Rage. Like the second something doesn't do exactly what I want it to or quickly enough, I literally have to exert a great effort to not pick it up and throw it--against the wall, on the floor, through a window--with all the force I can muster, so that I can relish in its disintegration.
|Laptop insurance does not cover "rage;" I checked. Source|
Sadness. When I don't give into the rage, the emotion has to come out somehow. It leaks out my eyes while pulling down on my torso. It's not fair. Why can't I control this? I am such a shit person. I'm so weak. It's not wonder no one's hiring me. I'll probably never get another freelance job again. God my son deserves better than this. Why does this have to be so. Fucking. Hard.
|I'm not entirely sure how I don't throw myself off a building each |
time Wal-mart doesn't restock the navel oranges, either. Source
Joy. I'm not bi-polar, but this is what I imagine a manic episode must be like. I am high as a fucking kite. I'm so happy I literally CANNOT sit still. The energy is scary, and I feel like I could take on the world. I am awesome, and I'm going to nail every single proposal I send, andI'mgoingtocleanthehouseandI'mgoingtogoorganizethebaby'sroomANDI'MGOINGTOHAVETHISHOUSELOOKINGSOGOODWHENCRAIGCOMESHOMEANDOMGTHISISTHEBESTFUCKINGDAYEVER.
|I've also heard this is what doing cocaine feels like. Source|
This road to regulation seems to be populated exclusively by peaks and valleys. I desperately miss middle-ground. Hell, I even kind of miss feeling like physical shit--it gave me something to focus on. Can't murder any household appliances when your're curled up in a ball on the couch [because motion makes you nauseous and you shouldn't be walking anyway as apparently when your head is floating above the rest of your body, your equilibrium is the first thing to go].
|It's like earthquake time, all the time!source|
And part of me, an unhealthily large part is like, "I just wish Craig were home."
And then the "smart" part of me, the part that remembers the words of various therapists from books, and articles, and sessions that THAT sounds like co-dependence.
"Everything is okay when you're here."
He makes things easier, more tolerable. God only knows what it costs him though. Dealing with either depressed, homicidal, or manic wife cannot be the dream vacation it sounds like. Plus, things are not okay, regardless of his presence.
|He may be able to slay a dragon, but he can't do shit about your |
seratonin and dopamine levels. Source
Again, the only way to make things "okay" is to wait. Time. My god, I hate fucking time. It either takes too long or goes by too quickly. My mental regulation moves in slow motion while my son can all of the sudden climb every piece of furniture in the house. I'm struggling through another insanely long day of trying to keep my cool (fake it 'til you make it, while a trite phrase, is really what you have to do while waiting to either feel the effects of a new psychiatric drug, or survive the effects of withdrawing from an old one), and now my son can reach almost every "safe" place we thought we had to put stuff.
|Just. Keeps. Growing.|
WTF, time? WTF, brain? WTF, modern medicine?
What the fuck, self?
Think I'll go watch that show about the conjoined twins . . . and then feel bad for feeling bad because hey, at least I've got my body to myself.