My Bipolar Journal - Episode 33

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 33

December 30, 2006

Probably my last 2006 entry. Who knows? Kind of a shitty way to end a year. My Papaw died Thursday. One of my best friends ever (and I mean ever) has decided that I'm not as great of a friend as he has been. I'm very depressed. I'm very sad. I'm very sucky. Shit happens. I know this isn't the worst it's ever been, I know it isn't the lowest I'll ever go, but it doesn't make it suck any less. To the one who thinks I have wronged you, you are and always will be one of the best friends I've ever ever ever experienced. You always will be. You'll always be a part of my heart that I can never replace and never would want to. You'll apparently always be a part of my heart that will never know this.

I'm done pretending. I don't know that I ever have, but if I ever did, I'm really done. Even as I say it, I know it may not be true entirely. Even as I hope and discover these things I know that I can barely help myself because I am unfortunately Human. I despise that fact tonight. Whomever it is (and I'm fairly certain I know) that made my friends feel this way I want to hate, but I still can't. I did nothing wrong and I am certain of it in this instance. All I know is that forever and always I will be there for those who are there for me. I will do anything whether they will return the favor or not. Maybe it makes me pathetic. Maybe it makes me alone, but it will never make me ashamed. Not the way I would love to be.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 32

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 32

December 27, 2006

Okay, so yesterday wasn't quite the drunken nervous breakdown I was dreading that I had posted although I'm sure it would have entertained me today. I finally had my breakdown last night though, which was sort of horrible and humiliating, but not too bad. It made me realize a lot of things.

First of all, seriously, why do we think its okay to starve people to death. People have asked me what is wrong with my Papaw and I've had the privilege of up until now just saying that he's old. I mean he has some Parkinson's and diabetes and so on and so forth, but basically he's dying because he's old. Now I can say, well, he was old so they decided to starve him to death. "How did he die, Jenn?" "Oh, they starved him to death." People have ways they never wish they would die. Smothering, fire, drowning, etc. Honestly though, I think I would take any of those over starving to death. All of those things take a matter of minutes or hours to die from. Starving takes days. I just hope that the person dying is delusional enough to not notice. Even murderers are given lethal injection, but when old people die, good and honest people, we've decided that the most humane way to treat them is take them off any sort of life support and have them wither away. It's evil. My grandfather certainly doesn't deserve that. Put a needle in his arm and end his life. Then I feel guilty for even thinking that, but this is the most horrible thing I've ever heard of.

I've also realized that I am truly spending too much time giving only a few people no credit for not being there when I call or even feigning concern when I truly have some stellar friends who have been there and stuck around and listen to me babble on like an idiot. They truly deserve a lot of credit, but leave it to me to focus on the few that are blatantly ignoring me. Even Chris has truly stepped up to the plate and been there for me and I will always be grateful to know him.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 31

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 31

December 27, 2006

So, something is definitely wrong. There is no way in hell that friends would ignore me during this fucking bullshit even if they thought I was being dramatic. Either that or my friends are shit once again which I refuse to believe which may be even worse. Me and my over-estimating my friends. God, I'm so hopeful. Hahahahaha! Anyway, I hope I'm just on everyone's nerves and they get over it soon.

My Papaw is still alive. I feel so horrible because they're basically starving him to death. They're not hydrating him, their not making sure he's fed. What the fuck is up with that? Euthanasia is illegal, but it's okay to starve and dehydrate someone? It almost makes me want to smother people. It's not fair. If I ever get to the point that you have to starve or dehydrate me, please give me the lethal injection. Or smother me with a pillow. It's just wrong. It's not fair. Everyone is going crazy while my grandfather starves to death. It's horrible. It's humiliating.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 30

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 30

December 24, 2006

So, I'm back at my parents after a few grueling days following the grueling, yes, I said it, Mexican family dinner we had the other day. My mom has actively been playing martyr. You can't talk about anything anymore. She'll just interrupt you or change the subject to be about her and the issues she's enduring with the ongoing dilemma of my Grandfather's death. I've been forced on the phone twice since I've told her that I don't want to talk to him anymore. Well, not forced. I'm definitely exaggerating. It's just that I've told her that I don't want to do this anymore and she wants me to. If she feels like it helps him, then fine, but I feel like she tries to push me into these situations so that I will break into tears and she can console me. Another reason I truly hope I'm not here when it does happen (which could be any minute now).

I'm sure to those of you who don't know me I sound like an insensitive bitch, but I'm truly just a realist. He's old, he dies. I should be glad it wasn't while he was young and that I got to know him for nearly 30 years of my life and I am. The fact that two of my grandmothers are still alive is pretty darn amazing as well. I'm grateful for those things. Death is something that happens to everyone. How can I change that? I can't, so I don't try to.

