Cause it’s always raining in my head…

I know I’m not normal. I’m different. I feel crazy. I know, intellectually, that I’m not broken. I feel broken, though. I feel like I’m going insane, like I’m swimming against the current… And losing.
I know I sound crazy at least some of the time. Okay, most of the time. There are hundreds of things to say that hurt. But I think one of the most painful things that someone can say, is ”you’re crazy.” No shit. I don’t hide it. I don’t hide behind it. But thanks for the reminder. I know most of the time people think they’re being funny, or cute, or maybe they just don’t know what to say, or even don’t realize how cruel it is, but damn.
Last week someone said to me that I was crazy. I said “Duh, I told you that. Why didn’t you believe me? ” And his reply was that he did believe me, but I just keep getting crazier, he didn’t realize just how crazy I was.
I just… Lost all interest in talking to him. No real desire to maintain a friendship.
People just suck. Turn up the music, crank the bass, and ignore the world.

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Breathe in, for luck. Breathe in so deep.

We’re doing fine.. We’re doing nothing at…

Why don’t you kill me…

I love picking and choosing words from songs as titles, or lines to sing.  They help clarify my world.

Hands down, this is the best day I can ever remember. Always remember. The sound of the stereo. The dim of the soft lights. The scent of your hair that you twirled in your fingers. And the time on the clock when we realized it’s so late.  and this walk that we shared together. The streets were wet, and the gate was locked. So I jumped it and I let you in.

We’re all fucked.

But today, today is a photography day. Because taking pictures of other things makes me forget what’s inside.

I sit here locked inside my head… Remembering everything you said

The silence gets us nowhere way too fast.

I feel bat shit insane.  Not a little looped, not a little crazy. Fucking insane.  I can’t control the thoughts that tumble over and over in my head.  I’ve been slowly winding from my latest manic episode the last few days and quite frankly, it sucks.  I, like most other bipolars, thoroughly enjoy the feel of having no fucks and the wild rush of doing things that, in the long run, are just not smart.  I especially enjoy the mania because my brain doesn’t overwork.  I can throw my head back, howl, and live in it.

This doesn’t happen every time.  I suppose it depends on who or what influences me while I’m rolling through.  There are times when I spend weeks in constant rage and anger, responding to everything aggressively and violently.  There are others when I just don’t care about anything but the rush of whatever I want at that moment–usually something daring and potentially devastating.  Sometimes I just have so many thoughts and ideas I could write a book, except I don’t want to, but I could, dammit! Well, at least until I got bored and moved onto the next thing.

This time I enjoyed partying with a few friends and stayed out way too late, drove way too fast, and basically acted like a kid.  Bad influences abound!  I wish I could control it better, ride it out, make it last longer.  But I can’t.  I suppose if I was normal, un-broken, it would be something that would be a normal emotion that wouldn’t be so extreme.  I’d be happy, bouncy, awesome.  Instead, I’m… this.

Sio isn’t cool. I’ve never been a popular person. So sometimes I wonder, if I wasn’t this crazy, mood-swingy person, would I be less awkward, and therefore a little less dorky?  Would people like me more?  Does that actually matter to me?  Sometimes it does.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  Right this second, if I REALLY think about it, I don’t care.  I’m still semi swung.  Will I care tomorrow?  Potentially. The next day? Maybe. The day after? Probably.  But right now? I’m enjoying the last thread of this bit of dead-inside-carefree-type-feeling.  Though there really are a few things I want to do that I just can’t quite get myself to do.  Shame.

I had a friend recently stop talking to me.  I have no clue why.  I don’t know what I did. He never told me, just stopped talking. One of those things I want to do, but can’t quite get myself to do is ask him what the fuck I did to piss him off.  My head is going over and over and over it. And I remember every little thing we said the last few times we spoke, and I can’t figure it out.  I have a few potential ideas, but they are incredibly simple and petty, and unlike him.

I want to scream and yell.

Can you hear me, should I turn this up for you?

The silence is what kills me.

Red pandas are like drunk raccoons

It always amazes me how important having the last word is to some people. So important, that I got a letter in the mail with no return address, all sneaky-like. I spun through a range of emotions, starting with rage, followed by a hole of depression, then anger, amusement, and finally indifference. Apathy? Maybe apathy is a better word. In my depression stage, I made friends with a bottle of tequila. Probably not the best choice I’ve made lately. The hangover stuck around for two days. That just wasn’t pleasant. But in my apathetic stage, I binned the letter. That’s something I’ve never been able to do before. I’d have saved it. If have reread it and wallowed. So either I’m becoming a bigger asshole, or I’m growing as a person.  We’ll go with asshole.
Shortly after this, I realized I’m having a manic episode. Which, fun. But, destructive. Now normally, when I go manic, I get angry at everything and everyone. I’m extra hateful and bitter. You may recognize that as “Stark Raving Bitch Sio.” This time, I was more stereotypical manic. Hyper, bubbly, energetic, happy, horny, full of poor decisions, low inhibitions, and bad ideas.  I’ve come to realize the best description for manic episodes. It’s like being shit faced, just sober. (Except, drinking and partying tends to be one of my bad decisions, so I guess, not sober. Ha!). It’s been incredibly difficult the past weeks to suppress these symptoms. But here I am, in one piece, sober, alive, and not in jail. I didn’t do anything too stupid, so that’s a win.
That said, my therapist is going to have a field day with analyzing this. “What emotions were you feeling?” I don’t even know. There was a lot of faux happiness in there. I know it was fake, because you can just feel the difference. It’s like… The difference between margarine and butter. Similar flavor, but the texture isn’t quite the same. Don’t get me wrong, things have been going a lot better for me overall, so I have been having some happy moments. It’s pretty fucking great.
Like all bouts of manic insanity, plus the fact that I’d been drinking, I totally skipped a bunch of days of my meds. (Don’t worry, Fuckheads, I’m STILL not jumping off any bridges.) Oops.
I’m not looking forward to the come down. I really wish I could fly high as a kite forever. I wish I was that happy bubbly girl that everyone liked. But at the same time, I’m also satisfied with being the tough ass who can kick your butt in video games, and has a snarky response to everything. Having walls is safer. I tend to prefer safety over spontaneity. Normally anyway. Do I get offended easily? Sometimes, but it generally tends to mean that I thought better of that person, and had lowered the wall a bit. Bully me.
Also, damn, my allergies are killing me.