It’s only in your head that you feel left out.. Or looked down on.
Sometimes. Sometimes it’s in my head. But sometimes it’s really there. Okay, a lot of the time it’s really there. No one wants to be around the crazy girl. No one wants to spend time or be friends with the crazy girl. Don’t worry, I don’t want to be the crazy girl.
And don’t you worry what they tell themselves when you’re away.
HA! That’s one of my biggest anxieties. I always worry what people are saying behind my back. I know they’re talking about me. Okay, they probably aren’t. But I know they are. I have problems even ordering a pizza because of that. They’re probably making fun of my voice, or the pizza that I’m ordering, or something something. I don’t know why it’s easier to order online, but it is. So I do. It’s easier for everything for me to do online, because I don’t have to hear that, “I’m secretly laughing at you, and will ACTUALLY laugh at you when we get off the phone,” in their voice.
It just takes some time. Little girl, you’re in the middle of the ride.
Every little thing in life feels like it’s the end of the world. We can either crash and burn, or fight to float. Some days, crashing and burning is the only option. Some days, fighting is the only option. There are days where I refuse to let them win. I refuse to let the doubts and the anxiety win. Then there are others that I can’t even slow the downward spiral. But it’s not over yet, eh? There’s always time to make change, to fight harder. Just things that spiral in my brainpan, anyway.
I mostly disappeared during the holidays. I do that. I hate the holidays. They tend to make me miserable. I’ve actually been doing really well since I cut out half of the meds that my doctor had me on. I just wish he’d listened to me that they weren’t helping. I never understood why some doctors don’t actually listen to their patients. Call me crazy, (HA!) but I know my body better than anyone else. Most people do. So I suppose that it makes sense that I’d know how things feel to me better than the doctor would. BUT! The good news is that my insurance is changing, so I won’t have that doctor anymore. Yay! Now, here’s hoping the new doctor is good with me staying on this regimen that’s working. We can dream, eh? I like being fairly normal. Kind of.
The one downside to being regulated and “normal” is that there are no ups. There are no highs. Manic episodes are addictive. While I’m not a fan of the rage-anger-mania, the happy-hyper-energetic mania is fucking amazing. I love the feeling of being free, happy, like there is nothing I can’t do. There is nothing in the world that will bring me to my knees. Even on my meds, I can feel the sway and pull of the tides. When I feel the lean towards mania, I have this voice that tells me “Just stop taking them. You know you want to be on the high. Stop taking the meds. Just for a little while. It’ll feel so good.” Oh the temptation… It’s a drug. Which, is ironic, since the “drug” wants me to stop taking my actual drugs to feel the drug? I love the feeling of wanting sex, not needing to sleep (different from insomnia, mind you), extra inspiring creativity, being completely guilt free, and the general feeling of nothing can go wrong. But, alas, I must be responsible. Because the down crash is fucking horrible. Yet, part of me still says it’s worth it. But don’t all addicts say that?