Is it just me, or is this particular manic period really fucking exhausting?
I mean. Fuck. I can’t get equilibrium trucked in for this shit. But I swear to y’all, this one feels like I’m running a marathon while also having that nightmare where you’re naked in front of everyone you know, and a little bit of hangover nausea as a side dish.
I just can’t get my shit together.
I don’t think the last time was anything close to this, but that’s the thing about being mentally unwell. It doesn’t really matter what you happen to think about it, the real test is how well you’re delivering your lines.
I really used to love the manic side of me, because duh, y’all know how much coffee I drink. Listen, jet black ass coffee, too, and I’m fairly certain if someone sent me for a urinalysis, this coffee is showing up in one of the panels. I like getting everything done. Ever. All of it.
Unfinished anything makes me a basketcase. I’ll work until there is just nothing else that can possibly be done. It keeps my brain from traveling into unauthorized areas. Well, most of the time.
The manic means I can be sitting here working a 12 hour stretch, and I’ve also rehashed every conversation I was engaged in for the last 90 days, updated my financial planner for the upcoming 90 days, and pinned 42 dog treat recipes.
That’s not an exaggeration. I literally just did those things.
It wouldn’t be a problem if I could just hit the switch on the wall now, gather up my Kate Spade and keys, and get out of my head. Manic for me, though, means stuck. I get a thought going, and instantly know I’m fucked because that thought is going to turn into me unraveling like someone is running a backward crochet stitch on me.
These were the times where the pills fixed things. Jumped in and shut shit down. Pulled the brake and steered into the skid. But, due to the fact that I chewed them like they were being consumed from a Pez dispenser in a side holster, that’s not an option.
I don’t know anything about moderation. Never was interested in getting to know moderation, as it seemed boring. Like HOA level boring, but boring isn’t hand mopping floors at 4am while crying about their ex, now is it?
Anyway, we’ve got 8 years off of them now, a column reminded me. For all of the shit I’ve not fixed yet, and everything I obsessively overthink on, no part of me questions that move. I can tell you with 100% certainty I wouldn’t be here today had I not kicked them.
I wouldn’t go back, not for a moment, but it sure would be great to have the wet blanket effect for your brain that they provide. Like, not the shitty, uncomfortable wet blanket effect. Nuh uh, it’s you’ve come in from super cold rain, and kicked the heat on, and hid under the covers right at the edge of sleeping, that kind of wet blanket. I know it’s that kind, because in the past 8 years, it’s the only thing I’ve found that is even remotely close to that nod out.
I’m going to go hand mop floors, and load conversations from 2022 into my brain for compulsive rehashing, and if I feel super jazz hands, I might organize some of the lists I have laying on every square inch of my side desk.
Really going to be thrilled to see some more mentally sound days around here. Any fucking day now…
Existence is exhausting. Maybe you just have malaria 🤷 I kid I kid