Emotion MishMash Equals Anger, Rage, Panic

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Sad, angry, happy, irritable, hostile, giddy, appearing stable, sad, lonely, panicked, giddy, irritable, hostile.

Mad, sad, crying, hysterical, eerie calm, thankfulness, slow descent back to an impressive depression, then just a big solid block of sadness, quickly surpassed by feelings of irritation at every spoken word, movement, gesture, genuinely baffled by how ugly people can be.

All of this turning into genuine anger, first directed at the self, stabbing words into my skin as if with a knife, getting myself so unsettled again that I go through crying, more anger, hostility, to anger at other people/things/objects/ideas, and again circling back to hating everything about myself and secure in the knowledge that I am ruining the life of myself and everyone in it.

This gets old and it gets tiresome and it gets lonely.  My feelings all are over the place, some of which I am accustomed to, but the anger, the hostility, the sharp tongue — I never get used to that.  I never get used to the piece of me that can and will tear another down with words, hurling just the right ones in the most sensitive spots for maximum damage.  The difference between before and now, is that I am depressed enough, I don’t really care that I am hurting other people.  That is not good.  Every jab looks to land a mat-dropping blow.

I can control it to an extent, but there are times when I feel so bad, that I don’t control it and I let my mouth run wild and I hurt people.  For the most part, it is brushed off because the other person knows it isn’t really the Rosa inside who is saying these things.  Sometimes it doesn’t get fixed that easily.

I deleted over thirty people from my Facebook over the last week, because I am convinced someone is leaking information about me to my ex step-father.  To be clear, I am done, done, DONE with that relationship and any relationship I may  have ever had with that ENTIRE side of the family.  It’s a shame, because there was one or two people that were somewhat decent, but for the sake of my mental health, I can have NO contact.  I want him to forget I exist.  Let him think I went to Alaska to can salmon or something.  Rosa, disappeared from his world, never ever again going back.  I have my reasons, many reasons which are really not worth spelling out here, because I don’t care to embarrass anyone, but done, just done.  Goodbye.  Again.  Stay gone.

I started this post shaking with anger, and that was after I wrote a long, ranting email to a friend of mine.  I need a way to get over this anger, to make it stop, to do something productive with it, if it isn’t just going to go away nicely.  Suggestions, as always, are welcome in the comments.  And even if I get mad about a comment, I won’t attack anyone, and that is a promise (that I feel that I can keep right now at 9:45PM on a Friday night).  That’s the best I can do for now.

 

 

 

Late Night Musings with Rosa 12.20

Perhaps my favorite video of Tom Petty singing my favorite acoustic version of “Walls.”  This has been a weekend so far, of thinking.  Good things have happened, bad things have happened, and I need time to reflect.

Right now I am taking things in, because I notice that I have not been noticing life around me as I should.  I have not been being mindful and I have not been introspective.  I have been selfish with my needs and wants, yet overly helpful to those around me — often reaching out further than I really should, and perhaps what they needed me to.

This little thing called life that is going on right now, this piece of the puzzle, this particular scratch in the record — it will pass.  It must.  It must.  It must.  What lies over the horizon I can’t even begin to predict, and I know that is part of what is killing me bit by bit.  I am a planner and an organizer and I want to know what is going to happen when and with who and (sometimes) the why or how of it.

All of this uncertainty, from things as small (ha!) as what do for Christmas as to if I will still miss DSB and not want to get my heart broken again in the new year to what my nephew will be like as he grows from a baby into a toddler to if I will ever be able to lose the weight I want to lose.

And when?  And how?  And why?

It occurs to me now, as I sit typing this, how I have once again slipped into willfulness and am not letting mindfulness and patience and simple observation take me down the path I was meant to be on.  I am trying to control things that I have no control over, I am trying to change things that cannot or will not change, I am beating my head against a brick wall and wondering why I have a headache.

