Perks of being a Bipolar

Things are certainly not going too well on the life front. I haven’t gone to the therapist yet, and I have a pretty close idea what they’re going to say. I’m not sitting a moment to listening to bullshit like- Imagine unicorns and rainbows, look at beautiful sceneries and focus on one flower. No, I won’t.

The header to this write up is not completely ironic. I wanted to watch The Adderall Diaries today, even went through most of it. All because I thought it would be something related to mental illness. Perhaps, it was, but I couldn’t go more than twenty minutes of it. I can’t watch anything. My Netflix is stuck on episodes. So many shows that I want to watch, but I can’t. There was one time, day before yesterday, that I listened to some music. My same old playlist- Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Porcupine Tree, Steven Wilson, Metallica, Queen, Bowie, Alice in Chains, etc, etc. It was good for sometime, but then as usual, I got agitated and stopped.

What is happening to me? Are my medicines not working? What can save me? I just want to be able to watch, eat, read, listen, like I used to. The last book I read was The Grownup by Gillian Flynn. It was a pretty short so it doesn’t count.

The last time I spoke to a friend was before I got married, which is fine, because we were obviously at two different places. And I am not really a “friendship material”.

I swear I spoke to two people from my school only twice- once on my engagement, second on my marriage. Both the times I invited them on Facebook messenger. And they came. Which is nice of them.

Anyway, I’m not very nice to people. This makes me arrogant, but that’s not the reason. It’s my disease.

In my defence, talking to anyone takes a toll on me. People talk about things that should generally be their own shit, then they expect the same shit from you.

I don’t have shit to talk about- no secrets, no gossip. I do, though, bitch thoroughly with my man, but that’s because it makes me comfortable. But if I actually started revealing to you what the voices in my head is telling me, would you not run and hide?!

Here’s my other problem. I take, it manifested as my BPAD got bigger, like electricity bills in summer. I can’t, I don’t empathise with people. It always makes me think, why is this person whinging about this? Why is she complaining about that? For me, they’re sheltered- mother, father, job, money, traveling, etc. etc., and they don’t need bloody anti-psychotics to keep their head straight.

I’ll only understand someone’s struggle if they understand mine. Well, that isn’t happening, is it? So, that’s that. You don’t understand my disease, don’t expect me to understand yours.

People do have a knack of getting offended by my way of looking at things- What I say. How I say it. What I do. How I do it. Perhaps they deserve it. Perhaps I’m wrong.

Recently I acquired the title of nagging, complaining, and sometimes I even feel unwanted. Possibly it’s all in the mind, but that’s already a tricky situation. This fact doesn’t make me feel good, obviously, when it comes from the only people around me. This is not me. But would you understand?

Since my psychotic breakdown, everyone is afraid I would do something again. I won’t. The medicines are working, and I’m pretty much okay, if you don’t consider that I can’t do the things I love.

I want a cat. I do want a tabby cat. But I’m said that I won’t be able to take the responsibility. That topic, too, has to be brought up with the psychologist. I’m so dependent, it makes me want to vomit. I feel chuffed.

I simply want a cat because even if they’re around me, they won’t bother talking, or asking, or listening. I previously adopted a small kitten and it didn’t end well. I ended up giving her back. But that was because I wasn’t on medications, I wasn’t okay. I feel guilty about my decision to give her up every day. It also makes me question, am I capable?

But then I think, yes, I am. Is it not a step toward getting better?

All my life, all I have done is take responsibilities that were literally thrown on me. And now, brain is tired. I’m knackered all the time.

All I want to be is happy, and peaceful. Is there a thing for that?

Sometimes I feel like they’ll put me on lithium, and only then I’ll be okay, because I won’t feel a thing. Feeling nothing instead of feeling lost, it’s a lot better. A nutter.

My grandma told me it wouldn’t matter if she commits suicide, dies tomorrow, because she’s seventy, and a burden. Obviously, she was talking about relatives and joking. Relatives are funny. What she doesn’t know is, I’m thirty one, and I’m a burden too. And she’s my lifeline, my only link to my mother.

In any case, I’m stopping now. It is hot. Summer here is unbearable. I will write again if I don’t lose my mind. The only hopes I have are the Marvel and DC movies. I sincerely wish I don’t misplace my mind before I watch all of them.

My baby will be a vigilante, that’s the future plan I have.

My doctor’s appointment is on Tuesday.