re ready to move whenever I’m ready for that.

At least if I get everything packed up I can paint the house and fix some things so that I pull some equity out of it when I go to move. Gotta paint everything white… put in some carpet on the stairs…

Afternoon Time

My mood is kind of all over, which is better than crippling depression ALL THE TIME. I seem the most down in the morning and when I get home from work. Mid day I’m a little manic, and late at night I get manic… so I guess I’m back to rapid cycling. At least it means that I get stuff done at work, but I also feel like this is kind of wasted since I work all day.

Like right now, I’d love to go to the gym, and then go home and sort things in the basement, haul some stuff out, box up stuff to keep, etc. I’m not sure I’d do that if I were actually at home, because the basement is where I hide all my emotional stuff, but right now I’m pretty upbeat and would like to do productive things. It’s unfortunate this will probably wear off before I even walk through my front door.

I really like electronica when I’m up. I have this playlist on Spotify that I’ve been defaulting to called Bleeps & Bloops, and it’s just weird cerebral electronica. I’ve also fallen into some dubstep recently, which is a thing I never thought I’d get into. Maybe I should go to a club… I could use a night out. I dunno what clubs play dubstep these days, though… Maybe I could research it. The problem is keeping the mood up into the evening enough to WANT to get there and have a good time, but I can deal with that later.

Maybe I’ll play video games tonight. I’d like to do that. Or maybe read. MAYBE I COULD DRAW. I dunno. I’m making big plans that I prolly won’t be able to keep, since this mood won’t last… Lol. But I dunno. When I’m up, I’m up. I wanna do EVERYTHING… I wish I was always up. Up is a nice place to be.

Anyways… Guess that’s all. OKIES BYE

Fake It Till You Make It

It’s a curiously well-known fact that the act of making yourself smile will cause your body to release endorphins and serotonin, even if you aren’t feeling happy at that moment. Because of this, it’s been speculated that if you smile when you feel stressed you can minimize the toll that stress takes on your body. The official jury is still out on how strong this reaction is and if it’s effected by whether you’re forcing a smile or genuinely smiling (called a Duchenne smile, which involves muscles from around the eyes), but nonetheless studies show that it seems to have an impact.

Shrinks will tell you think of thing, too. If you’re depressed and nothing makes you happy anymore, make yourself do things that used to make you happy until they make you happy again. Pretend you’re still happy. Make yourself do things happy you did. Eventually you’ll feel better again, they say.

It sounds so easy, like when I mine information and develop new interests in things when I meet new people… but it’s not that easy. I sit down to draw and can’t think of anything to draw, or worse, I think of something to draw and ruin it. I try to play a video game, and I can’t even get the game basics right. I go out to a show and end up sipping vodka in the back of the room alone instead of talking to anyone, and end up leaving feeling worse than when I dragged myself out.

Recently, D2 had a friend who was really tail spinning. Long story short, a girl fell for her best friend. He didn’t feel the same. So she was devastated, and he was angry. Her behavior spiraled out to the point she cut herself and contemplated suicide. So D2 went to her house and held her, called her parents, and I guess she’s doing better now. He also planted in her head that she might be bipolar, like he is.

Here’s why that all bothers me.

A, not everyone is a fucking bipolar. D2 is diagnosed. I am diagnosed. It does not mean that everyone who tries to kill themselves is bipolar. It means a lot of people can’t deal with life. For a number of reasons.

2, I, personally, wouldn’t have time for this bullshit… Spiraling out in to overwhelming depression because someone doesn’t love you back romantically is a dumbass reason to be suicidal. It’s mellow dramatic. It’s attention-seeking. It’s stupid. Being angry at someone for having feelings for you is a dumbass reaction. It just invalidates that person and leaves them open to some dumbass emotional response that will distance both you, and turn into some superfluous bullshit.

D, D2 tells me all of this, about people I barely know, who have pretty much replaced me and my function in his life… and meanwhile I’m at home looking at hoarded bottles of Xanax, Temazapam, and antipsychotics wondering if I have to put me to asleep forever.

D2 thinks he knows what suicide looks like. He’s been there, tried that, and recovered. He knows what a spiral looks like. It’s big, it’s in your face, it’s trying to get people to hurt you, and getting blackout drunk, and causing a scene at work. It’s crying in public, and looking distraught, and not being able to keep it together. It’s cutting yourself, and screaming at your friends, and suddenly cancelling all your plans with people, and putting yourself in dangerous situations. Anyone can spot a spiral. Those are the people that end up getting help. Those are the people whose parents worry about them, and whose friends ask if they’re okay, and who end up in a shrink’s office on a script of Prozac. What D2 doesn’t know is what giving up looks like.