I'm fairly certain I've annoyed the crap out of some people that I wish I hadn't. I'm trying to be better about it, but it's like there's nothing I can do to make it better. There never is when you're bipolar. Everyone reads into every.... little..... thing you say or do. Real emotions stop existing to them after a while. I think I've put myself into that boat again. My friends no longer believe that I'm Human. Why does this always happen around the death of a family member for me? I have to feel completely abandoned every time and I can't truly be upset about anything because no one really believes me anyway. I only have emotions because I'm manic-depressive, not because I can actually muster up an ounce of emotion. And it's certainly not all of my friends and it's certainly not pure abandonment, but sometimes it just feels that way and the crazy part of my brain tells me that that is the way that it is.

I just realized something the other day while thinking about going back on medication for a moment. I mean, the biggest excuse that I have is that I don't have insurance or the money to pay for it and that I'm afraid of losing myself again, but really, I think I'm more afraid of wanting Chris back again. I think about it a lot, but I know its bad news. I think about it a lot though when I feel as though my friends have sort of abandoned me. I know really that they haven't, but that they're just annoyed, but that's always when I need them the most.

So, the update is now that my Papaw will probably be dying within the hour. It's so unusual how I'm not really thinking about it, but that it still makes me cry just knowing the knowledge is there somewhere embedded in the crevices of my brain. Usually, I have to really think about how I won't see him again and there's no way to see him again and a bunch of other morbid things. I called my brother and he's pretty upset I can tell. He's the "good kid" though.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 29

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 29

December 21, 2006

Unforgivable - Plumb

I'm never told that I am pretty
I'm never told that I am kind
And my soul burns now with fire
Deep inside

I want to become brave and courageous
Not buried in self-pity of my own
Ashamed and alone from all
That's been done to me
It's not my fault I remind myself

You say you don't be afraid
But I feel afraid
You say you don't laugh or cry
But I show emotion
You say food will be on the table
And birds in the sky
But I'm hungry
So hungry
And it's cloudy outside

You never loved me like a daughter
You never even loved yourself
And now you treat me like a burden
Just another object on your shelf

I want you to know that I love you
And this pain that I carry's not my own
Ashamed and alone
From all that's been done to you
It's not your fault
I remind myself

No matter what I've done
Or is done to me
Nothing unforgivable
Or unable to be set free

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 28

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 28

December 14, 2006

I feel like maybe the universe is trying to give me some sort of subtle hint to stay home and not move forever. I actually got attacked today in the elevator at the library. Now anyone who knows the Greater Cincinnati Public Library of downtown knows it houses many a shady creature or two. This woman was actually kind of stalking me through the streets and ranting on and on about all sorts of crazy shit, actually went up to a woman in a wheelchair, took a package out of her hands and threw it on the ground. She jumped in the elevator with me, stood there and waited for the doors to close. I asked her to push "2" for me and she tried to grab my stuff out of my hands and try to wail on me. Now seeing as how she was out of her mind she didn't get very far. Just as I was about to start having her face meet parts of my body that had stopped working out of shock for a moment, she just stopped. She had pushed me into the alarm of the elevator, so the doors wouldn't open, but she just stood there until the doors opened. It was at that point I realized my face was bleeding as I walked back to the information desk and told them the woman tried to attack me. Well, "tried" is a bit loose. She did. Anyway, she was arrested and taken to jail. The cut on my face looks like a mangled paper cut, but that thing bled like a son of a bitch.

So, what I really would like for Christmas is an award for the worst week ever. At least of anyone I know. I don't care if it's drawing attention to me. It's time for me to admit that I can't stop the drama. I try to keep myself from being overly dramatic about too much because of my "condition", however, drama seems to seek me out. It's never something small either. I can't be the girl with a hangnail. I have to be the girl that gets attacked in the elevator of the Hamilton County Public Library. So, I say bring it on. Award me up. Feel sorry for me. Ask me questions about it so I can embellish the story and cry a little to try to get boys to hold me. Fuck it. I will tell my story to near strangers just to see the look of shock on their face. It will be an amazing feat of attention-grabbing.

MY KINGDOM FOR A STICK OF DEODERANT!

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 27

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 27

December 13, 2006

So, I actually got a phone call yesterday (rather than a text message) that my Papaw is on his way to the Hospice Hospital. So, how do I deal with all that exactly? No, I'm actually asking. I don't think my mom is being overly dramatic again. I can be wrong, but I don't know what to do after he dies. I'm the worst reactor ever. Do I tell my parents that I think going to a viewing is disrespectful and that I don't want to go or do I suck it up and give in to the disgusting ritual.

I've been labeled co-dependent by someone else. Do they actually realize that it takes two to tango in the co-dependency world? I've accepted my co-dependency at least. I don't think the people that accuse me of being co-dependent really know the definition. As long as I'm not going overboard, I don't really see the harm in it. I can let things go, but, yes, I'm always going to try to fix things and think that I can. I don't really see too much wrong with being co-dependent to be honest. As long as you can keep it under control and not be an enabler of some sort. I try to be reasonable about the people I try to help. You know, there is an electronic test you can take to find out if you're co-dependent. Let me give you a word of advice, if you're tempted to take this test, even a little, you're co-dependent.

