Two Years...

Yup

Peace in fire form.

Om shanti, shanti, shanti.

So strange

This High. This has lasted for so much longer than the ones before I’m starting to wonder if it’s really me… Like, is this who I’m going to be? Am I back to being the upbeat and energetic and go go go person I used to be?… Or am I waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I’m not saying I don’t like it- it’s just strange… This waiting. I was waiting for a month, then two. Now it’s been four. And I’m still pretty okay. I mean, my High catches me sometimes - hence the last post about being intoxicated. I hammered that nail in deep. Super unlike me… I’ll do a good buzz on occasion, but word slurring, stumbling up stairs, hangover drunk? It’s been a long while.

So there’s one sign that maybe my High isn’t so good. Or maybe it’s a sign that it IS.

I’m still unable to put away laundry, clean dishes, hair bows or earrings in any sense of a timely manner. I’m still unable to process the fact that my forced speech makes others uncomfortable and look at me like I’m speaking in tongues. I can’t help myself from interrupting others’ conversations… I can hear it, I can feel it, I know I should just shut it— and, yup, there- there it goes. Out of my mouth. I think about things obsessively… People, projects, things I’ve said wrong, things I should have said. The hamster is not merely spinning in its wheel, it’s running an airplane engine. I want to write… I want to get all of this out of my head and down and just be done… And then another thought comes and I need to write more… If I don’t go now, I might not stop tonight.

This is called "word vomit."

I swear I had a draft from last week somewhere… Dammed if I cannot find it.

Oh we’ll. I’m not there anymore anyway, so no sense in trying to back track to then. I’m pretty sure I’m on the way down. I am home, alone, and have managed to eat four bowls of cereal (which promptly was eliminated back into the sewer… TMI sorry).

I had an awesome Friday therapy, had a nice but cold afternoon at the farmers market, Saturday morning was an okay yoga- I felt distracted but couldn’t put my finger on why. Went for an almond joy mocha at the square. Went to a consignment shop- bought a $3 necklace. That afternoon I was happy to entertain myself by working on my husbands car (side note- I’m a closet gear head). We worked on that for so long that it got too dark to work anymore and thunderstorms rolled in while we were cleaning up… Kinda romantic, caught in the rain with him… And then there was Sunday.

I was completely Up allllllll morning. I had managed to wash, cut, prep, store and set up a snack tray with all the market Fruits and vegis. I cleaned and prepped and set up a whole chicken in the crock pot (seriously thinking of going back to vegetarian after that… Ew ew ew.). I scrubbed out the fridge, rearranged all the food to fit in there, did the dishes. And then realized it wasn’t even noon yet. Managed to then prep a bunch of stuff out of my clothes for consignment (my new excuse for purging and rearranging my closet…). And then… … … The kid started to get neeeeeeeeeeeedy. My pet peeve. And when I am Up, it’s annoyance is even worse… Poor kiddo. I know it’s not her fault. It makes me grouchy and irritated… And I shouldn’t be. I should be patient. I used to be. I used to work with dozens of kids everyday, all day… Now I can barely tolerate my own child for a short period of time.

To remedy this, I went to the grocery store. Stay with me on this one. We needed milk, and chocolate milk, and I had a coupon for a free fro-yo and a $1 off my entire purchase, all expiring Sunday. And… Here’s the best part— they have FREE babysitting there. Hallelujah. Two birds- meet one stone. I dropped her off, took my walkie talkie and wandered the aisles for a good forty five minutes. And yes, I bought more than I was going to… But I needed the break. Thirty dollars later, I am a pleasant Mommee again, and excited to see the kiddo. I tease her to guess the frozen goodies I have bought. I treat her to not one, but two quarter gumball treats (she picks a bouncy ball and a ring- good girl). We skip out to the car, sing BINGO at the top of our lungs on the way home… All is right again with the world. I even fall asleep by her side after our nightly ritual of bedtime songs…