When I feel really bad, as I have for the last while (but not so much anymore), I tend to stop doing all of the things that make me feel better and that make me the Rosa that people like to be around.  I don’t particularly think that I am that Rosa right now to all people, but I know I am really enjoying my dad and my sister.

I fully admit that I can be hard to be around, that I can be too intense or too sad or anxious or too demanding.  Not everyone sees it that way, however; I can think of two people right off the top of my head that I intrinsically know don’t feel that way, that want my company.

But does that ever happen to you?  That important people in your life seem to want to take a break from you?  Does this mean that the love or friendship or whatever it is, is not there unconditionally?  Or does it mean that this is just people being human?  Or does it mean that you have overstepped your bounds somewhere, and this is all your fault?

I think the answers to all of this are:  “who knows” and “all you can do is improve yourself and change for the better.”  Goddess of Mindfulness has a funny idea about all of this, that she has been sharing with me since I was a teenager.  It is often the people that are messed up AND seeking help who are the most balanced, the most introspective, the most thoughtful, the most likely to change ill habits.

So here I am, “the crazy one” in a sea of “normal people” and I am by far acting the most sane.  That’s just how it is here in Topeka, Kansas.  App;arently I haven’t been drinking the water, because I don’t currently have the crazy.  But that doesn’t mean I am not actively every day seeking to improve and feel better and be more stable and independent.

The hardest thing for me to see is a person I care about suffering, who will not utilize the help that is available to them.  People have to really REALLY want to change in order to change almost every behavior or circumstance, and I am baffled when peop;le who are adamant with me that I seek help, won’t seek it themselves.  Because “that’s different.”  Well, no, it’s really not.

In closing, you do not need to be mentally ill to seek assistance and ask your friends/relations/neighbors/;pastor/anyone for help; in getting through what you need to get through.

I would like to remind that while this post is written as a general musing, it can easily be directed at many in my life.  I am purposely not calling anyone out on the rug, but I want people to think.

If you need help, ask for it.  It will almost always be given, in some form or another.  You do not have to suffer alone and in silence.

 

 

 

The Slip into Depression, Stagnating Uprise

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From  Ms. Greene

 

It’s the turn of the seasons, and like clockwork, my mood shifted too.  Already going through a stressful time, the little neurochemicals in my brain started going extra haywire around the time change (which coincided with crap weather for my area) and I forgot and lost a grip on all I at one time treasured.  And maybe that’s really too charitable.

I had been losing a grip on the things I cared about for a long time.  Staying in more, doing less, hibernating, not talking to friends online or otherwise, not blogging, not keeping with other blogs, not reading, not watching TV, playing with the pups.  Literally, just doing nothing.  And not really caring.

Now, today, I can say I care a little bit, but it comes and it comes and it goes and for the last long while I have cared very little about much of anything, particularly not my own well-being.  Those feelings will come back, I know, maybe when I am done writing this post, or the hours where the sun sets, or tomorrow sometime.

For the meantime, I can pretend that I care about my life, my well-being, myself in general.  It will get me just so far.  I can go through the motions of things people say are supposed to make me feel better.  Maybe that will eventually get me stronger, get me more ready to take on the world everyday, so I  can not cry anytime someone other than a customer at work asks me how I am doing.

So I will try, in my head and my feet, my heart and spirit aren’t there yet.  Maybe a day soon upcoming.  I always come out of a depression slowly.  This one has been dragging on for a while and I know it will end at some point in time (deep in my head I know that, but my heart forgets) and I will plead to the Gods Of Bipolarity to not send me a mixed or manic episode, but to humor me with something close to stability.

Remembering as a Way to Start NaBloPoMo 2014 — Be a Pepper

The following post is actually a page on my blog that describes my journey with Bipolar I, PTSD, and Eating Disorder NOS.  At the start of NaBloPoMo, November 1st, I want myself and anyone reading to be reminded that mental health recovery is a life-long process.  I am currently going through a very difficult time, as indicated in the posts prior to and after this one will show.  And lately I have given a lot of thought to giving up, and then I read this and was reminded how far I have come.