Later

So, I've found out that yes, my Papaw is dying, but not as quickly as I was told in the prior evening. You think the shock would wear off. Needless to say, I have found out there is no viewing, so that's a relief. My mom then proceeds to tell me as well that if I want to say bye to him or something I can, although I've already had to deal with the fact that I already have. I tried to be polite and said I'd kind of already dealt with that and that unless she thought it would help him I had kind of finalized things in my head. She continues to tell me about how my brother is so much more sensitive than I am (only not that way, she said it her way). My mom is nice, I promise, but there are just these subtleties that she gives that make me feel like she isn't truly happy with how I turned out. I can't help who I am.

More people are annoyed with me. What else is new? What I hate is when someone can't just come out and say it. I realize I'm a bit obsessive and tend to cling to one thing at a time, but just let me get through it. Unfortunately, by the time someone gets that I'm not trying to dry hump their leg every five minutes I've annoyed them to death and I can't even seem to do anything about it. Usually they can't even pinpoint the problem, so it ends up hurting my feelings and I get all weepy and hurt and then that annoys people even more. Including myself. That may be the thing no one gets the most. I wish I could stop. It's so weird not being able to control yourself. You would think it was simpler. You would think it was possible, but it's just not that easy.

Then again, I've been known to take things too personally.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 26

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 26

December 3, 2006

So, I can't seem to get out of high school. I can't decide if it's in my brain or in real life anymore. This is so stupid. I know there are things I should never consider again, but I can't help it.

Boys and their stupid feelings just piss me off. I can't seem to move without being judged. I get it. I'm not hot anymore. I'm usually okay with that until I start to get ridiculed. As if I don't know that a mild attempt at making fun of me is a real way of making fun of me.

Sometimes, I just wish I would die tomorrow so that the people that know they have acted this way would know that I noticed. Just to think that I showed them something and taught them a lesson. It's sick. It's twisted, but I think more people feel like me every day and don't have the honest to God balls to say it.

I'm hurt. I like someone and it hurts that they don't like me back, but even worse is the fact that I don't want to like them and that it hurts that they don't like me back and then that I'm pissed that I even like them in the first place. This is why I don't want to like boys. Or girls. It just sucks. All the time. There is no good that can come from it.

What's even worse is that I can't even seem to stop myself. I know these people don't like me, but I can't seem to avoid looking like a dumbass in front of them. It's keeping me up. It is nearly 4 in the morning on a Sunday morning in Pittsburgh and I can't seem to help myself except to be hurt. It is so dumb and I know it, but I can't stop from acting like a jerk. I can't stop liking jerks. It's an epidemic. It's twisted. I'm a jackass and I can't stop it which makes me even more of a jackass.

I'm tired of being "that girl" and I can't stop being her all at the same time. I surrender! I give up! There's nothing I can do to stop myself and I'd rather die than be this person, but no one gets it. No one cares. They just see these selfish attempts at me trying to get some sort of attention. In real life I don't care, but in bipolar life it seems to mean the world to me.

Fuck this. Fuck you. Fuck it all! I can't keep doing this! If I go back on medication I can't feel what I feel and if I do then I go back to feeling nothing all the time. I can't even think of a worse disease. I can't even think of anything worse than your soul dying. I can't think of anything better than the high I get from this either, but it doesn't matter.

So, the question is, which way to I torture myself day in and day out? Which way do I go? Is there a right way? Is there a right way for "normal" people?

I can't even choose for myself. I hate that I'll read this on one day when I'm not feeling quite as insane and send myself into another downward spiral. There is just no way to live like this. Snide comments, rude gestures, bullshit rages.... none of it is real. None of these people are real. None of these relationships exist!

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 25

It's just amazing to me how I've really had a lot to say this month, just no time to say it. Maybe it explains my current mood.

I miss my crazy friend and his ability to keep up with my crazies. There's just no one to be that completely honest with anymore. He stopped being able to handle my crazies as soon as he started dating a girl who was actually crazier than me. Plus, now he's far away and his phone is turned off. I miss it so much it's painful. He's the only one I met in life where I can say, "Yeah, so I had this dream that came true and it was awful" or "I'm pissed off to the point of killing" and he didn't look at me like I had three heads. In fact, he's probably have a story to relate.

Don't get me wrong, I have great friends besides him. Friends that I wouldn't trade for all the french fries they could fit in the Pacific Ocean, but there's always that one that you wish you had back. I'm bursting with crazies to share with someone and there's just no one to share them with and it's a little tiny speck of lonely in my heart. People say they can handle it. In fact, some of them are insulted that I won't share some of those things with them, but I know. I've been there. They can't actually handle it. They may make good face for the conversation at hand, but as soon as you walk away their eyes pop out of their head and they think, "That chick's got a few screws loose."