And Monday. Monday starts UP, with two capital letters. It is Memorial Day, we have a picnic, at one. I am up at 6:15. I feel like I need to take something, as a good guest I should bring food… Cupcakes are already being made by an aunt… I scour my online hoarding site - which shall remain nameless but rhymes with sin terrist… I find two recipes… I leave my awake little one with my still unconscious husband and again, head to the store — this time I get out with only $12 of exactly what I needed. I proceed to make over fifty strawberry-short-stacks and banana-splits on a stick…. Pics to come. All before we leave at 1230. Yeah. UP. When there, I chat nicely- not abiding to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, skirting around the work questions, the how are you’s and the quizzical looks when I pause, mid-sentence to try to remember what I was just saying. Eventually, I fall into a good stride of —“shhhh…. Wait…. Listen to her talk…. Nod…. Wait…. Ask a question… Listen…. Don’t talk over her… Wait….” And repeat ad nauseam… I carry a beer, pour out a few micro inches each time I walk around the side of the house when no one is following me. It is a brilliant cover. This is tedious work I find. Pretending.

It must have gotten into my psyche. That night I sleep like a brick- so hard that my husband doesn’t even wake me at 615, or 700… He leaves at 745 and kisses me “it’s almost eight, just so you know…” His sweet way of saying get your ass outta bed… We are now late. After falling up the stairs, I slept on my right wrist wrong overnight, it throbs. Wearing my brace now we are even more disadvantaged to get to school and therapy on time. She is one hour late, “Class Junior Kindergarten- time 902- reason - just late.” I am only a half hour late to therapy today… I can already feel the need to slink in, under the radar, to ready myself for the inevitable “your turn”… I’m just not feelin it today.

And somewhere, sitting in there, listening to another person whine (my apologies, it is no one I know in the Real World and will certainly not invite to read this blog…)… Her depression is contagious. The day floats away. Apparently I called my mother, told her to pick up the kiddo today… I meant tomorrow. My mother in law calls, twice, then texts “I am here to get the kiddo, your mom already did” … My irritation is here again. I text a brief I WILL GET HER without care for hurt feelings. Then… I cry. Short, small, hot tears, but not chest heaving, sobbing. Just cry. And I feel like I need a nap, but I’m too irritated to sleep…how is that even possible? I try to read my Bipolar book… It irritates me. My stomach is irritated too, oh hooray. What is this feeling? Is is the Crash? No, not really. The Crash makes me thoughtless, motionless, powerless. Here, I am still creative, wanting to write more of my word vomit- the words that come to me in waves, unfiltered, almost regurgitated onto page. I am still thinking of things I should be doing, still understanding that I have to keep my nice clothes on to play the Good Mommee to go get my kiddo. This is not the Crash… it may be a Down. Apparently, there is such a thing, halfway between Up and Crash. Is this a sign that the medication is actually working? Or that it is not? I can’t read my book to know to find out… Right now, I am still irritated. Later, I will go to get the kiddo… Now… I will just write…

my Elf

True.

THIS!!!!!!!!!! most of us feel like we aren't doing enough because we can't physically stop a genocide but speaking helps!! pressuring helps!! boycotting helps and protesting helps!! please don't give up on Palestinians not when the entire world has turned their backs on them

here is how YOU can help Palestine

Scared.

I renamed this post three times... Petrified. Terrified. Frightened. Just plain scared. I am just plain scared. I am supposed to go back to work on Tuesday and I am just plain scared. I don't know that I'm ready. I know I'm not ready, who am I kidding. I can barely read a menu let alone the two hundred plus emails I have to go through and all the changes that I am sure they have made in two months since I've been out. I'm basically going back ready to fail. Ready to get fired. And guess? I don't care. Can you tell where my mood is? Yup. Still down. But I think this is what they call a mixed state- I can't keep a thought in my head, but I just don't have any energy to care. I have one more day of therapy in group to go to before Tuesday and I'm not terribly confident that I can express myself the way I want to... When I say I'm scared, I mean, I have spent the past three days with diarrhea, no appetite, and picked out three outfits to wear on that day back... No four. Changed my mind. I want the green striped sweater, my comfy sweater, to go back in... I can't seem to find a comfortable place in my own skin. My clothes irritate me, my stomach irritates me, my face irritates me, my house irritates me, even my kiddo- and i hate that the most. Everything I come I contact with bothers me in some way. I'm not ready but I don't feel like anyone is giving me a choice- even when they say they are... I don't know... Guess we just have to jump in with two feet and hope the water is deep enough that we don't break a leg...

what is this mood? ... i think it’s longing. maybe.

feeling lost tonight.