Giving up is a process. It’s quiet and gradual. It’s always cancelling plans last minute because you feel “sick,” but promising that you guys will do something together soon. It’s giving up your hobbies because you’re too tired after work, but promising yourself that you’ll get back to them. It’s not taking a shower for a week, because you wake up late every single day and don’t have time. It’s staring at a bottle of vodka in your freezer, and being too depressed to even drink your sorrows away. It’s coming home to people and pets that are super excited to see you, but being too tired to deal with their energy, so you yell at them or close yourself off in your room. It’s buying things you don’t need just because you think it might fill the hole in your life where your friends used to be. It’s eating too much. It’s not eating enough. It’s sitting in your car for an hour after you get home because you know that when you walk through the door your spouse/kids/pets will want attention, and you really should mop and vacuum and clean the bathroom and put your laundry away… and all you’re going to be able to do is sit down and waste the evening until it’s late enough to go to bed… and it all starts over in the morning. It’s the fakers, who still get up, and go to work, and smile when you see them who give up.

So I’m waiting for my dresses: bright colors and happiness. I’m working on perfecting that Duchenne smile: how to smile with your eyes. I stopped buying books so I can read what I have. I’m monitoring what I eat and when, trying to stick to lean meats, veg, and some chocolate. I’m trying not to look into mirrors too long, so I can’t see the cracks in the facade. I’m distracting myself with educational youtube channels and staring at blank paper until I decide I can try again the next day when it’s finally time to go to bed.

I’m faking it… and I don’t know that I feel better at all, but it’s pretty evident that no one is the wiser to what’s going on beneath the surface. No one’s come knocking on my door to check on me. No one blinks an eye when I cancel plans at the last second, no matter how many times in a row it happens. No one thinks twice about my overuse of the 😛 emoji, or how they haven’t seen me in real life in a while.

Sometimes, when I feel real low, I wonder what people would think if I were to kill myself. I mean, all the signs are there. It’s not like I’ve put real effort into hiding it. Just put on that fake smile and talk when you’re supposed to, and everything else can be ignored. Everyone always says they never see it coming when people kill themselves… but it’s because no one is looking, and even if they are, it’s easier to convince themselves that it’s not their business.

It’ lucky, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, that I have so many pets… I’m sad, yes. I think about killing myself a lot, yes. I am overwhelmingly responsible, though. I would never leave my pets, or my mom like that. Especially since my mother would just kill HERself, and we’d both be dead, and ten animals would end up in a shelter without us. It’s just a series of events that wouldn’t help anyone.

Still, sometimes I wish someone would ask if I’m okay and demand to just be there. What a hypocritical statement… it’s not like I bother checking on anyone… but they say suicide is selfish, so maybe that comes with the territory.

Update: I reached out to check on Bird. She’s been sad, and I wish someone would check on me, so I checked on her. And told her a cool Zelda hack about chickens. So… at least I did that.

Dresses

Oh look. Pictures of me being depressed.

I have developed this habit of buying clothes ONLY for work, so I have nothing to wear when I go out anymore. That doesn’t sound like it would be a really real problem, but it is. You never consider how much what you wear reveals about yourself. My wardrobe being catered exclusively around work and nothing being something that I’d wear to a social event really shows how much I’ve forsaken social life. (Imma totally derail now… enjoy or skip down to ANYWAYS…)

I try to be social, but it ends up so disappointing.

For example, this past Friday I tried to hook up with Bird. She’d had a terrifying experience on the highway and wanted to go out and celebrate being alive… She turned down all my suggestions for actual fun things to do, and we ended up just getting a drink at a bar we don’t go to much “for something different.” I suggested everything from a local goth night, to crashing a senior citizen prom, to just trying a new venue with some different kind of music… but as much as she says she’d like to do more than the rest of our friends, who LIVE at karaoke and do literally nothing else, she doesn’t really want to try anything new either. On top of that, I tried to plan for her being late, because she’s always fucking late, and I was still there for about an hour alone before she showed up. So… all together I call the night a bust. We didn’t even really have anything to talk about since neither of us seem to do much at this point. I think we are both horrifically depressed… and depressed people do not lift each other up, but rather we drag each other down.