The Story and the Stigma

Throughout grade school, middle school, and high school, I earned top grades.  I wasn’t the valedictorian, but I gave the high school commencement address, and I rocked it.  People on the outside saw a high-achieving, confident person.  Inside, I was fighting bipolar disorder, crushing anxiety, and an eating disorder.  No one knew, and I didn’t tell them.  I was afraid of what people would think.

When I went off to college, I went somewhere small, about an hour away from home, with the unsaid statement that I couldn’t go far away and succed; not without support.  Not without trips home every weekend.  I accepted it, and as time went on, I learned they were right.

I excelled at this small college, changing my major from pre-med to psychology after a horrific first semester in science classes that I couldn’t wrap my mind around.  I was depressed.  I had stopped taking my medication.  I think everyone knew that, and that summer, Mom tried to get me help again.

Every summer, actually, Mom would try to get me help again.  I would always participate, but then go off my meds as soon as I came back to school.  It was an ugly cycle, and it pains me to this day that I went through it.  But I didn’t want anyone to know what I was going through.  No one knew I had bipolar disorder, outside of my aunt who worked in the counseling center and my academic advisor, who was more like a surrogate mother.

My senior year, I was applying for Ph.D. programs that combined psychology and the law.  Forensic psychology, it was called.  I went on interviews.  Costly interviews.  They bore no fruit because I acted absolutely crazy when I went to these colleges.  They saw through me and saw that I was very ill.

After college and after failing to get into any kind of graduate program, I started working as a mental health technician on an Eating Disorders Unit (EDU) at a local hospital.  As a person living with bulimia, this was a bad choice.  I wasn’t on medication, I was drinking a lot, and I started to gain weight.  I was also working PRN at another hospital as a mental health tech.

I became manic.  Several days a week, I would work 7:30-4 at the EDU and then 5-12 at the other hospital.  A lot of the reason I did this was to stay away from Joe, my abusive boyfriend that I was living with.  All that working didn’t keep his hands off my body, or his reigns of terror on my psyche absent.  I became suicidal.

I moved out of Joe’s house and into my own apartment.  I picked up a boyfriend, almost literally off the streets, and continued to drink heavily and work many  hours.  Eventually, I completely cracked.  I quit drinking and I started seeing a psychiatrist.  When things didn’t level out quickly enough, my parents brought me back to live with them in the little city.

After a few months, I had a job and I moved back out.  I was working as a case manager with the mentally ill.  My caseload was loaded with the sickest of the sick.  It was a very stressful job and I didn’t fare well.  I was written up numerous times for poor attendance and tardiness.  I eventually left that job, three  years later, on FMLA because I had really lost it and couldn’t work.

I did an intensive outpatient program and started to feel better.  After about a year, I was hired at the local prison to work with the mentally ill on things like obtaining disability and getting services set up in the community.  Here, I was constantly being written up and warned about my attendance and lack of punctuality.  I was very depressed, I was very manic, I was very anxious.  I was always very something.  I did good work, though, and even won awards.  My boss liked to say that I’d outwork anybody, as long as I came in that day.

Eventually pressure built up again and I was very ill.  I went on FMLA and had to resign because there was no way I could come back to work.  My mom saw a pattern in my work and educational history, and talked with my doctors and therapist about filing for SSDI.

I couldn’t see a life without work, but I filed anyway.  We applied April of 2012 and it was awarded June or July of the same year.  This quick answer, with no questions or rebuttals, confirmed to me that, while I might feel like I could work, the powers that be disagreed.  SSA, my parents, my doctors, my therapist all concurred — Rose can’t manage full-time employment.

So here I stand, at the bait shop.  SSDI checks coming in and working about 20 hours per week at an extremely low-stress job, so that I can function on a daily basis.  I moved from high-achieving college student, pursuing a Ph.D., to a cashier and bait slinger.  How far we fall, right?

