I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Those of you who know me, like in real life

know that I've had a pretty rough week. I've just sort of let my anxiety take over and the panic take over. I always describe my perfect peace as flat (which scares mental health professionals, I know). When I'm anxious or upset, the information in my brain stacks up higher and higher and higher... until I can't see the top anymore. But when things are good, it's flat. I release a warm, wind of relief, and everything is flat--spread out on the floor of my mind.
I'm not there right now. I get paranoid. No one will love me. I'm going to fuck something up and everyone will hate me. I'm going to fail and lose my scholarship. No one really likes me; they tolerate me. I'll be too fat to do what I want to do. I'm not really that interesting, or if I am, I don't exactly portray it--because I'm scared, which makes me weak. <--this is junk that rattles around in my head and makes it kind of hurt to feel... and then I go numb. Sometimes even sound is muffled, my limbs fall limp, my head sways. Bliss. But for only a moment. Back in the game.
I'm kind of hoping that when school is out, everything will be right again. I had found a kind of stable comfort, and it's slipping away... but it's not gone. I just can't quite get a good grasp on the whole thing, that happiness thing. I am kind of excited for therapy tomorrow. I feel like he really likes and respects me. I know that's his job, but dammit, I don't care if it's a face--it feels real enough to get me by. I don't really feel liked or respected. And I'm not saying this for a guilty trip or a pity party, because clearly if you're reading this you like and respect me enough to take an interest in what I have to say. Thanks for that, friends. But you're few. You're the people who caught just enough depth in me to dig a little deeper.
Nothing is as it seems. That bitch in your English class was molested. That dickhead just lost his dad. The professor you hate, hates himself even more... I know that better than anyone. Because I was raised with that information. But also because I'm in there. Everyone thinks I'm super friendly and happy, and it wasn't until people pointed it out that that is the image I portray. We all know that isn't me. I do care about the scum of the earth, but I judge rather harshly those who judge them. And I have my dells. Deep deep dells.
But I just don't share that with people. I share it with you guys. With the people I trust I share EVERYTHING. Y'all know too much, I'm sure. But with the world? I am whoever I am. I don't even really know what I'm giving. I'm so worried about people liking me that I give this pathetic, desperate version of myself up. I'm just too scared. I don't cry in public. I don't talk about Tier Fours. I just don't. And if people expect that from me, or if they expect the depth I share rather privately, then they will have to give something up themselves. I'm in the business of the barter of secrets. It's insurance. If I know your dirt, then you can know mine because you know that if you tell I can ruin you.
This has been a rough week. I'm ready for it to be over... only to enter the hell of dead week and the cold fear of finals and then... worry. I'll make it because I must. This was hella negative. I thought I would turn it around at the end. Clearly I didn't. Sorry folks. Ich werde ihre immer lieben. <3

1 comment:

kyle gene said...

How pointless most of these feelings and thoughts are...

Feeling fat or uninteresting or unlovable. It's all bullshit. But even when you know that, it's still there. If only you could see yourself how I see you.
If only I could see myself the way...I don't know if anyone sees me the way I see you,so the analogy is incomplete. Maybe if I saw me the way I saw you, too. There is so much there. You have so much to offer. You know what I hate? I hate that you feel like no one will love you when I love you more than most people love anyone or anything. I try to reaffirm that as much as I can without it being overkill. And I know it isn't your fault, but it's like that doesn't matter at all. I don't know what the answer is. I don't even know what the question is really. Fucking life, you know?