I searched for bipolar jokes today. I needed them. As you know, I started ADHD meds yesterday. I felt high, in a good way, yesterday. Today I feel a little tore up. My thighs are sore and i feel all tore up, like I cried for an hour. I don’t really have anything to do today so I’m writing some and cleaning a lot. And hopefully getting (earning?) a sense of humor about bipolar.
|Marc Maron – Bipolar Coaster|
(Want to say I disagree with him about the whole depression is the wisest state to be in, but he’s still funny.)
I haven’t called anyone very first thing in the morning for a long time now. I never planned an amusement park, although it seems like a good idea. It’s hard to remember my old plans. Although I spend very little time in full blown mania, hypo-mania has drawn me to believe I am the most attractive of all women, can hear air vibrate and to drink. Let’s not even get in to the stupid sexual escapades. It’s just not worth it.
* * * *
I think too much of my arch enemy. Well, he’s never specifically done anything to me, but he does things to his children. He announces proudly he will spank his newborn if he disobeys (how the hell is a newborn going to disobey?) and started beating his oldest child as a pre-schooler. He has a middle one who receives the same sort of treatments. I have written him a letter, sat down with him and his wife, and called Child Protective Services (twice.) I spoke to the church, which told me they would meet with him and an elder. I don’t think that ever happened. He was allowed to continue to lead a Bible study. I have also called the police, who came to the house, but I do not know what happened of that.
I think too much about my enemy. I fantasize about getting in his face, knocking him down and kicking his head until it bleeds. I fantasize about getting in his face and shouting and screaming. I fantasize about telling him exactly what I think of him in the least Gentle Way possible.
I think too much about my enemy. What’s worse, is I’m sure he doesn’t care and I’m sure he’s not thinking about me. All this writing reminds me that, although he is aggressively and gleefully destroying the life of his wife and three children, I am letting him destroy mine. His memory gives me stress headaches and makes my shoulders tense and my spine hurt. He is in my thought life and siphons creativity and love away.
I strive to be a gentle mama and a gentle wife and woman. My memories of this man steal that from me. There is no one else I know that has ever brought out that aggression in me. I ardently hate him, and wish I would (could) pour it out on something good. I am not prepared to have my health and happiness destroyed. Yes, what he does is wrong. I am justified in my anger, but not the perseveration. Yes, I have drawn attention to him in every way I can and put more than enough negative energy in to it.
I think to much about my enemy. As of today, I’m done with it. No more entertaining violent fantasies, no more dreaming of the letter I want to write his son when he turns eighteen. No more thinking of him at all. It will be like alcohol; I’m done with it. If I think about it, and I must enjoy my fantasies, even if they only come to further harm, I will kick those thoughts out. No more grief, no more suffering. He doesn’t care anyway.