News flash. I'm okay with having a few screws loose. I'm okay with the screws you have loose. How come when other people know that they're about to lose their mind or have something ridiculous to vent or complain about or have a nervous breakdown, they know they can come to me, but I can't find one damned person to take on me. The second I do, they up and leave for another state and don't pay their phone bill and start fucking sociopaths?

I'm so tired of tip-toeing and worrying about boys feelings and if they'll take me too seriously. I'm so bored with guys and their fucking attitude like all girls worship them and can't wait to get in their pants. Especially with me. I guess they think I can't get anyone else, so I must be inclined to obsess over them and them alone. I guess I'm the pot possibly calling the kettle black though. It's funny how many guys I tend to be attracted to that I seriously think no other girl would be. Come to find out, a lot of girls are. I always think I'm picking the underdog, the one that would be lucky to have me fool around with them and hang out with them, but I always seem to be wrong. I guess we all have a little bit of cock ass in us.

What really upsets me right now is the fact that I like someone. I am not to be liking people. This is the second person I've liked since Chris and it's starting to piss me off. I don't want a relationship and I certainly don't want to ruin friendships. Just like with Christian, just when I finally gave myself up to liking him he turned into an ass. An honest to God ass, not just the asses that you read to much into everything they do and make them into an ass, but an ass! He actually called me a shithead last night, so I pretty much went off and made it clear that he is to not speak to me again. I am so killing his character off in my book. Do I want that to happen again? Hell no. And what happens when you like a guy more than just the standard physical attraction that makes you want to grope them? They turn into asses. Maybe they turn into asses because we care too much. Maybe we turn into asses making them in turn, turn into the ass. I feel like I just wrote some horrible Dr. Suess book about asses.

You know what though? Fuck that! Why do I always try to look at myself and see what I could make better about myself? Why can't I just take a guy for the jackass he is and move on. Do I have to convince myself he's an ass to get over it? No. I was over Christian long before this shit even happened. After our little fight, I worked on getting over it and just being his friends with a "come what may" attitude. Fuck that! He's an ass. It's not my fault he's an ass and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be okay with that.

The real question is, why do we torture ourselves? Why are we so inclined to snatch up the first person who shows a mutual interest, buy them a ring and pull them into our deluded lair?

Let's say for instance, the boy I like did like me back and we found some sort of harmonious bliss for a few short moments and decided we shouldn't see other people. That was our new way of things. How unfair is that of me? Making him believe that this was forever because of the way his brain would interpret such things. I will not get married. I am not interested in long term. Even if I could date him for, let's say three months (perish the thought), I would want to move on making him believe I have wasted some portion of his life, in turn upsetting him, something I would never want to make a friend feel. Not for my sake. If I can get over myself, I will be a great friend and outlast his first divorce because friends are better! Friends are always better! Who wants a girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife when you can have the bliss of friendship? Why does my deluded mind still cling to false hope that I really don't even desire? Damn the conditioning!

Then there's this whole thing about people with day jobs. I stand on the elevator every morning listening to people gripe about why they are here and how they all wish they could be home. The thing is, of course I do to, but I have no intentions of staying here. These people do! They're content in their misery so that they can keep paying for the lives they probably didn't really want in the first place, so they can retire and grow old with people they really didn't intend on spending the rest of their lives with. Who can afford that? I am every day getting just a little bit closer to having the life that I want. The one that I deserve. A happy one where I will not give into the grind of everyday life doing things I have no intention of ever enjoying. Every morning and evening that I hear the conversations of the elevator I know that I am the luckiest girl in that damned elevator because one day I won't be there to listen to it.

Another thing is, why am I so pissed off at all truly? I have the best friends a person could ask for. The best relationships. The best life. Working on the best career for my means and my enjoyment in the rest of whatever it is I will be blessed with, but I'm overcome with this rage. I guess it's just people. People ruin my mojo. People ruin everyone's mojo. People are upset that people want to be happy, that they want to be happy and it just upsets me. They say things like, "That project at work is keeping me awake at night" and they don't mean it in a good way. It's work. The only reason work should keep you up at night is if it's because you love it so much that you don't mind that it's a part of your every day life.

My Bipolar Jounral - Episode 24

So, I guess I'm not being used as an example in my dad's class of being completely insensitive. In a way, I find it funny and in a way I find it insulting. My parents have had this habit of letting me know information in a matter-of-fact way for some time now. The thing is, I don't have a problem with it in the literal sense, but the reason they do it, or the reason I presume they do it, sucks.

I guess this is the way my dad's lecture goes, "There are all types of personalities, take my kids for instance. My father-in-law is in a nursing home and my son is nearly in tears and my daughter says, 'Well, he's old.'" The audience roars. I'm the punchline, not the crying boy, me, the realist. What? Did I actually expect he'd live forever? Does it mean I won't be sad he's not around? He's had a full life and, from what I can tell a pretty good one. He's 83, going to be 84 on December 22.

