Being Myself vs. Self Control - Let the Games Begin

Dear Jane,

Everything has been nuts here. I’ve been working an unhealthy amount, doing bridesmaid things, making future job decisions, handling class related hell, and trying not to be a royal witch in the process. Understanding where one’s breaking point lies is a gift, but when the breaking point is inevitable it’s like waiting for a train wreck. With explosions. Of emotion. And rude comments. Peachy.

Due to the craziness, naturally I’ve begun self diagnosing my mental disorders. I used to think I was depressed, you know, like all the pamphlets say I am. As I dig deeper into my messiness, though, my unbridled moodiness and need for daily 2 hour minimum “me-time” sessions have lead me to believe touches of bipolar disorder and generic anxiety entered the playing field in a big way. Seeing my counselor soon. Stay tuned for professional opinions.

Since the last rambling, I’ve tried to accept my personality and use it for good. Then the above “nuts” time frame began and everything was shot to shit. When I’m overwhelmed, like, really really overwhelmed, my Hulk comes crawling out, but bitchier, more passive aggressive, and fueled by caffeine and an insatiable drive to ruin people emotionally. Normally I pull a Bruce Banner and simply avoid people/any extreme emotion to suppress the beast. Without that luxury, disaster ensues.

Hence, my thoughts have landed on the idea of being myself vs. self control. I sass. A lot. An alarming majority of the time the dry and sarcastic comments come across as rude and unfeeling. Of course I don’t mean them this way, but “the thought” only seems to count in select gift-giving attempts and crafting for mothers. When life throws off my taming attempts, any sense of filter dissolves and the sass overfloweth.

I’ve tried to be a sweet nurturer. I even traded in espresso based drinks for chai tea lattes (great choice, steeped from babies’ dreams probably). But Every. Damn. Time. I end up as snarky and seemingly bitter as ever.

Picture yourself wearing a dress two sizes too small on Thanksgiving. The dress looks great. Some might even say you’re turning over a new leaf. You’re the envy of everyone at the real-time-fashion-police-event-posing-as-awkward-holiday-family-gathering-time. Sucking it in works for a while, but eventually the pressure builds. You’ve fought the temptations to over-indulge, but you can’t fight your natural urge to eat at least four types of carbs in one sitting for long. Urges and material begin to stretch. You fight as long as you can. Then it’s over. Seams are split, dreams are crushed, and you can’t even properly enjoy round 3 of the meal because everyone is judging you.

While this might not be the most accurate picture of my current struggle, you may understand the issue. How much of my way of interacting is just my lovely personality at work and how much should I feel guilty for? Do I need to feel personally responsible for the souls who don’t understand my humor and take offense, or do I chalk it up as an L and move on? Obviously I shouldn’t be hurtful (not saying I never am, but I do see the harm in those comments and do my best to nip those in the snarky buds), but I’m talking beyond that. All the indignant comments and the one-liners about hating everyone and our household cat being a manipulative psychopath (usually just affects the cat’s “mother,” but offense is sometimes taken nonetheless); possibly offensive and mean-hearted to some, witty with just the right touch of bitter angst toward the world to others. Where does personality end and self control begin? 
 *We’ll discuss why I have such a bitter attitude later. I’m not really sure about that one yet. Also I’m sorry for using bitter so often. Broadening my vocabulary horizons can be on the to-do list, too.*
 As always, I hope all is well.

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