What I can say now, however, is that I’m happy.  I am truly, genuinely living a life worth living.  It’s not always easy and there are many bad days.  Not enough sunlight or getting my sleep schedule thrown off can put me in a tailspin.  If I stick to my structure, to my routine, use my DBT skills, and employ my support system, I do pretty well.  I even like my job in the bait store, slinging bait, ringing people up, and keeping track of files and paperwork.

People who knew me way back when may not recognize or understand who I am now.  I generally don’t give them that luxury, either.  There is a very difficult stigma surrounding mental illness, and additionally surrounding young people being on SSDI.  I tell only those I trust, and only those who I think will have an either neutral or positive response.

What you see isn’t always what you get.  There is more to me than bipolar and depression and anxiety.  If I had high blood pressure and diabetes, you wouldn’t shame me, now would you?  The unfortunate truth is that you will likely never know who I am and what I go through.  I would rather you not know me than be shamed for having illnesses that came to me through no fault of my own.

I Will Always Be Rosa

I feel like I have a lot to do right now.  I am working more, now that is just QoB and The Rock and myself.  That’s ok though, I’m good with that.  I think before I had too much free time and I used that free time in negative ways.  We are looking at doing something flexible at least  until Spring.  The schedule has never been so laid-back.  Hell, the store has never been so laid-back.  I am hoping we are going to be just fine.

I made myself the biggest ta-do list today at work.  I have several doctors appointments and tests I need to set up and get written down on my calendar because well, I have missed several lately.  I don’t know when it happened that I became unable to remember small things, like a date and time, from the time at the doctor’s office until I was home 20 minutes later.  Probably the meds frying my brain, a little more each day as time goes on.

Seems like  things might be speeding up now, but I probably couldn’t get QoB or the Big Dawg to see it.  But that’s ok, because everyone, from the parents to the kids and out to the friends — everyone is processing this their own way.  I am still feeling very angry and anxious, and that encapsulates more than just my parents breaking up.

That is the whole big-picture-enchilada.  I am angry with so-called friends and with people who slap a label on my forehead and deem me somewhat less significant.  Of course, I whined about this previously in “Because That Phrase Doesn’t Work”, so if one didn’t get enough of it in this post, there is more to be found.  About how some people suck and treat you differently because you have bipolar disorder and about how you have lost all your friends.

And as stated before, there are some people that I am done.done.done with, some situations that will not ever change, and I am just worn out on trying to make certain things better, when it would require the consent and action of another human being who listens to nothing and no one, has no respect.

I truly thought I would wake up today and feel differently about aforementioned subjects.  I don’t.  I’m still mad as hell.  I’m still cutting people out of my life.  I am still mourning the fact that all my so-called friends turned out to not even be as steady in my life as an acquaintance.  I would never daresay “life isn’t fair” because, well NO SHIT!  I would not call myself brave or courageous because I have persevered through some hard stuff — did I really have a choice in the matter?  Try or die.  What a choice, right?  And I am glad I chose life every time.

And no matter how hard things are, how elusive the answers seem to be, I will always, always, always be just me, just Rosa.

beauty begins

 


 

I went back and read this post after publishing and I am sorely wanting to take it down.  It just looks ugly and disjointed to me, and I’m not sure I got across what I was going to say.  I think I will leave it up, though, because I am sure I could do a lot worse, and I really need to get this stuff out there, even if I am repeating myself.  Responses to comments tomorrow!  I have the time scheduled in!  🙂

Possibilities and Challenges

I like to blog more often than a month worth of every 10 days or so, but life is getting in the way.  Not necessarily in a good way.  In short words, my parents are getting a divorce.

Longer words, current circumstances are stressful, interpersonal relationships are either weakened or strengthened.  I find myself crying a lot and screaming, “I can’t do this” in my head (and sometimes, out-loud, usually in my car), even though I’m not sure exactly what “this” is.

And sometimes, actually, it’s more like mostly, it hurts so much and its so badly stressful because you see your parents, people you have known your entire life, who have loved you and protected you and sang silly songs to you and called you out on your curfew, well, you see them suffering.

