Is it wrong?

WARNING! THIS IS A REALLY RAMBLING POST.

So as I was saying, is it bad for me to feel sad all the damned time? Like I have the weight of the effing world on my goddamned shoulders? I mean, I was always told, "You think you have it bad? You've never had it bad. Quit crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Words like that I understood.

I couldn't explain my feelings, though. It is still pretty much *I was going to say impossible, but damn...clearly that isn't right* Anyhow, what I was going to say was that I have difficulty articulating what my feelings are.

Sort of like a dude. I'm like a girl/dude. I am not a big girlie movie person, I like action movies. I always wanted Tinker Toys; Lincoln Logs..things like that. Maybe I have gender issues,too?! Anyhow, I am tired of trying to always be "normal". Having dropped all that shit in your lap, allow me to explain the why to all of this. Let's see if you can keep track:

I have been diagnosed with the following:

Chronic clinical depression
OCD
PTSD (you don't have to be in a war to get this)
personality disorder
the biggie: BIPOLAR DISORDER
Generalized anxiety..
and some other shit I can't remember right now.

Now, see...many people will say something like: I always thought she was crazy. Or maybe, Wow, I've never seen her like...go crazy.

Well, that pisses me off. Here's why:

It's ignorant and offensive. Being Bipolar doesn't mean you run around batshit crazy with your genitals hanging out screaming, "Let's go to Vegas!" I mean, you could do that, but I don't. Bipolar disorder has different variations and different medical "cocktails" to attempt to control it. Some are more manic, some are more depressed. Some swing wildly between the two. Some manic episodes last years, some last an hour...you never, ever know. For me,the depression is more prevalent.

I can remember being depressed on my 7th birthday, and I didn't know how to articulate it. I guess I came across as spoiled or whiny, because I was mocked and told how selfish I was. I don't know why. I think people thought I wanted my birthday presents then instead of after school or something. I was allowed to open a present, and I didn't want to. I didn't know what I wanted. I still don't for the love of Moses! I never know what I WANT at any given time. Even to this damned mother effin day.

I was diagnosed when I was 30 years old. I suffered for at least 23 years when I could have been treated. I doubt when I was a child that was very common, though. I waited to be diagnosed in order to not give a soon to be ex any fodder to attempt to gain custody of my children. THAT would have been the end. They are grown now. No worries. (In college, all three! One graduates this spring! Thank God! One is in grad school! Thank God! One is a sophomore! Thank God!)

Speaking of the end. Yes. I have. I've tried, but never succeeded. I think I'm too afraid. I'm either too afraid or too lazy. Not sure which. I can never anyhow, because I love my family. I would never do that to them. The dangerous thing is when my mind tells me that they would be better off without me. And I believe my asshole mind. Then I feel like a failure because I am scared.

You see...you can't trust your own mind. It's in there just doing whatever the hell it wants to do, and you can go to hell if you don't like it. (Not YOU, me. That is what it says to me. Not literally. It doesn't holler, "YOU CAN GO TO HELL IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT!" That would just be fucked up. (And kind of damned HI larious.) Because none of the rest is. That is one damned thing for sure. My mind says it's totally okay. It just told me to eat ice cream but we don't have any ice cream because some douchebag got bacteria in my favorite ice cream and they had to close down the factory to do something like hazmat cleaning or some such bullshit. THERE. See? All of that in a split second. I am careful to not SPEAK like that. Writing it is easier. Somehow, it comes out of my mouth, anyhow. *sad face* I HATE EMOJIS, by the way.

Most of the time, your mind is telling you how stupid and worthless you are. I am used to that. I expect it. When it is too bad, I go to bed. I stay in the dark, in the bed and hide. I cry uncontrollably. My family is scared, feel bad because they can't help me and don't understand what is wrong, although they know what is CLINICALLY wrong. What triggered it? Nothing. Nada. Don't need a trigger. It's always there.

It's always there..hiding. You can feel it hiding behind that rock right there to the left. Wait, it's to the right this time. See it? It growls and howls and it sounds like wind going through pine trees in the mountains. Wind sounds sad. That is how depression sounds as it ramps up to pay you a good old fashioned "HEY THERE! I'M HERE TO STAY FUR APIECE! HOW YA LIKE THAT? I'M HERE AND I'M GONNA MAKE YOU CRY AND CRY! Then I will laugh and laugh! I will just descend my damned ass down on your head whenever I'm ready and you won't know when it happens." THIS is the craptastic asshole type of depression that I want to kick in the throat.

