This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...

This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Click On The Links For More

"Le génie du mal"

"Lord, I miss you child..." plays on the bathroom radio as I pass by. It stings like hell.

I'm interrogated by my spouse after I sit down, and put the phone down. "Who was that? You going to your Dr's tomorrow?" I say no and tell him that he's got the day off. I avoid the first question. He asks, "What, is he on vacation?" Then he goes out to smoke a cigarette he bummed off me, and comes back with, "I asked if he was on vacation. Where was he going?" I said that I didn't know, that that was personal and I didn't ask. and I wouldn't want to know anyway. The last time he just came out and said he was going to Paris. Cunt. 

The spouse is acting all pissy now, and claiming there is nothing wrong when I ask him. Is that passive-aggressive, or childish, or what?  He came out of the bedroom at 5 to watch cartoons as usual, but pretended he didn't care today (again), so I changed the channel over to his station for him. 

What I'm trying to deal with is the PTSD I'm experiencing after trying to have a phone conversation with my daughter while the spouse was in the apartment, but in a different room. Sudden crushing pain in my heart. My heart feels like it's been put in a vice and all the blood's been squeezed out until it's nothing more than a bigass fucking prune.

She was at her accidental sperm donor's house in a better neighborhood, not too far away. A real house that probably had several bedrooms. A guest bedroom. She had been there for a couple of days already. I had no idea. When she finally told me, I was shocked and it fucking stung. 

She got tax info out of me, and seemed to be unhappy about something. I was afraid to ask what was going on. I thought she would tell me. Nothing. Just long periods of silence and a bit of small talk, which is near impossible for me to make. I felt like she was slipping away forever, and fuck, did it hurt. 

I found out that she's not graduating this year but next spring. The spouse is going to fucking freak and be so fucking pissed at me because he wants to move into a bigger place this summer. I told him she was graduating this summer. I really thought she was. I don't want to move to somewhere further from my shrinks and bus routes. I have to eventually get out ALONE to these fucking places! I don't want to pay more rent! I do not want to be forced to be the one that has to do the house hunting like last time. I explained all this to my daughter, and she asked me if I explained it to the spouse. On several occasions, I've told him that I don't want to move until my daughter graduates, so I can keep sending her money. The spouse is going to be so fucking angry that he will threaten to leave, I'll bet. And he might just do it, and then I'll be forced to move anyway. I have no one to help me. I don't know if I will want to bother to go on if I'm forced to move. I don't want to be forced to do anything. I can't stand this shit.

I'm trying not to blow my fucking brains out. I'm really trying.

I don't know when I'll have to deliver the news to the spouse about moving, or rather not moving. It's going to be too fucking soon. He will go - fuck - I don't know what... but it's not going to be pretty. I'll get yelled at and accused of being selfish or some other horrible shit. 

Getting yelled at flips a switch in me. It can go two ways: rage or fear leading to feeling suicidal. I got yelled at enough as a minor. It mostly struck fear in me - fear that I was going to get the beat down. I don't need that shit in my adult life.

After the call, the interrogation, and the music, I just said to myself that I cannot take another year of this. I don't think I can make it through to my daughter's graduation. I can't see life that far ahead. I can't see 6 months from now. It's day to day, or hour to hour, if it has to be. If I have to drug myself to a zombie state just to get through to see my daughter graduate, then I guess that is what I must do.

I guess. 

I cannot stand to fucking live this way. I'm not crying, nor have I been. I feel hurt, disgusted, damaged to all fuck, exhausted, and done, as if the path for me is coming to an end, and they say that there is light at the end of that tunnel. A bright white light. I'll bring my darkest sunglasses.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Whatcha gonna say?