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.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

This Is Not What I Want

Ah... just when I thought things were going fine around here today and were going to last through the night... My husband had to get all pissy and demand the blinds be open in half the room, turning this place into an oven. All I could do was turn on my fan and ask myself why he's being such a dick. Why ask why? To make me miserable, of course. He knew I'd hate the sun and the heat. Then maybe a few minutes later, he asks me what I'm doing, all nice sounding, then quickly slips in the question of whether I have any cigarettes. Of course I had to open my trap and ask why he had to be so snippy about the shades. His answer, which made no sense, of course was,"well, if you wanted them shut, you could have done it yourself." I was already up and looking for a cigarette in my purse when he said, "just forget it. I don't want it anymore." He mumbled something else, and I asked him to speak up, and he told me not to ask him for anything anymore, and that I'm no joy (or something to that effect) to be around. Thanks. Mature. Supportive. Well-chosen words! You should have used my good kitchen knife, I just sharpened it the other day. Or maybe I should use it on you? 

Now you see why I had sickening anxiety asking him for a ride to the shrink or drug store? He always throws that dagger straight at me, fucking with my head and heart the most. After I gave his sorry ass a bunch of quarters for laundry first thing this morning, because he's too irresponsible to get them himself. He has time during the day and on a Saturday. 

He knows what I'm going through, that I'm going through pms on top of it, yet he stabs away. Well, I didn't bleed, and for some odd reason, I didn't weep. Not a tear fell. This coming from someone who's been weepy at the drop of a hat for the past few days! Anger instead, but not the same kind of anger that was ranging on the seroquel scale running from stabby, to slashy, to murderous. It was just... what a thoughtless selfish dick he's been! Pulling this "asking him for anything" shit, which is alluding to "asking for a ride", rendering me immobile, a prisoner, to suffer again. 

He went out in a huff, got his cigarettes, thew a few bucks on my lap for the quarters I gave him for his damn laundry today. Rude. He had his smoke, came back in and realized Game of Thrones is on. After that, bed. 

Sleep. Won't have to deal with his rudeness. Just sleep and turn my back on it all, and be alone tomorrow. Maybe I'll attempt to go out. We'll see tomorrow. I'll try and get up and out early, though I know he has to leave super early tomorrow. I look forward to tomorrow, and hope it's better than this evening, which I'm sure it will be. I'm looking forward to sleep and dreams. It's no wonder I find myself in different dreamworlds where I am safe with someone else.