Suffering and crying and being angry and being sad.  Having to make really hard, life-changing decisions.  It is very difficult, as a grown woman, for the first time after 30-some years of living life together, that you see your dad cry.  Not able to talk to you because he is so upset.  Absolutely heartbreaking.

All the people around you, who so clearly don’t see your position and obviously think you are an idiot, tell you it’s not your fault (of course it’s not!) and that it is between them and there is nothing you can do to make it better (well, YES, no kidding, really?).  I spent the first bit trying to get them back together, of course, which is a natural human response, I believe.  But then I realized, this is not my battle to fight.  There is absolutely not one single thing I can do that will “fix” this or make it better.

I am hoping I am going to turn the corner from being extremely stressed out and upset and crying and going on to some sort of acceptance.  I am working on it, is all I can say.  Maybe do a little more of what Mr. Merton says:

You do not need to know precisely what is happening,

or exactly where it is all going.

What you need is to recognize the possibilities

and challenges offered by the present moment,

and to embrace them with courage.

Thomas Merton


A quick note…

I have been very behind reading, liking, and commenting on other blogs.  If you haven’t seen me stop by in awhile, my emotional turmoil and all the stress is what is keeping me away.  I hope to return to the blogosphere with much enthusiasm in November for NaBloPoMo and plan to be doing a lot of reading of blogs I have followed forever and hopefully some new blogs starting very soon.

Rosa

Scream Along With Me if You Want

Yesterday,  hoped that today would be much much better.  Unfortunately, I was up all night and then sick all day, barely able to get out of bed.  So much for my thoughts on getting some massive cleaning done.  Very most basic things taken care of — shower, feed Kizzie, drink something.  Other than that, nada.  So I thought I would post because, even though here at 6:34P, I feel better, I don’t feel better to the point where I can start sweeping and vacuuming and throwing laundry around.

As I sit here blogging, I find myself browsing YouTube.  It’s something my mom really likes to do and she always finds the most interesting, upbeat songs.  All I find are 80’s songs.  Because that’s what YouTube recommends for me.  Sad and peppy and good memory and bad memory 80’s songs.  Mr. Big anyone?

Mom was kind enough to bring me some ginger ale and I am smart enough to not drink the entire 2-L in one setting.  Because I am tempted, but I am done with getting sick.  I’d really like to sleep all night through, but I don’t know how likely that is, considering I was laying in bed all day.  I plan on just doing some reading later, so hopefully my brain won’t be hopped up on whatever it is that comes out of electronics that is so bad for  you.

Not smoking today was a small miracle.  I was idle, sick, and nothing sounded better than a cigarette, although on the other hand, when I really did think about it, my stomach lurched around inside my body.  How can I want something so badly and be so repulsed by it at the same time?  It makes no sense to me.

Over this latest funk, I have not been commenting and liking and reading as much, but trust that I still pop over and see what you’re up to.  Sometimes I just don’t have it in me to leave a decent comment, so there’s only a like.  One of these days, I’ll get back to my normal self and things will go on as usual.  I can’t help wondering waiting wishing dreaming and screaming about when that might be.  Scream along with me if you want.

The Not-So-Exciting Tales of Rosa

I made a commitment to blog more regularly and it has been one big FAIL.  I attribute it to many things, including the fact that my give-a-shitter is broken, I don’t feel I can blog about a lot of what is going on in my life right now, and because everything I pour out seems to be pure drivel.

I’ve decided to stop caring about all of that, and just blog.  Duh, I should have decided this a long time ago, but it’s always a process for me.  Now, that doesn’t mean I’m going to start airing all my dirty laundry, it just means that posts will be more frequent, as well as a bit more random.  If I get a great idea for a  post (which hasn’t happened in weeks), I’ll really take my time and develop it.  Otherwise, I’ll just be writing about day-to-day life for now.