In a conversation I had with my mother where she told me this story I was telling her how glad I was that Papaw and Nana were getting cremated. I think funerals are seriously just about the most disrespectful thing you can have for a Human. Let me rephrase that. I think viewings are the most disrespectful thing you can have for a Human. Maybe one day I'll change my mind. She said, "Yeah, will it's kind of hard for us because I can't imagine his body being burned. Like, I know Cathy (my aunt) always thinks of his hands." I said, "Well, take a picture." I mean would you rather have your daddy's hands burned up or rotting for all of eternity to be eaten by bugs? As if urban sprawling isn't enough, now we have to waste a bunch of land burying bodies that in several hundred years will be ignored, tombstones forgotten? The irony of it all is that I love graveyards. I don't want someone to go to a graveyard to remember me though. I want them to go to a rock show, the Grand Canyon, Austin, anywhere and pay homage there if you feel the need to do so at all. I don't want one image of rememberance to be of me lying in a casket.

Okay, so I guess maybe I am a little bit cruel, but I get so tired of this whole image that death is so morbid. That morbid is some sort of synonym for death. As if married and having babies is a synonym for happiness. I'm kind of happy for my Papaw because it's just not about me. It's not about if I'm comfortable or not all the time. I can't imagine laying up in a nursing home, blind as a bat, barely aware of what's going on most of the time is fun and exciting. Who knows though? Maybe it is. Just put me straight into the dementia ward. Those guys can get away with anything.

And my mom just keeps talking about it like we're all supposed to cry and be upset all the time. It's not like I'm not upset! It's not like I won't miss him, but I've seen these things happen before. My Aunt (mind you, my crazy aunt) told my mom that she had a dream and God told her that Papaw would live until his next birthday (you know, the one that is just a little over a month away). Well, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he lasted out a few more birthdays. How soon is motherfucking now?

My mom keeps saying, "I don't think he's cried about going blind once." Well, maybe he doesn't want to? Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's kind of like a game. "Guess who's in the room now and where they're standing". Are we so vain that we think we know what everyone else is thinking all the time? That they have to mourn every little thing that we consider wrong with them?

I don't know. I'm sure some of you, maybe most of you are utterly appalled by my disertation of death. Good for you, you're not like me. You're hopefully an individual with your own line of thinking.

I had a few things happen to me in my late teenage years that helped put these things into perspective for me and still have things happen to me every day that make me wonder about people and their lives and the lies we tell ourselves every day.

First of all, being diagnosed with bipolar over and over and over again. Now, I've been manic-depressive my entire life, but I didn't start trying drugs for them until I was 17. I didn't have any proof or talk about it before then. Of course, talking to a bunch of 17 year olds about your mental problems, does not help your mental problems in the least bit, but chalk it up to a lesson learned. That I had to relearn when I was 19. Oh, the illusion that college kids are so much more mature than high school kids. If nothing, it's mostly likely worse because you think of yourself as more mature somehow.

Second of all, having a tumor the size of a softball. It wasn't that big of a deal when you look back on it, but the deal my family made out of it was much bigger. I went through being told that I was having a hysterectomy, to being told I would be paralyzed in my left leg, to being told I had a 30% chance of having cancer, to having my mother write my obituary and have it read to the entire church.

Third of all, I met a guy in college that ended up with a brain tumor. He was told that he had basically a 10% chance to live. I knew the guy, we talked, but we didn't hang out, but I remember it really upsetting me. I remember crying and praying for him and suddenly it just came to me like a bolt of lightening. Who do these motherfucking doctors think they are? God? No one can give percentages. Everything is 50/50. Miracles happen all the time and we discount them for science and numbers and for what purpose. To scare the bejeezus out of people? That's mature. I stopped crying immediately at that realization.

Point being, why worry about something that we can't determine. Why worry about things that haven't happened yet? If we did that, there wouldn't be time for the great things. Our friends, going to the park, a good photo shoot, relaxing with a fan-fucking-tastic book, hitting the road and just going until you run out of gas, running like Phoebe!

So, I will not be bitter and morbid about this, no matter how much I am being pushed to try to be. I may have to go to a funeral (although the point of buying a casket when you're being cremated is beyond me), because God forbid I don't. But, what if I don't cry? I'm uncomfortable with other people crying, especially my family because I have trouble buying it. Then again, I'd be a hypocrite if I pretended that it was about my comfortability.

Okay, I'm not done yet. I guess I've been saving up these past two weeks or so.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 23

I think I was actually shocked into silence today. I don't recall another moment in my life where I have been shocked silent. I know though that I truly wasn't, it was just the circumstances in which I was in, not having the ability to stand up and scream is so deafening.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 22

So, I've noticed that I've been real quick to snap a few times lately, which has got me thinking. I don't want to turn into annoying "look at me" girl again, so what am I doing wrong?

I think I have figured out most of it at least. I think. I think it's because I've been so happy lately. My life is almost just the way I've always wanted it, I have the best Humans in my life ever and everything is just almost too perfect. I think I'm not being very quick to recognize the things that make me angry and not avoiding them the way I should be. I guess another theory would be that I might be sabotaging myself, but I think it's more the first thing. Either way, I need to refocus my energy into recognizing what makes me angry so I know how to avoid it from going there in first place. Hell, I need to avoid wanting to go there in the first place.