I was supposed to go to a birthday party Saturday night, but hurt my back doing yard work and backed out. I made sure to make it to a move with Bird on Sunday morning. She wanted to see Annabelle: Creation, and I was down. SO… I get her to confirm movie time and location, but just as I’m leaving my house she’s like…

“Are we still doing this?”
“Unless you suddenly changed your mind.”
“No, I’m just double-checking.”

::15 mins goes by and I’m outside the theater::

“But what about your back?”
“It hurts but all we’re going to do is sit.”
“Okay.”

And then she showed up like 20 mins later, right when the movie was starting.

I try really hard not to take shit personally, but if you wanna bail, just fucking bail. I hate people who vacillate way more than people who bail. At least I know when someone bails that I suddenly have free time. It’s still a little inconvenient, but at least it’s definitive so I can plan something else. Toss always being late into that mix and I’m just a weird mixture of hurt and angry that you’re wasting my time.

I was trying to wait for her in the parking lot, but I ended up just telling her where I was sitting and going into the theater because I stopped caring if she even showed up. I was there. I was irritable. I was seeing the movie with or without her… just cuz I was there.

I love Bird to death. She’s a great person, and I know she’s got her own shit she’s dealing with, but I just hate trying to do stuff with her. I just end up feeling bad because she vacillates on plans and then shows up late. So me, miss prompt-and-requiring-validation, feels like I’m not worth hammering down plans with, and that she’s not valuing my time… and she’s not valuing my time… and I find that mean… and the fact she’s one of two friends I legit see regularly really just compounds how meaningless I perceive that I must be to her, whether it’s true or not.

ANYWAYS I BOUGHT SOME DRESSES. I was going to go to Torrid on my way home from work one night this week, but got a better deal online and picked up six dresses there… and then I got three from Maurice’s that are plainer and cheaper, but still nice looking. I tried really hard to pick things I could, and WOULD, wear somewhere that isn’t work. I tried to throw some actual personality into it. It’s hard… because I don’t even know what I’d like to wear anymore…

I just use clothes to cover this terrible body I have, and that’s not fashion. I’m not expressing myself; I’m just hiding something I refuse to embrace. It contributes to my bad feels… I would really like to like myself again. I did for a while there, and it was great. I dunno what’s changed now… but I don’t like not liking myself.

So… gonna work on that, I guess.

Lonely

I closed my dating profile again… It’s just too depressing to deal with. The people that talk to me are poor conversationalists at best, and no one is attractive. I would literally kill another human being if it meant I could find someone attractive. It’s been so long since I found anyone except like Rihanna attractive. That is problematic because she’s not a real person… Celebrity crushes mean nothing.

I don’t usually put a lot stock into whether I find someone attractive, because it’s at the bottom of my requirements list. I can list unattractive people for all kinds of reasons, but after my most recent sexual encounter (which you can read about here if you’re interested) I’d really like to have some physical interest in the next person I have sex with… and preferably sooner than over a year from now.

I’ve considered that my plan to move to Oregon means that I probably shouldn’t be looking for anyone, anyways… cuz who wants a fling with a set time limit? That’s not even fun and spontaneous. I am just so incredibly lonely all the time. I spend weekends alone or with my mom at this point… I don’t really talk to anyone… It’s sad. It’s really fucking sad.

I can hear people saying, “go do things you like and meet people!” Here’s the thing. Even when I go do things alone, which I’ve been known to do, I don’t meet anyone. I dunno if I look menacing, or like a scared animal, or if people just legit don’t talk to people they don’t know… but I never leave an event with new friends. I leave trying to smile because I did a thing, but still feeling kinda lonely. I’ve tried initiating conversations at events, and it always feels like people just run away from me.

I’ve tried MeetUp, because that’s supposed to be a social thing where you’re expected to meet new people… and I tend to fade into the background of people because I become inexplicably shy, OR in one instance I was asked not to return (introverts are mean too, apparently, and I was too social for them) OR in one instance I showed up to an event and it was all people over 50 who berated me for being there, because people under 50 apparently shouldn’t need help meeting people.

I’ve tried to arrange plans with a friend, and it just goes by the wayside. I’ve tried to find events to go to, even if I don’t meet anyone, but it’s so hard to go to things when you know you’re gonna wander around alone and not have anyone to talk to.

I could use a friend. I thought a significant other would be easier, cuz people are ALWAYS looking for one of those, but people are so incredibly boring. Myself included.

