Petrified

Some mornings, too many mornings, I wake up warm and cozy with my fleece sheets pulled up to my chin. And I feel petrified - emotionally and physically. I feel I can't possibly get myself out of bed for yet another day. My body feels made of stone.The simple acts of shower, make-up, hair, and finding something to wear seem like too much. I curl into a ball thinking about another day behind a computer, wearing headphones to help limit the noise that sets off my anxiety, forcing myself to interact with people for 8 hours, trying not to be irritated by everything around me. The argument with myself begins. Of course I can do this. I can get out of my bed and get the day going. I have a good life. Friends who care, people who love me, a good paying job for a great family friendly company. And yet moving - getting out of my bed - takes so much out of me I wonder what I'll have left for the rest of the day. If it's a good day, there's no pain anywhere. My joints don't hurt. My shoulder doesn't ache. If it's a really good day, once I get myself moving the day doesn't take quite as much energy and I can have a "normal" day.

I suffer from bipolar disorder. For me, the manias are rare but do happen. The depression is frequent. I've tried most medications and had various issues with the majority of them. I can't "snap out of it", as much as I'd like to do just that. I'd love to wake up and say, "Today I won't be depressed or anxious. Today I won't be so tired and achy that a day at work takes everything out of me." In fact I do wake up and say those things. But sometimes it's really not about "mind over matter".

This is my life. Some people can't handle it: the ups and downs and never being quite sure where I'll be at next, the overreactions, the irritability. I can't say I blame them. For those who have managed to stick around, I say thank you. It is because of you I'm still here and making it through another day.

6/2/14 Update:
Turns out I'm not bipolar. I suffer from depression. Although apparently note severe enough for my insurance to pay 50% of my medical bills. It's considered mild, so they pay 30%. Whatever, right? Anyhow, the last two psychiatrists decided I have some anxiety and depression, at times impulse control, but not bipolar disorder. I'm also what's called a Highly Sensitive Person. It explains a lot, actually. But so far knowing that isn't making the fact that I've spent most of the last two days hiding in my room wishing the world would just BE QUIET any easier to deal with. At least now I know I'm not crazy or just a bitch...

I'm Not a Nice Person

I have a couple of friends who insist on analyzing pretty much everything I say and do. They seem to have a hard time just listening. Just being there.  And one of these friends then does pretty much the exact opposite in her own life.

It's not that rare, I know. It's so much easier to tell others why they do or say things and what would be better to do or say.  Tonight? I found myself analyzing someone. Okay, that makes it sound nice. What I was really doing was being a bitch. I'm REALLY good at that.

So here's the scenario. Reading through Facebook posts (Tweeties, hush now!) and I come across a complaint about working a 12 hour day, spending an hour cooking a meal from scratch, and the kids eating it all and being gone from the table before the mom could even sit down.  Of course everyone else commented on what a great mom this person was, pointing out things that might help her feel better:

• You're an awesome mom
• At least your kids ate it, my kids won't eat
• Sounds like you made something they liked
• Try doing this
• Try doing that

Then there's me: What you do is not cook from scratch after a 12 hour work day. 

~Magickal Graphics~

That was actually the nicer version of what I originally wrote, which went along the lines of "You're a sucker. Don't cook after a 12 hour work day - save it for days you don't work or at least work less hours." Along with some other variations.

Her response was that she enjoys cooking for her kids and only gets to do it every other week.

This is when my extreme bitchiness set in and my THOUGHTS (Edited: 10/26/12: I did not POST these thoughts on FB because I realize they were way out of line) went along the lines of, "You obviously posted this to get people to tell you what a great mom you are and that you're under appreciated. If you're going to bitch about spending an hour cooking after a 12 hour day and your kids eating without you, then don't cook. Maybe cook when you don't have them and freeze it so you can spend that hour doing something with them. Also? You made the decision to end your marriage, so it's your own fault you only have them every other week AND that you now have to work 12 hour days."

Yep, I was THAT bitch. And I shocked myself. Especially since it's not like I haven't posted similar things. Sometimes for exactly what I said above: I wanted/needed someone to tell me I was a good mom. But more often than not I just needed to vent, I needed to know someone else was feeling or had felt this way before, and I fully expected some sarcastic comments.  Also? I made the decision to leave my husband, and everything I'm going through right now? My own fault! So, yah, way worse than my aforementioned friends who at least didn't get that mean about things! (Or did but didn't verbalize it.)

Magickal Graphics

My most bitchy comments usually come from feeling inadequate and jealous. I do recognize this and try to curb it. And the person above? I've been battling my jealousy of her for years. She took my best friend, BGB. (If my best friend is reading this and trying to figure out why I've nicknamed her BGB,she just needs to think about the song she always says describes her.)  I knew in my heart that my best friend needed her - I'd moved 2.5 hours away when BGB needed a best friend the most. She helped bring BGB out of her shell, reminded her how to have fun, had her back at all times.  And all I could do was watch from afar. She's also in great shape, has fantastic boobs and is completely confident in herself. She goes after what she wants, stands up for what she believes in, and doesn't put up with any shit. Frankly, she's kind of a conceited and rude at times, but if she's your friend you'd better believe she's going to be there for you no matter what. AND she fricking cooks from scratch after a 12 hour work day? Wth? I don't cook from scratch on a day off. 

The moral of this story? Don't be my friend on Facebook and make sure your settings are for only Friends (not Friends of Friends). Otherwise? Expect sarcastic comments. Not bitchy, because I usually filter those out, but definitely sarcastic. And if you are my friend? I probably do actually like you - I just get jealous and cranky at times. Don't be afraid to call me on it.