So, I just inadvertently found out that this is my last day on my assignment here at Federated Department Stores, Inc. Hopefully I'll have something lined up for me for next week and soon. They should really just eliminate this position. There is nothing to do. I know they won't though. If there's one position that will always exist it is that of secretary or assistant. People love having them. They love to know that there is some peon out there doing all their petulant, trivial things every day. They obsess over being important and that there is a food chain in the corporate world. It makes me giggle.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 20

So, no more shows for a while. Well, there are shows. I will enjoy them, but it's just not the same as doing stuff, being involved in the moment. There's still plenty to do, plenty to be involved with, but it's not the same as being in the moment of the show, with people you adore as friends and humans and musicians and just surviving those moments, if nothing else. I haven't enjoyed working so much for such a long time. I love that it's new, something different. I love knowing what I'm good at. I don't like knowing what I'm not so good at. So, the next five weeks I'm going to work at getting good at it.

For now, I'm exhausted. I'm watching Heroes, trying to get caught up and relaxing. I'm bored, but I kind of like that. There is stuff to do, but I'm just completely burnt out. Sigh.... enough for now. Going to lie around for the rest of the night.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 21

Okay, so I had a fat discovery on my body recently. I knew I was a little chunkier than I like, but I was kind of diggin' it. I weighed myself at the gym for the first time in a century or so though and I'm fat! I'm a huge friggin' heffer fat heffer pig. I'll get over it and all. I'm going to the gym and all that jargon, so I'm not terribly worried, but holy crap! It's like I grew another Human.

Going to a different trainer today. A girl. Ew. Don't know how I'm gonna like that. She seemed nice when I met her for five seconds, so I guess we'll see.

I feel bad about something though. My friend just called to tell me she's getting married. I mean, what I am I supposed to do with that? I feel like a completely moron when I hear about people getting married now. I can't properly give people the reaction they want. I just can't bring myself to do it. I want to shake them and scream, "Just what do you think you're doing exactly?" I mean, I know people are different and Dar might just be the type of chick to pull it off and have it make her happy. I just don't know how to be happy for her and I feel enormously horrible about that. Me and my friend, Dale, have been working on things to say to try to relay a binigne sentiment to engaged people, so that they think we're happy for them, but still are saying the way we really feel. I'm open to suggestions. Most of what Dale and I come up with is just funny. I want to be happy for her because I know that's what she wants, but I just can't feel it. It's just such a sham to me.

I've figured out what people want though I think, or what they think they want. They want this thing where someone worships them all the time, surprises them all the time with stuff that doesn't matter like jewlery and flowers and surprise vacations and sometimes you find someone to do that for you, at least for a while, maybe longer. Then you figure out though that maybe that's annoying though. I don't think I could handle that.

I'm pretty close to figuring out what I would want in a relationship though if I were to even consider such a foul thought again. I want a high school boyfriend. Obviously, not a real high school aged boyfriend, but one of those guys who just embarrassingly gropes you in public at the most obscure times. Or maybe that I get to give piggy back rides to through the streets of Cincinnati (or wherever we may be). Someone who makes an ass of himself when he's drunk in public and takes it out on me a little, but then feels bad and wants to make it up to me with amazing sex. Someone who says, "Let's go to St. Louis. Right now," and we just get in the car and go stupidly without a change of clothes or barely even enough gas to get there and back. I want someone irresponsible and fun and who doesn't have his shit together and probably never will. Someone who keeps me guessing all the time and is never the same person every year. Someone in a band that my mom and dad groan about and say has no future whatsoever, who has lived in his car at least for a few weeks for no reason and loved every second of it. Someone with bad credit, no way to entertain me except with small, sometimes illegal endearment. Someone that when I say, "Just hit me!" they actually do and then they let me hit them back. When I say, "Go away" they do and they know exactly when to come back. Someone who gives wedgies and wrestles me and doesn't let me have the girl advantage. Someone who pins me down and makes me beg! Someone who lets me stare at them when they sleep and grab their cock to wake them up in the middle of the night for a series of mind-altering orgasms. Someone who rubs my back..... every... single... day and knows they will be rewarded every... single... day. Someone who doesn't expect me to cook or clean or where designer clothes or clothes at all for that matter. Someone that takes me seriously when I say, "Let's just walk to New York. It's cheaper."

God wouldn't that be great. Think of what a great story that would be to tell each other.

Something is making me really uptight about all this lately. You see. I know these people. In fact, I know just the person to have this sort of relationship with, but he would never have it because he's not willing to admit he's like that. What a shame to not know who you are yet. In fact, I know several of these people, but they're all dillusioned to the fact that there is this one person, one love, buy a house, make babies thing. I can't do it! I can't get them to admit it because they've been conditioned! Why cant' we all just break the fucking conditioning down and be who we want to be? Every time someone says something about how they grew up or they had kids and that's what happened to them I feel sorry for them. That is not what growing up means! Damn it!

