Searching for A New Drummer to Dance To

As anyone who knows me, or reads this blog consistently (hello 1.2 persons!), my life has changed dramatically from where it was when I first started this blog.  For the better, of course, but still.  Change.  Bleh.

I’ve been trying to figure out why I don’t blog anymore.  I think I’ve found it.  In the beginning, my blog was a way to vent about a stressful (yet sometimes amusing) job, release my anxieties, expound on depression and bipolar disorder and anxiety and PTSD and ALL THE CRAP THAT WAS WRONG WITH MY LIFE.  I seriously think it’s some of the best writing I’ve done.  That’s sickening, though, to think that way.

When I started to get better, I wrote about this fabulous wonderful DBT and how it had saved my life and how everyone on the face of the Earth should be required to take some DBT classes.  Every post, I was shocked at how much BETTER my life was.  When I wasn’t shocked about how much better it was, I was busy being temporarily miserable because someone died or my job was stressing me out or bemoaning the fact that my butt is huge.

I haven’t posted in almost exactly one month.  For the life of me, I just can’t figure out what to say.

My life is boring.

I love my job, but I can’t blog about it too much.  I work in mental health at a state prison, for crying out loud.  Do I really want someone to find me on Google?

I have a healthy relationship with a man that I love.  We have our issues sometimes, but it’s not something I’d blog about.  It’s funny how it’s ok to blog about how I want to die and my innermost thoughts about my mental health, but it’s not ok (in my head) to blog about a (relatively) funny argument with Dr. Love.  It’s just too personal.  I know that sounds crazy.

My dog is amazing.  Enough said about that.

I don’t have any hobbies or real interests. 

I am interested in staying level, but not so interested that I don’t get bored with mood stability a lot of the time sometimes.  Generally what happens is that I’ll wig myself out purposely subconsciously and then Dr. Love or QoB will direct my attention to it and I will stop the negative behavior that I am expressing. 

I think it’s possible, however, not probable that I have a personality disorder.  That could just be from working at the prison, though.

This is absolutely the worst piece of drivel that I have ever written. 

I will continue to force myself to do so, however, on the off chance that I say something interesting on accident.

I put a cover of this song up awhile ago.  Here’s the real thing.  Well worth the repeat.

The Wallflowers, Josephine