Objects in Mirror are Angrier than They Appear.

I don’t know what to do with my anger anymore.

I get angry because of the chemical imbalance in my brain.  That’s what my counselor tells me.  I think I get angry because everyone around me is a fucking brain-dead troll. 

“Nope,” she says, “you are the troll.”

She doesn’t say that.  She says something objective and encouraging that I don’t hear because I’m too busy summarizing what I think she’s really thinking.

Troll.”

I catch the end of what she’s actually saying in audible words of her own making and I pick up something about needing to wait until the medication is in my system at full strength. This is when the trolls will turn to golden shimmery fairies and I won’t want to scream, “Shut UUUUUUUUP!!” in the face of crying babies in the grocery store or my boyfriend when he goes on a rant about the current state of health care.

In the meantime… I don’t know what to do with my anger anymore.

If my anger is just a chemical thing and it’s likely that I wouldn’t be upset about had I a chemically balanced brain… then why am I getting myself all worked up?

But, I am.

I have coping mechanisms for this!  Counselor would tell me to analyze my anger.  Break it down and ask myself… No, it’s too late, I can’t do this shit right now.

I am so pissed that baby didn’t stay home where he belongs.  What the actual fuck is that baby doing out of his home??  Shouldn’t that damn baby be in his own home?  He should be AT HOME bothering only his blood relatives with his BABY problems!  I’m just minding my own business, shopping for food and here comes this baby screaming his head off.  What the fuck?  Mark my words, that baby will grow up to be an asshole.

Now, don’t worry about this baby.  When he passes with his parent, I arrange my face in a way that I believe appears sympathetic and smile warmly at the screaming tiny monster.

Worry about me.  Because, I am going to spend at least an hour mad at that baby.  I will miss my turn while I am driving home.  I will have forgotten something from my grocery list.  I will have ground my teeth into dust and my jaw will be sore.  I may rush home, speeding and get more angry at the traffic and how no ONE is going as fast as I think they should be going and why the fuck are they in my way in the first place?!  GO. HOME!

Then, you may want to take a minute to worry about the people who are dumb enough to talk to me once I get home.  Or God forbid call me.  The ring alone could set me off.  Why do they have to make those things so loud when I set it to top volume?  Why is so-and-so calling me?  They call me all the damn time!  Just two months ago they called me.  So-and-so just wants something from me.  Probably wants me to come over or go out to eat or something.  Jesus.  Leave me alone, already.

My stomach hurts.

A stray cat who visits my yard from time to time is crying.  He always cries.  I think he’s hungry.  I don’t leave food out for him like I want to because I have done that before and soon I had several stray cats in my yard.  Turns out animal control will not come to retrieve cats you have been foolishly feeding in your own yard.  That is when I live alone.  Here, at my parents house, I have been given strict orders that I am not to feed this cat.

Earlier today, my boyfriend and I fought over ObamaCare (?).  I left his house because things were getting heated and I knew I would not be able to come down from this gracefully.  I packed my things.  He asked me if I’m going home.  I say yes.  We argue.  The dog howls.  I leave.

I drove home so pissed I had thirty seven (estimate guess) imaginary arguments with him before I got there.

The cat is here now.  Crying.  Mouth open, panting.  It’s nine o’clock 90 degrees F.  The poor cat is thirsty and hot.  The cat is dying.  What kind of person lets a cat die of thirst?  Tears come to my eyes.  I splash around in the bird bath as to give him a hint to an open source of water.  I go inside and give my own cats fresh water with ice.  I tell one cat I am glad she has plenty of fresh water to drink.  She doesn’t answer.  Because SHE’S A CAT(!) and I am crazy.

IMG_2893

I play a video game to get my mind off all the ways of the world that I deem unfair or annoying or mean.  A character in my game has been named after one of my dead cousins.  I have a gameplay option to make their lifespan average or long.  I select the long lifespan option and then cry a little because RL Cousin’s RL lifespan only covered 40 years.  I still can’t believe she’s gone forever.  Tears, woozy stomach.

All of this is just happening in my head and I’m watching it.  Panic and confusion is mixed with boredom and I wonder how I did not know I was bipolar thirty years ago.

Now, I am tired and sad.  Hate myself a little.  A lot… kinda…

I don’t worry about what to do with my anger now.  It ate me up yum and then spit me out on the floor of my catio.

Bipolar Disorder 500,000,000, skinkittin 0

Sissy's Gym

 

 

 

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