Saturday, December 6, 2008

Knee Slapper

It's all a big joke. People sucked into games and out of their own lives. Escapism at its finest. Arthur C. Clarke shit. And where is the other person in the relationship left when they don't want to spend their life in an illuminated box? If I had a Post Secret, I think it'd be: Mostly, I wish he'd pick me.


Flat out: it's been a bad few days. Crying, too sensitive, bruised. disillusioned, angry--so angry. Jb says I threw a tantrum the other night, that I was acting childish. But it wasn't that. It was this rage, and better I beat pillows on the bed and punch the mattress than take it out verbally on him, which I do far too often.

The nights seem longer. I seem less motivated. SSDI comes in bits, very small bits, because it's so much information, and some of it, I can only guess at. The creditors want to sue me, the DHHS needs medical documents, which my psych will fill out, but which feels like one more thing on my back. And it's too much to deal with.

And that's how it is. Rolling fine, feeling close to normal, or as close as I know to normal, and then, despite all meds, I get worse. I'm snappy, angry, unforgiving, judging. I become a different person. All my barbs hit below the belt. I'm witty in cruel way, and it comes so easily. I can see it happening, and yet, I can't stop it.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Any Plans for the New Year?

You know you have a mental illness when someone asks you, "What are you doing for New Year's Eve?" And you say, "Going to my psych."

So. Things aren't much different. Taking meds. Upping my Zoloft to 150MG. I'm doing better, but my psych keeps getting on my ass to start the SSDI process. I started last night online. What a headache. I was completely drained after the first two parts.

The other thing my psych and I argued about was my recovery time. He says I'll need about a year once I get stable. I was all, "You're kidding me, right? A freakin' year?!" I swear. I wish I could pretend there was no such thing as mental illness. I hate my meds. Resent them.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008


It's one of those nights. Up at 4am, on the computer until 6am. There are things I, supposedly, wanted to do today: See Twilight. Having read the book, every trailer I've seen has made it more and more enticing to me (perhaps, too, because I knew I couldn't go; we were too poor). Now I'm up in the middle of the night, wondering what it's all for. Jb got laid off a month early. No help forthcoming from JSSA. I'm supposed to do grocery shopping tomorrow, and I can't be bothered with it. In fact, I simply don't want to do it. Not in a stomp your foot, two-year-old tantrum sort of way, but in a deadened, "I don't have the heart," way. And for some reason, at 6:33am in the morning, I feel like crying and mourning my marriage. But then, I flip like a switch and mourn anything these days--anything without discretion. I've become a "Fragile: Handle With Care" package.