Considering getting another blog that is password protected so I can really spill my guts if the object is to let loose all the motions and emotions of the day. Hard to do if it’s in a semi-public space. Even a new blog with new pseudo is dangerous as I can slip up and give myself away.
Trip to the mall was a waste of time – had to try on stupid too small bras and see my gut in all it’s ugliness in a full length mirror – 40 inches and it won’t go down. Only out in front, like I swallowed a mis-shapened basketball.
In the bipolarsphere, I’ve been binging, I know, I fight the urge to eat junk and salt every minute. I want to drink – but I’m not, and I want to spend money. I’m spending some but putting back a lot of stuff before the check out. It’s the horrible time when I’m manic and depressed – what the shrinks say can’t happen but does. I’m looking for sometime to raise my mood – food, stuff, hope like in a DIY project I’ll never DYI.
Seems like I spend all my time fighting something and I’m so tired of it. Tired of always being on the outside, fighting to get it. Fighting to stay on a diet of some sort. Fighting the voices. Fighting food, self-image, binging. I want to drink – I can taste the cider or the wine. As a high-functioning alcoholic, I’m very particular about what I drink.
Tried to tidy-up today, but got defeated by the vastness of it. That’s what always happens now – everything seems so vast, I can’t begin because there is just so much. I can’t see the tiny corner, I can only see the four shelves. Open the bin, see the mess, and close it – unable to strategize how to fix it.
Just like there is too much to say about how I feel today to write down. I don’t have the words, gone with my hair and brain cells. Gone with the Wind – and I never had Scarlett’s 18 inch waist to fret about, nor Tara to go home to.
Sure enough, the GERD wheezies are coming on. I had lunch and a coffee this afternoon – too much. My stomach can only handle coffee in the morning then supper – an more than that or earlier than evening makes the wheezies come. I hate that asthmatic feeling that takes me back to my childhood of getting asthma like symptoms at the tail end of a cold or with really bad allergies like true hay fever. Brings back the taunts and other baggage. When you didn’t have a happy childhood, every memory is smeared with shit of some kind. Holds some darkness within it. I often wonder what it’s like to have fond memories of growing up. Does it help or hinder how that person is now?
Tired too. Drugs make me tired. Never really sleeping makes me tired. Life makes me tired. Writing this makes me tired. So enough for today. Or for now.