This week has been hard. I’m not coping, not like a proper person. I can’t even pin point the exactness of my fuckedupedness right now. But things seem to have escalated quickly and I think I might actually be having a mixed manic episode rather than the depression I felt I was being slowly choked by just a few short days ago.
I don’t really feel sad at the moment, yet I feel like at any moment something could send me into a sobbing, heaving mess. I’m certainly not happy. My chest is buzzing with adrenaline but it’s different to normal anxiety, I want to run, run fast and far, and awaay from the world and be surrounded by all of it at the same time. I just want to drive fast, TOO FAST, I want to watch the speedo hit 200 and feel the rush in my body as I fly down a hill and decide at the last minute whether or not to just keep flying, into the trees by the side of the road, racing into oblivion; flying forever.
Everything in the world is linking with all the other stuff, old lives are colliding with new ones and all my memories are fighting like dogs for poll position. I am utterly consumed with my thoughts but they are racing through my mind so quickly that I am getting confused when I just want to write and write and write but when I reflect it all looks like nonsense, last hours thoughts were thinking one thing and now I’m thinking different things and I can’t remember…
I know I should take something, pills, something to slow my mind down, take the edge off, but I don’t want to slow down. I am teetering on the edge of the matrix and I want to immerse myself in its intensity, hide in the plain sight of a nightclub in a big city somewhere feeling the beat of the bass throbbing through my soul. I want to rob a bank and set fire to the pile of cash on the sidewalk while yelling at people about the evils of money, I want to run from the cops and feel the exhilaration of nearly being caught. I want to feel myself explode into a million pieces.
I know I’m not coping because I haven’t made dinner in over a week, I forgot to feed and water the chickens for 3 days, I forgot to give the kids I was babysitting lunch yesterday because I was too busy trying to convert my shit to WordPress, hyper focused, pity about responsibilities.
I have been avoiding The Hubby’s family like the plague and that includes skipping out on Facebook. I prefer Twitter, I can say what I want and nobody gives a fuck and besides nobody there knows how to contact my relatives so I feel like I really can say whatever I want. The chick down at the servo asked if I was alright in a concerned manner the other day and the shoe shop lady told me to ‘just breath’ so I’m clearly not covering up my feelings as well as I thought I was.
My in law side of the family are sharp as tacks and like blood hounds always sniffing me for the first sign of distress so I’m sticking to short texts and smiley face emoji’s. My mum & dad are thankfully less observant.
Because of the avoidance I’m sucking particularly hard at Auntying. I forgot to post one nieces birthday present, I completely forgot my baby niece’s birthday which was yesterday and I forgot all about my other big nieces 18th birthday party tomorrow until 5 minutes ago. It’s a bad time to be my niece. The 18th is a two-hour drive away, it’s a family affair and I am expected to go, to interact, to bring my children, to be a mother, to discuss my children, to discuss the weather and the normal facets of life. But how can I possibly talk to people when I am so consumed with this intense internal urge to run and thoughts racing through my mind like a fucking freight train? Yes I can hear you, and your right, drinking would be the obvious answer but I suspect that would be a very bad idea.
I’m sane enough to know I can’t tell them how I’m feeling, but if I get drunk I might just do that. I can’t articulate my big talk thoughts into small talk ones. There is no small talk going on in my mind right now, nothing is small, everything is massive, even the weather – have you noticed the weather? Mother nature is just like me, all or nothing, everything is life and death.
Small talk is inevitable, commitments are inevitable, family ones I mean, not psychiatric ones, though perhaps both statements would be accurate for somebody like me particularly the latter if I was to fuck up the former. I fear commitment, psychiatric I mean, been there done that, got the scars to prove it. They would likely strip search me and lock me straight in acute if I got sectioned again, after last time. Nobody trusts me, which is probably fair enough. But I’m not ready to be committed again, I’m not prepared like last time, don’t have options, choices, wouldn’t have control. I need control They would just drug me, bring me down, I don’t want to be brought down, too many questions, too many consequences. No, I am free now and free I shall stay, until my final dying day.
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