I realized just the other day how much I love my life. For once, I truly love my life. Do I get upset, frustrated, pissed, scared, angry, etc.? Of course! That's part of what I love about my life though now. I was writing back and forth to my friend, Mary, from Avon and she asked me what all I was up to. I wrote five paragraphs. Five stinking paragraphs! And none of it was bad. The only thing I could really complain about was that I still had to get up in the morning to go to this temp job 40 hours a week, but in all honesty, I really like my boss, so it's not that horrible. It's not me, it doesn't fit with who I am, but it's not the worst thing I've had to do to pay a few bills. Even Chris and I have been getting along really well lately. I am so lucky! I'm sure there are people out there who really think I'm in denial, who really think that I'm repressing and maybe some part of me is, but I've truly never felt like this and I don't know how it's bad. Forty hours of my life is nothing in comparison to all the aspects of my life I've been blessed with at this very moment. I never would have had them or known them truly if I hadn't gotten married and then left Chris. I would have never appreciated this freedom.

Some days are still hard, some days are too high, but it's all exactly what I want right now. I can't stop writing about it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop at being frustrated when I think other people are dillusioned about what it means to really live. This is why people want to live forever. I wouldn't regret a thing if I died tomorrow, but for once in my life death kind of scares me. Losing all of this actually scares me. I know there's more out there that I haven't seen, felt and experienced and I don't want to go until I've done all of those things. I don't want to get old, I don't want to slow down. There has to be a way. I wish there were at least a dillusion of grandeur to make me think that and really believe it.

IF I COULD I'D WAIT!

So, now I can't even hang out with people getting married because their "fiancee's" will get angry? I have a friend who just sort of broke the news to me again and I just got pissed. I wasn't even nice about it. I wanted to know if he wanted house guests in a few weeks and he said, "I don't think my fiancee would like that." I told him I was coming with a dude or two and that it wasn't like I was sleeping in his bed. Finally, I just said, "Chalk it up to another reason to not get in those relationship things." I'm so fucking annoyed. Now I can't even crash somewhere because someone's fiancee might get mad? I don't even care if he reads this. It's just obnoxious. You get married and no one can stay at your house anymore. You can't have slumber parties. People can't stay in your fort. This man is reknowned for his Halloween parties and miraculously somehow, this year, he's not throwing one. I wonder what we could chalk that up to. Fuck that. Fuck it all. Fuck people that want that. I am so fucking annoyed. I'm just going to go to bed and hope it all goes away.

What is wrong with people?

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 19

Okay, just for those of you who are wondering. It was a dog. I knew they were stuffed dogs. They were selling bears too, but it was a freaking dog!

So, tired. So much rock, so little time. Tomorrow marks the end of a string of shows that I've been hittin' the bars high and low, on and off the road. Sure, they all have their points, but I am so going to miss watching the boys play for a while. Wah! Okay, whiney girl moment has ceased. Time will fly. There will be plenty to do. I will absorb myself in mindless promotions and efforts making myself even more exhausted than I am now. I can hardly believe my luck! This world is just not big enough for me. There truly isn't enough time.

Been going back and forth with this thing with my Papaw. One day it sounds like he's dying tomorrow and the next it's like, "No rush. He's doing fine." It's making me very passive about the whole thing. Growl. At the same time, it is sort of a passive moment. He has lived a long, full life. I hope he finds it meaningful and well worth it. Everyone has a time. My mom has this habit of texting me everything. Kudos for her for always embracing technology, but it's always stuff like, "Hi Jenn, Papa is blind now in a nursing home. If you want to call him...." It's a bit strange to get messages like that. Although I don't know why because I'm certainly not comfortable with any of it. I'm curious if she'll text me when any of my family members died. "Grandma died today. Call when you can." Even typing it makes me feel funny, but it will be an interesting test. And since when does my mom call her dad "papa". She's never done that before. It's so weird. I'm not getting any of it. Of course, it's a rare occasion that I do.

I am so faking delusional when I get old. It'll give me an excuse to grab all the young boys butts and scream obscenities. People excuse so much for old people. I can always be like, "I don't know what you're talking about." People will believe me because old people are supposed to forget things. It's going to be awesome.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 18

So, I'm fairly certain I entered some sort of vortex. I'm pretty sure I'm somewhere other than the Earthly Plane. I mean seriously. One thing, I have sworn to keep under wraps and so I shall since, this isn't exactly the most private of journals, but, wow. What a doozy for 9:00 am Tuesday morning. Hopefully it's done and over with now though.