I quit smoking three weeks, five days, 17 hours, 58 minutes and 11 seconds ago. 1604 cigarettes not smoked, saving $216.66. Life saved: 5 days, 13 hours, 40 minutes.

Those stats are getting impressive.  Not so much the time stat, but over $200 saved, over 1600 cigs not smoked?  Holy shit!  You sometimes don’t realize how severe your addiction is until you’re not coughing much, you’re not short of breath anymore, and you see the cold numbers.

Quitting smoking hasn’t been easy as of late.  Yesterday, I had to ask Mom to pull all the money off my debit card, because it was too tempting to go buy a pack of cigarettes.  Now, if I went off and smoked a pack of cigarettes, I am sure I would be sick, but my anxiety level has been through the roof and I was completely convinced that smoking a cigarette would fix everything.  Well, reason and logic told me it just wouldn’t.  SOOOO, I am still smoke-free.  Thank God, because that was a close one.

I am having some motivation problems (ok, severe motivation problems), related to above-stated anxiety, some mild depression, big feelings of being overwhelmed.  I haven’t kept up on my housework as I should and I let what started out as a couple of mice under my sink turn into a much bigger problem.

The Big Dawg came over yesterday and gave me a kind lecture, all the while reassuring me it would be ok if I just followed a certain set of steps.  So, I’m committed to doing just that and I am committed to getting a big chunk of the work done before I ask Mom to come over and help.  That is what he suggested, and I think he is right.  You can’t leave your own messes for someone else to clean up.

And I am motivated.  I want to be able to have people over to my house again, for people to feel comfortable here.  Along with cleaning for mice, I will be cleaning for smoke residue, which should make things much more pleasant in general.  I have all the supplies I need, and am going to work at finding more time over the next four days (my four work-days), even though I have unfortunately scheduled a social event for nearly every evening.

Speaking of which, why in the eff do I do that?  Well, I mean, I know why.  I am painfully, hopelessly lonely.  As Mom says, there was someone always around (DSB) for over two years, and I got used to that, and now it is hit or miss if I will be able to find someone to talk to.  And as bad as it sounds, as terrible as DSB and my relationship was at times, there were good parts.

We had coffee together in the mornings, watched our favorite shows and ate dinner together at night.  For periods of our relationship, we talked about everything under the sun and could sit and visit for hours on end.  I also had a sense of safety and security, with DSB and Rascal at home.  I didn’t w0rry about my house being broken into or getting stranded by the side of the road or coming home in the dark.

There was someone to drive me places (because I have come to the point that I hate to drive) and someone to tell me (at all  hours of the day and night) that everything was going to be ok, that I was ok, that what I did or said was ok.  To give me advice.  To, for a time in our relationship, love me unconditionally.

I miss that and I work very hard every day at pushing through that.  I don’t talk about it with hardly anyone, just one friend and I think I may have mentioned it to Goddess of Mindfulness and my mom.  And I didn’t get into details with my dad the other day, when he asked me if I was lonely…I just cried and cried.

Sometimes I feel like no one understands or wants to understand.  Other times I feel very understood.  The times after it gets dark are the worst, but the day can be just as bad if I don’t have anything going on.  I just feel like I keep desperately reaching out and I am only burdening and annoying people.

Can’t Find the Beat

The blog experts say you’re not supposed to apologize or try to explain away absences.  I feel that I want to talk about it, because it seems to be a recurring problem that I don’t want to have.  And since my blog is where I talk about such things, the blog experts will just have to go criticize elsewhere.

I must say, I had felt pretty committed to blogging every day after my therapist had recommended it and QoB and a few friends seconded it.  I did ok for a couple days, and now have had this big dry spell again.  On the days I don’t blog, I do try to blog.  I sit in my chair and I type and I type and I absolutely hate everything I write.  Hate it to the point that not even I want to read it.

