May I just start off by saying that it is a very strange thing to watch one’s self descend into…madness? I am still plenty well in control of my faculties to be aware of my own behaviour and thought patterns, but not enough so to do much about them. Whether that is anyone’s clinical definition of madness, or simply the layman’s definition of an average Thursday, well, that’s up for debate. Regardless, I’m not really coping well, and I don’t know if it’s my own inability to cope, or my choice not to.
There. I said it. Is it all a choice? Is that the big kick in the nuts?
The grip that I feel like I have been losing on reality for the last several years, which has suddenly been thrown into hyperspeed since coming off the oxy…is that actually me losing the battle for my sanity? Or is it me losing the energy to fight the battle? Am I giving up on myself and giving in to the drama that might be ever so much more interesting than the reality? Oh, and it would have the handy little side-effect of absolving me of all responsibility too. How nice.
I’m tired. I’m so very, very tired. I’m tired of having to fight for every single inch in life, mine or my children’s. Is it all really worth it in the end? Are some of us simply “born lucky,” while others of us struggle eternally, and seemingly without reprieve? Or, to put it a different way, will all the struggle in the world, on my part, ever make for any tangible changes in our lives? I have my doubts.
OK, let me digress for a moment. Because of this damn flu that we’ve all had, I have not taken my anti-depressants in about 5 days. Hmm, can you tell? Yeah, me too. I guess, if nothing else, this answer’s my mother’s recent question about whether I thought I might be able to come off of the 40mg of Prozac and 300mg of Wellbutrin XL that I am supposed to take on a daily basis. I’m thinking perhaps that would not be the smartest course of action, a point that is hammered home when I start considering different methods of suicide. (Did I mention this was likely to be a really feel-good post?)
Now, what I’m wondering is whether obsessive thinking is related in any way to a Bipolar II diagnosis? Because that’s what the last week has held for me. Obsessively thinking about the same things over, and over, and over, and over, and over….right, you get the picture. I definitely tend towards the all-or-nothing end of the scale, even on a good day. But, this is going in a direction that is really quite new. I’ve never really obsessed over people before – wait, to be fair, we’ve all had those obsess-about-the-cute-boy-you’re-crushing-on moments in our lives. But in the past, they have at least all been boys/men that I actually knew. As in, first-hand. As in, not just on the freakin’ TV screen. (As in, I’m no John Hinckley Jr., don’t worry.) But this one is weirding me out. I have never been one to be star-struck…my family’s in show-business, and I’ve grown up around it, and it’s never really been a big deal. They’re all just folks like the rest of us, eating and shitting and sleeping and fucking. And yeah, some happen to be particularly blessed with looks, while others are overabundant with personality, or humour, or joy, or love. We all have our own gifts, and I have never considered physical appearance particularly more important than any other attribute.
But WTF? New TV show this season. I am obsessive about it. That’s happened before – when Grey’s Anatomy first came out, I was pretty obsessive about it too (not nearly so good this season though.) But it was never about one actor in particular – it was about the show and the storylines. Well, this new show has me fairly obsessive about it too – the storylines and all. But this one is weird because it really does revolve around one of the actors in particular. I find myself watching every YouTube interview with him I can find, looking at years’ worth of photos online, etc. etc. It’s kinda creeping me out.
Now, this is gong to sound certifiable, I fully realize. The only other time I have ever felt anything even sort of related to what I’m going through now, it more like premonitory knowledge that this would be someone significant in my life. And in that instance, I was bang on. I knew that the person in question and I would end up sleeping together, and I was right on the money, and have continued to be so for the last 3 years. So is this weird obsession a sign of mental illness, intuition, or just, I don’t know, menopause?
OK, enough of being sidetracked by fantasies of mysterious and sexy leading men. (They’re only fun when you can choose to turn them on and off, not when they occupy your every thought.) However, I guess it’s a nice diversion from the crazy I’m otherwise going.