Here’s the problem.  I’m afraid of myself!

I’m in Chicago right now waiting for Therapy Man to do his thing. I just officially broke up with Danger Boy this morning. I’m not sure how that will go. I have never done that before. It’s always been him and it has always existed around some sort of shit storm. No shit storm this time (yet). I just got tired of him… um, I  think. Chasing him or whatever game it was we were playing because in the end it was just sex and I was losing regardless… good sex or not.

Ironically,  he got me right where he wanted me to be…. he kept saying, after 3 years of it, that it was just sex and I kept saying it had to be more… finally I agree with him and I’m not interested anymore. He should have just let me do me. Boys are dumb.

How does all of this make me realize that I’m afraid of myself?

It doesn’t.

The rest of my week does. And, the rest of my week is so effing crazy that I’m not entirely sure where to start or even sure if it matters if I do.

I do know that as I begin to remove people from my life I am realizing that all I have left is me…  as I was driving to Chicago it occured to me that I scare the shit out of myself. I’m a goodish person. But, I am crazy as hell. It’s very well documented! I’m not sure I can deal with myself… that is why I let so many awful people in.  Hell, I will let anyone in – case in point.. Danger Boy!

I don’t know.  People do not stay in my life for a reason. If others don’t stay how long am I expected to? I drive others crazy? Are you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down here people? I am not an easy person to deal with, obviously!

I think you get it… I’m off for therapy. 

it’s all the same…

…… over and out 

stringing ’em along

So I want to explore this idea of fighting this fight… or giving up the fight….. but, no shit, there is a squirrel in the tree next to my chair making this insane noise and I cannot concentrate on anything other than that little beast.  Its a knocking, chirping noise that a squirrel should not make! I like squirrels, but, dude!!! Please!

Right. The fight! Some people say we stay here in this big ball of mental illness mess, or fall back on it because it’s comfortable… it’s what we know? But I was chatting with someone earlier and now I wanna play the bullshit game for a sec – not with him. He just made me think.  No, I’m calling bullshit on all of us who say we fall back on this behavior because it’s comfortable.

It’s not comfortable! It’s not comfortable at all! Taking a razorblade to my skin – while it might do something psychological to my brain – fucking hurts! Its not comfortable!  Do I run to it – actually, have I run to it? Yup! Maybe that’s extreme and bullshit on you if you say you like the pain! It’s pain dammit!  You can unlike that shit 🙂  ok, ok… settle yourself, Jami. What about other things, I wonder? I have been fortunate not to be a drug addict or alcholic, but I was married to one.  That was not comfortable.  Even in his highest moments… he was not comfortable and I was never comfortable around him?

My point is this? BARE with me because I’m not entirely sure I can yet begin to follow myself here…. what if what I am really running away from is NORMAL life? And so I stay with the mess?  Because, normal life, my friends, scares the be-geesus out of me.  That is why living the bipolar life “feels” comfortable.  It’s what I know. Nothing surprises me.  Goofy shit happens and I can write it off with a big ole “crazy stigma” check and try again tomorrow… if I even decide to try tomorrow.  And, I don’t even have to….

Here’s my dealieo (freakin’ squirrel is gonna lose it’s life).  I have been fortunate enough this summer to string together a few really good days in a row on more than one occasion.. as in experience “big girl life with big girl panties” for more than an 8 hour period and more than just every few months. I woke up to that fact the other day in therapy and it scared the living hell out of me…. maybe? Or maybe it just woke up something else.  Maybe it’s the reason this post is here.  Maybe I’m realizing that I’ve been fighting that damn bipolar fight because I was afraid to fight this one….

All I know is that we are fooling ourselves if we consider anything about our mental illness as being comfortable.  People, come on, comfortable means happy, no pain, no struggle… it’s a “feel good” word.  If mental illness or addiction really “felt good” we wouldn’t be here, in this place talking about our struggles. Please don’t misunderstand me.  I will be mentally ill the rest of my life.  And it is HARD to be mentally ill or addicts! And, I love this place and these people.  Your struggles, help me get through mine. I will always be afflicted.  But I can choose what I consider comfort. Razor blades were always intended to cause pain if used incorrectly.  Pills… alcohol… sex… credit cards… food… misued…. not comfortable, my friends. Locking myself away instead of making myself step out of my zone… not comfortable, friends. I really mean that sincerely because I have lived it and felt it. I really, really do know. And, I sincerely do know how hard it is and how hard you/we try everyday.

Ok, yes, you are right, neither is real life.  I get that.  But for 48 years,  the bipolar sort of “comfort” has gone round and round and I have been miserable to the point that my entire self, my entire being aches.  I’m just saying… the last few months, from the “comfort” of my faded out, blue, Adirondack chair, as I let go of that fight, I’m seeing things more clearly… I know we can do it.  I haven’t spent time talking about the over 75 to 100+ hospitalizations I experienced.  The group home, the state hospital… the cutting, the scars, the sex, the abuse. I don’t need to because it doesn’t matter how extreme my fight has been or how extreme your fight is… the word “fight” is extreme enough. The word “comfort” should be just that for each of us … a comfort…. that’s all I’m sayin’ my sweet peas…. we shouldn’t be crying in pain and sadness… we should be crying for happiness because we finally feel good… even if just for a moment.  And then, maybe just one more… and then maybe we can all start stringing them together!!! Idk 🙂

Side note: the squirrel moved on.

I’m now off to get my toes done.

Over and out!