Tangled, tripping, slamming, crashing

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

I threw off the covers so fast I got my feet tangled in the sheets. I don't know what I tripped over on my way out- what is it that I'm keeping beside my bed? I don't remember. I flung open the door, slammed it shut again. When I turned on the light in the living room, Moby's head was up, giant ears pushed forward, looking at me intently. By the time I got to his crate, the tears were spurting out like a disposal that hadn't been turned on, bubbling forth sporadically. I pushed the latches back and Moby's nose was wet on my already damp hands. When the door opened (never soon enough for a dog), he spilled into my lap. He didn't run around me to play. He knew something was wrong and immediately licked my legs, face, chin, and hands because to Moby, saliva and love are the answers. His giant, long head pushed me, nudged me, and he let me sob against him. Because that's what he does. I'm on the couch, his dog bed next to me and after a quick relief outside, he has been there beside me as I type this. Even though it's 3:29 and he's normally crashed, this 6 month old knows something is not right, so he sits, watching the room to check and see if there might be something I missed through my curtain of tears. Occasionally, he looks back at me to check and make sure I'm okay. Okay enough.

Okay enough even though my heart is pounding. Even though I can't remember the last time I went to bed and fell asleep before 11 in a matter of minutes. Even though my dreams are horrible nightmares. I dreamt I got laughed off the Clemson campus when I returned to study because everyone there knew I was a failure. (Worst of that ordeal, I got laughed out of the football stadium. Truly terrible if you know Clemson.) I keep coming up with scenarios where I save the day. Where I volunteer for the perfect project or get hired for the best job or am able to deposit a check to help out. What I keep hoping is that someone will see something in me- something that I accomplish, some reservoir of capability deep inside me, waiting to get out when the opportunity brings it forth. (Yeah, one of the worst things about all of this is that I know exactly why this is happening, psychologically speaking.) But I don't go anywhere near those probabilities in my life. I can't fall asleep so I stay up late. By body is so tired from the staying up that once it crashes, it stays crashed for hours on end. My immune system stinks. I grocery shop, pick up toiletries, keep the house clean, write thank you notes and generally feel like I'm not living up to something. I just don't know what that something is.

All I do know is that my "should be simple" life is not simple. I deal with ferocious battles of emotion that leave me exhausted in the aftermath. I'm trying to be patient as Thomas and I await orders. He graduates from his current schooling March 31, but we should know where he's going sooner. We could stay here. I'm trying to be open to all options, but I know full well that deciding is not a luxury I am afforded. So what caused this outpouring of emotion at this hour? A tv show where the victim of the crime was on antidepressants for a long time and characters just kept throwing that around in a well-how-stable-could-she-really-be manner. Is that what people think I am? Is my credibility diminished because I am bipolar If something ever happened, would they look at this blog and wonder how "vulnerable" I am, how "susceptible" to crime and victimization I am. It's not fair. Not fair for others to think I'm loony. But the sad thing is, at the moment, I agree with them.

I feel totally nuts. Who else is blogging about bipolar disorder and crying to their dog at 4 am? Me. This is my life. Not too fond of it right now. Going to attempt sleeping again, if Thomas hasn't hogged the whole bed by now. Hopefully I'm so tired after 20 hours of being awake, I'll just pass out. Here's to hoping. Oh and don't even get me started on God and prayer. That's another late night sessionl

1 comment:

  1. Read this:
    http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/23/health/23lives.html?pagewanted=all

    ReplyDelete

 
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