I do better when I blog every day, and I don’t exactly have a lack of things going on, but I feel like I am lacking in brain-power, if that makes sense.  There is a fog that has been cast over me, and things don’t add up, not inside my brain, not between my brain and my heart.  And I can’t find the right words.  And I find myself not being able to string any sort of sentences together.  It is very frustrating, and I am not going to post the three or four sentences that I do manage to get out, because, well, they don’t make sense!  At least not to me.

I think another major thing holding me back is this sadness that is currently cast over life right now.  It’s not something I will blog about because of privacy c0ncerns, but it is hitting me hard and is pervading all areas of my life.

I am not depressed and don’t feel like I am headed that direction.  I am having a lot of anxiety, and I am sad.  Both tend to immobilize me, but on many days I am still getting out and doing social things, going to work, taking care of Kizzie, and taking care of my health.  It is nearly a pattern that, on my days off, you would think I would work at being productive and spend time going to appointments and seeing people, but its the opposite.  On those days off, I have jampacked my days on so full, that I am wiped out.

It’s like I literally need my days off to recuperate from every event, party, dinner invitation, and lost night’s sleep.  I am over-doing.  Over-doing is increasing my sad and anxious feelings.  It is immobilizing my writing.  It is taking over my happiness and my good feelings.

To end on a high note:

Two weeks, three days, 6 hours, 49 minutes and 42 seconds not smoking. 1037 cigarettes not smoked, saving $140.00. Life saved: 3 days, 14 hours, 25 minutes.

Hooray for that…that, I am still doing well on.

Sanity, Apparently, Is Fleeting

Once more it’s the up and down, the crash and bang of my mood smacking into the ceiling and then hurtling down into the basement.  In a matter of hours, minutes sometimes.  Too much emotional reactivity to things that probably don’t really matter, but seem SO important in the moment.

I am telling myself that this all has to do with being sick and isolated and off my game and away from work.  Because, I am NOT going to the hospital again, not now.  Someone, perhaps my therapist or maybe my sister, told me that extended illness could really mess with your mood.  Well, here is living proof.

Like a fool, I have been dredging up these memories of DSB.  You see, he was an ass, but I DO have some good memories of our time together.  And with those memories at the forefront, it’s hard to keep in mind all of the negative.  And it makes me think — where did our love go wrong?  Was it me and all my craziness?  Did I need too much, ask for too much?  Did he love me the most he possibly could and it just wasn’t enough?  Was he just that limited?  But more importantly — I think it was my fault.  It could have been, right?  I could  have made it work if I CHANGED him more.  How ridiculous, right?  Sadness will do that to you, make you think that way.

You see, I’m calling this sadness, and not depression, because the two are entirely different.  I’m still functioning — I just feel really crappy off and on.  I had a very nice evening yesterday with Mom and the Big Dawg.  I even ate some real food — steak and a baked potato.  It doesn’t get more real than that, right?  That should make me HAPPY, right?  It did, for a little while.

And then I got home and it was just me and the pup and I started to think about how excited Rascal would always be when you came home and how DSB was always, always waiting in the office with some trashy TV on to hear how it all went.  There isn’t anyone to tell how it all went when I get home now.  There isn’t anyone to kiss me goodnight or to nag at me to take meds or encourage me to get to bed.  The last voice I hear of the day now is Mom’s, or Dad’s, several hours before I go to bed, and while I know they love me dearly, it’s just not the same.

I got up in the middle of the night last night, and have on several other nights here lately, and was surprised that the light wasn’t on in the office.  Like I expected him to be there.  Why would I expect that or even want that?  I think this must be all  part of the grieving process, that I can’t believe I’m STILL going through.  If I look at it, though, it’s only been a little over two months that he’s been gone.

So is this normal?  Is this grief for DSB and a longing for someone to just be there?  Or is this madness brought on by all the medical problems I’ve had the last six weeks, not including the mental health issues toward the first part of that?  Maybe it’s both.  Whatever it is, I hate it.  Fucking hate it.  Half the time I feel like I’ve got it together and the other half I’m just falling apart.