Pit bulls, bad horror, good music, comics and cartoons - that's really the extent of who i am. i'm a lot more deadpool than i am disney princess. sarcasm comes with the territory.

I'd love to make new friends.


Bipolar Disorder.

I do this thing where I think I’m being awful so I end up apologizing nine thousand times to whomever I’m with. And then I feel like I’m being annoying, so I apologize for being annoying.
Then I obsess over apologizing so many times that I kind of….fade out of the social gathering that I am a part of until it’s to the point that people think I’m not having fun, when, in reality, I was having fun, until I started to remember I was there with myself.

I apologize for being no fun. I apologize for being in pain. I apologize for always being tired. For not getting enough done. For not being at work. For wanting to go out. For not wanting to go out. For crying and not knowing why. For not being able to stop laughing. For having to go for more tests. For not caring what’s wrong anymore. For needing help. For not wanting help. For trying to do everything. For not being able to do everything. For the medication that makes me crazy. For the medication that puts me to sleep. For the inability to sleep. For the pacing. For the weeks awake and the weeks asleep. For not waking up when I should. For not sleeping when I should. For not being able to eat. For wanting to eat everything and staring longingly at others’ food. For leaving the party early because I can’t be a part of it. For not being able to make phone calls. For not being able to make appointments. For the days that I can’t cook because I’m too miserable. For the days I can’t cook because I’m too depressed that I can’t eat. For the days that only my dogs make me feel better, no matter how much others try.

I apologize. And then I never believe that it really is okay, because, to me, it’s never okay. It’s never okay. Sometimes, it’s not too bad. But it’s never okay.

And then sometimes? Sometimes it’s AWESOME. The world is brand new. Nothing hurts too much to stop me. The house is meticulous. There is dinner on the table every night and it’s always something crazy. I could go days without sleeping or eating and that’s FINE. The sun is never enough to keep up with me. I can tackle the world and have enough energy to go for days. But my temper is short. And I don’t apologize for anything. Because, well, life is too short, right? Life’s too short to focus on anything but what I need. So I do whatever feels right. And it almost never is right. But man, it was a great idea. I’m not sorry. I can all but feel colors. It feels like the world is my caffeine and I’m just going to drink it all in until I explode. I may rearrange six cabinets one night. I may clean the animals’ cages, give them all baths, then clean their cages again because they weren’t good enough the first time. And I can’t stop. And it’s never enough.

So I start apologizing for not doing enough again.

And then we’re back to never being enough. But we never really left that, did we? It’s just different brands of never being enough. Never.

So, please, let one more person tell me Mania seems like fun. Let them tell me how much they’d be able to accomplish. And let me explain to you what the real world is like with Bipolar Disorder. It’s terrifying ninety percent of the time. And you never know when the switch will come. I mean, after a while, you may get warning signs. But you never really know. Don’t tell me it sounds fun.

I’m not a healthy individual, but this is getting ridiculous.

I have stress-induced stomach problems. I always have. I’ll have a stomach ache or won’t be able to eat if work is too crazy or I might throw up before a big meeting. I’ve always been like that, for as long as I can remember.

Well, it had finally gotten a bit better, what with me being disabled and whatnot. It had been weeks since my stomach hurt. And I was really excited. But then it came back worse than ever.

I literally can’t eat without pain encompassing my entire torso. I get this sharp, stabbing pain right below my sternum and across the bottom of my entire rib cage, accompanied by heartburn so bad I can’t speak. I usually lay down on my stomach and it helps a bit, unless I have to breathe. The last week, though, the pain has turned into this god awful pressure and my body decides that food isn’t welcome anymore. (Just a note - never throw up after eating buffalo chicken. Dear lord, my nose started bleeding, adding…well, injury to injury I guess.)

Now, if you know me at all, you know I love food. Eating is one of my favorite things to do. Eating, talking about eating…just, food. I love it. And it’s killing me that I’m slowly becoming afraid of one of my favorite things in the world.

Also, don’t suggest I cut out this, this, this, this or this, because I’ve tried it. I promise you, I’ve tried it. I am lactose intolerant. No, I do not have a soy allergy. No, soda doesn’t make it worse. No, carbs don’t help or harm. No, high sugar/sodium/acid content doesn’t make it worse. Gluten free isn’t physically possible for me, vegetarianism actually made it worse and fuck yourself - I’m not going vegan. So don’t suggest diet changes.

I know I have to go for more tests, but I just don’t want to. I’m tired of being sick, but I’m tired of being a spectacle. I’m just tired…