I mean, the sister of this depression is always here. She is the one you can barely live with. You can act "normal" with her. You can work, do the things that have to be done in life. It's exhausting to act all the time. She just sort of hangs out next to me all the freakin' time. Like some idiot who likes you and you hate and they tag along like a puppy dog, but a puppy dog that can make you do things. Some goddamned puppy dog with super powers. That's some scary shit if you think about it. It's some idiot who you don't like who thinks you are the shit, but then hates you and has revenge on you because you don't like them always up on your ass whining and shit. They go to school and tell all the kids lies about you..like you pee in bed or something. (I don't. Pee in bed, I mean. Wait. I did when I was given Depakote. That was a goddamned amusement park for demons. I don't take that now.)

HOWEVER! Sometimes, their cousin Mania just waltzes in and begins telling you how damned AWESOME you are, and hell YES, you can do that! Watch. Then you wake up and don't remember drinking like 10 sake bombs, and you didn't know what sake bombs were yesterday afternoon. What the holy hell happened? Well, Mania likes to party! She also spends money, starts things she can't finish, makes really awesome plans that are completely impossible and stupid as shit. AND HAVE YOU HAD A FIREBALL? YES, PLEASE!! !

Hang on, "COPS" , my most favorite TV show of all time is on. I can't pass it up. It is the BEST.SHIT.EVER! Shit is going down on COPS, y'all. Wow. This girl is A MESS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. Even I have never gotten that low. Wow. M&Ms and Crack in her pocket? I would choose the M&Ms.

So...back to the mania. Mania can fuck up your life forever. Problem is...YOU DON'T THINK THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH EMPTYING THE BANK ACCOUNTS TO BUY EVERY DAMNED THING THAT IS REMOTELY RELATED TO THE LAVENDER PLANT. (I shit you not, lavender) SURE! I can TOTALLY start a plant nursery business RIGHT DAMNED NOW! I have a brilliant botany related damned brain! (that is almost true, but not so much.) There are no roadblocks on the road to absolute straightjacket hell.

OMIGOD! I just realized..I should tell this, maybe. I have ALWAYS been scared of the state mental hospital. Why? Because I was told I would go there if I didn't do this or that or stop doing this or that. Now, none of these things that were "done" or not "done" to me were meant to be hurtful or were malicious in any way. Different time, different ways. That's all it was. I mean, I was also told if I didn't come inside from playing when called, the "gypsies" would steal me and sell me into "white slavery". WTF is that???? Never happened, though.

I was constantly on the lookout for caravans of evil, slobbering hyena laughing people in the shadows wearing stylish scarves dashingly around their hips or neck. I never, ever saw them, which is unfortunate because that would be some interesting shit. They could be really nice. They might invite me in for a delicious slice of pecan pie. Maybe they would put ice cream on top, but maybe they had no freezer since they are in those old fashioned wagons like the fortune teller in the Wizard of Oz.

AWWW, man. Damn. These people on COPS that have all SORTS of drugs and shit...they searched their gross nasty car...and of course they have Whataburger and Dairy Queen bags and trash in there. I sear to GOD, y'all. Most people here aren't like that. Some are, but you know. Different stroke and all that. When I say "here", I mean here in Texas. We have this wondrous place to eat called "Whataburger". It is a heaven you may never have experienced if you don't live in the Great State of Texas. (That made me sound like a raging assclown. I wanted to say it like an old timey politician, and it damn sure made me sound like an assclown old time politician. THAT mystery is solved.) Plus, who the hell asked me to tell me about the most wondrous television program ever? Nobody, that's who. No damned body.

Here's the deal: I am a goddamned AWESOME writer. No, I'm not manic right now. There is something I pretty much always am confident about. I can write my ass off. I don't always do it, because I am busy hiding from the world and attempting to hold a normal job and have a normal life and family. The problem is...I start out writing and it's sort of stilted...tight like a tendon or something. After a few paragraphs, I hit my stride and I start sounding more like me. Not some idiot who is bemoaning her mental illness..I guess this is truly a first world problem.