Me: Book worm, comic nerd, horror junkie that likes live music and tacos, and who games once in a while.

Everyone else: Likes hiking, biking, and camping OR Plays video games and doesn’t leave the house OR Doesn’t have a job

There’s someone for everyone if you lower your standards low enough… but I’m at the minimum here… Job, address, car, and interesting. If I get lower standards than that I could just as easily pickup a homeless guy and just bring him home (which I’ve done on accident, but never on purpose).

It’s just not fair. I don’t want happily ever after; I just want someone to go to the movies with.

Ah well.

I’m starting a new eating directive this week and I’m hoping to go home and work on purging or the backyard or something half-ass productive. Maybe clean some stuff… I’m trying to spend less time at home doing nothing… cuz the nothing gets to me.

We’ll see how it goes, I guess.

A Double Post Kinda Day – Still Blue

What am I doing?!

I don’t know, but I keep texting him anyways. It’s not like I’m in love, or even lust, but I keep texting him. I guess I’m lonely. It’s not as though I have anyone to generally talk to about being sad. A stranger can chat without prying. I can talk to a stranger without thinking about anything important. It’s a nice escape from everything, I guess.

I suppose some people talk to their friends, but even with the small group of friends I keep I can’t imagine bothering them with my emotional turmoil. I mean, what do they care?

Most don’t: that’s the short answer. Having been removed from my immediate life for long enough, I have tried reaching out to my friend in California, but unsurprisingly he’s not really interested in it. I’m not sure why it’s surprising, as I’ve always felt him a touch self-absorbed anyway, but it hurts nonetheless. I tried telling a friend in Maine, because she’s another person I needn’t look in the eye when I spout my emotionally fucked bullshit, but while she’s concerned she isn’t really sure how to handle it. She just tries to reassure me, which is about as effective as it sounds reassuring a crazy person would be. Ha.

I have not tried to talk to my local friends, or my best friend in Oregon, about my meds or how I’m feeling. At my lowest I made it known to Bird that I was struggling, but I can’t imagine actually trying to explain a bipolar thought pattern to her. I considered trying to tell my bipolar friend, but he’s also very self-absorbed. He doesn’t even really do a good job at pretending to care about others; he’s just hellbent on trying to feel like a person again. I can’t really blame him for that… it’s hard the first time you lose yourself.

I could never REALLY talk to the Mothership about my bipolar. She understands depression, but only to the point she’s managed to build her own little barricade of coping mechanisms. So if I’m too depressed to get out of bed, that’s beyond her realm of understanding… so I, too, get out of bed and trudge on into the day, knowing that as soon as I walk through my front door I’m allowed to hit the floor and not move again until the next morning if I have to… and I have. No, my darling mother has major depression, not bipolar, so she doesn’t get mania. She doesn’t have highs that come in waves of feeling powerful, vengeful, or even happy. She doesn’t know what it feels like to think yourself invincible. She just knows the blue… the malaise… the ongoing sea of endless nothing. At least she sort of gets half of it, I guess. When I want to cry but have no reasons, she gets that… and she worries about all those depression-y things that crop up from time to time.

Knowing kinda half the story isn’t enough to understand, though. I can’t explain to her why mania is a problem or the complicated dance the two weave across the dance floor of my personality. I can’t explain why I do some things, or what it’s REALLY like to hear a voice you’re aware is all in your head. I can’t explain to her everything I’ve done under the influence of one episode or another. I can’t explain why there’s so shame behind my eyes and why certain innocuous things seem to hurt me. No, it’s not enough to know the half-truth of a disease and what ways it can eat at a heart.

So I keep texting him, even though I’ve already told him we shouldn’t see each other romantically. I hold my breath each time the phone buzzes, hoping it’s the nice young man that barely knows me. We don’t talk about my bipolar, or depression, or mania, or the voices, or how sometimes I think I’d rather die than have to get out of bed. I don’t feel the urge to tell him I’m struggling, or that going home at the end of a long work day is awful because there are little living things there relying on me to care for them. I don’t feel like I have to confess. It’s just small talk… How was your day? Did you see that film? What time are you free for a drink on Saturday? It’s nothing important. It’s nothing that hurts.

I don’t love him or lust for him… I don’t ache for him, and I definitely don’t want to be in his bed or his arms… but it’s just nice to fill the time with bullshit, I guess. When real life is so hard, the meaningless becomes quite pleasant.