My communication on here or social media or whatever frequently disappears because I can't type and hide under the covers at the same time. You can't be catatonic or howling in terror and sadness and still be able to make any sense. Yeah. First world. I am hiding in my nice, comfortable bed with nice, clean linens on it and a water pillow for my neck. What the hell? I'm not laying on the dirt floor of a hut with flies on my mouth. That is horrible.

I wonder, are those poor souls ever just PISSED off? Are they ever depressed? Happy? Or, are they just so focused on staying ALIVE and keeping their babies alive that they feel nothing? THAT just drug my ass way down. See? Now I'll focus on that and then mistreated animals and abused children and I want to just not live in this worthless world. (I changed that from an exclamation mark to a period because I am a notorious abuser of punctuation.)

But damn, I don't appreciate them playing really sad songs as they show the children or animals. I am fired up as hell already. You don't need to play horrifically sad music to go along with the shivering dog in the wooden crate in the snow with a chain around his neck. I can see that it is astonishing evil. I can. BUT, I have watched it very carefully, and some of those dogs and cats could just be on someone's couch or something. There is like a shitzhu or however you spell it. Anyhow, there is one and it looks way better groomed than my dogs. My dogs are assholes. Shitheads, if you will.

The shitheads also roll around in filth for no real damned reason. Two of them like to just piss like freakin' damned fountains in my house, when they know good and goddamned well that they are housetrained. Shit, our dogs live for EVER. My Westie, aka the Filth Magnet who has the yawning pit of death of a mouth is 15 years old. My Sheltie aka: the Dumb One is about 12 and my Yorkie aka Ewok is 10. Who has dogs that old? WE do! Our Golden was 17 years old when we had to put her down because she had cancer. Our other sheltie was 19 goddamned years old! Ungrateful little doggies. I love their goofy doggie selves. Plus? The Yorkie, the only girl...GETS SHIT DONE.


Dogs are the best. Nothing is better. They are innocent and happy (usually, unless some asshat who is itchin for a one way trip to hell when they die gets a hold of them)and they want to play play play and run run run and if you are my Westie, BITE THE SHIT OUT OF MOM'S HAND EVERY TIME SHE GETS NEAR YOU. Thankfully, his rabies are up to date. He is a raging maniac. We can't take him to the groomer's because NONE OF THEM IN OUR TOWN WILL TAKE HIM. He is notorious. I have to take him to this vet who also has a groomer in his office and he can sedate my dog before he is groomed. I am not sure I like that, so we haven't ACTUALLY done that, yet. Judging from the last mauling I suffered because I dared to attempt to comb him GENTLY AS FUCK and cut his claws, we will have to do that. Otherwise, he gets so stressed his nose bleeds. Maybe we'll leave him alone since he is so old, but he is so unsanitary! It's not good for him! I'm all conflicted, now.

The world is just too messed up and terrible. My dog gets nosebleeds from STRESS when we try to lovingly brush him or hold him. He's never been abused or hit. He flinches when I try to pet him. I don't know WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH MY DOG! I hate the world.

Only..you know what? My brilliant, amazing precious children are in this world, and that makes up for all the shit whirling around. I can still laugh at funny shit. I can still read and go to places that aren't here. I can hug them, hear them, watch them and be so very proud and love them so much I just want to bite the shit out of something. (is that not normal? I feel the need to bite stuff when my emotions are really high one way or the other. Just bite the living shit out of something.)

Okay. Review: I'm mentally ill. Your suspicions were correct. Congrats, Sherlock. I am SO mentally ill. Like REALLY REALLY. I'm now fascinated with gypsies. I want one of those old timey wagons. I hate people who hurt animals or children or really ANYONE. There is no need for pain, especially against such innocent beings. I love COPS. My dogs are crazed demons. The world sucks ass. My kids are by far the ONLY thing that gives me hope for the human race. I'm sure there is more, but damn. It was a long ride, here. I'm exhausted. If you know me, I don't even want to discuss this, ok? Don't judge my ass or I'll have a major big problem with you and who KNOWS what my unhinged mind will tell me to do? I know I wouldn't want to find out if I was you. That's for sure.

Mom, Dad...should you read this..NO you didn't do anything to hurt me or anything wrong, for the love of God. Seriously! You have GOT to settle the hell down. Oh, I'm sorry for the cuss words. I have a filthy mouth. I'm sorry. You had nothing to do with it. I love you both. You did nothing wrong. Oh shit. Goddamn it. They are going to lose their damned minds. I LOVE YOU BOTH! OKAY? JESUS!