However, the even more bizarre thing is that I get into the elevator and as I'm walking in with this old woman she says, "Do you think that one of the left is a boy?" It takes me a minute to realize that she's talking about a poster that has two stuff (what I thought were) dogs on it. She was asking me if a stuffed dog was a boy. We got in the elevator and someone she knew was in there and she said, "Those bears are so cute, I was just wondering if the darker one is a boy. I don't want my grandson to be upset if he would get a girl bear." Finally I told her that it would be whatever she told him it would be. Does she think they're anatomically correct? I'm very confused by people asking me if stuffed animals (whether they be bears or dogs) are girls or boys.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 17

Starting to feel back to normal, I suppose. Well, as normal as I get.

It's Monday though, so it's just annoying.

Hopefully, this will all end soon though. The worst of it is the embarrassment. I'm not usually embarrassed, so it's definately more uncomfortable than usual.

Spent all day Sunday (with the exception of a few short moments) recovering from my emotional retardation.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 16

I never decided, "Hey, I'm never going to be less than who I am," it's just the way I've always been. Sure there have been moments that I've come to the fantastic realization that sometimes I'm not being myself or maybe that I'm someone different entirely, but the unfortunate part of it is that sometimes that "me" is just plain fucking crazy.

I fought like hell, but I was defeated again. I thought maybe if I talked about it, knew it was coming that maybe it would embarrass me enough to not act that way, but things just don't always work like that. I thought I could do it. I thought I would win. I knew I had to because these people have not experienced me the way that they had to experience me yesterday.

I can make my excuses, chalk it up to bipolar, menstruation, hormones, weather, the control freak inside me and my uncomfortability of being taken care of, but all in all, I can't use excuses. Not if I'm going to win in the long run. Not if it's going to make me stay the way I am.

It's so easy to be excused when your a wife or a girlfriend, but when you're just a friend, there's no one truly accountable for you in a sense. Everyone should have someone that holds them accountable, so I guess that's it! Thing is, there's no one that's always there all the time except for you. I end up holding myself accountable every single time while the onlookers see a viewpoint that is incorrect.

Sometimes you think it would be nice to find that one perfect person who understands you completely, but if you did, then why would you need all of the other people. What fun is that? What sucks is when people have to relearn you. New friends are the hardest to break. Being the new girl is even harder.

Realizing once and for all that the reason you're so good at taking care of people is because you are so bad at having people take care of you. It's embarrassing to need help. It's even more embarrassing for someone who has spent her whole life only relying on herself. Even marriage would never and has never solved this for me. I'm an individual. I can see now that it's a lot of the reason Chris and I aren't together anymore. I think on some sick, twisted level he wanted to take care of me, but it's impossible to please someone who doesn't want someone else to do those things for them. Not only that, but repels it, rebels it.

Sometimes it's not fair, but what do you do, lie down on the ground, kick your feet and say, "Damn you!" or do you start fresh. You start fresh, very fresh, everytime. You would think it gets easier. Like you can take shortcuts now because you've been there, done that. You've won before, so you shouldn't have to react the same. You should be able to skip steps, but you can't. You always have to start at square one. While you can try to repress and forget how you behaved, no one else does, so you have to go back and convince everyone that you're not trying to make their lives hard, that you're not trying to just get attention, that you want to be something amazing in their life. You try so hard to be self-sufficient that when you can't be, your friends want to help and it's embarrassing. It's embarrassing as fucking hell. The more you try to recover, the more you know you're embarrassing yourself, but it's like you've left your body. It's like you're looking down at yourself knowing you're being and idiot, but you're not in your body anymore and no matter how much you yell at yourself as you float above, no one can hear you.

So, the question is, do you ignore it? Do you bring it out into public? Do you apologize or is that just recognizing it and making everyone uncomfortable all over again? Do you make excuses? What do you think is to become of it by bringing it all up again? It's unfair, it's not right to have to think of these things. It's not fair to not know what other people need all the time, but if we did, it would be so boring.

Sometimes my brain outruns myself.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 15

So, really good manic episodes are really, really good for most reasons you would imagine manic episodes are really, really good. It seems though that the more manic you are, the more likely you are to snap and I'm not looking forward to that. I don't snap like I'm going to go around shooting people or something, but I usually wind up all crying and weepy. Not a good thing to anticipate when you are looking forward to a weekend with people who probably already suspect your true insanity is still lying just below the surface (and for those of you who read this, you're right!). Especially with the onset coming for the time of the month that I'm reminded that, yes, indeed, I am still capable of reproducing. It's like I have this wonderful cornacopia of events coming on that are leading up to disaster, so I've decided to really open my eyes and pay attention. I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED! I WILL NOT GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT! MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 14

You know what's annoying? When people ask questions to people who aren't there. Did you know that was annoying? The woman who thinks her son is an idiot for majoring in music was leaving a message and actually said, "Have you had this complain from anyone else?"

No, some would say I shouldn't be eavesdropping and that maybe it's my problem, but I sit right outside her office. Sometimes it's hard.

I too though tend to ask questions to people with no answers on here, but the term is generally rhetorical. However, since I have said that and am mostly likely being the pot calling the kettle black, I welcome anyone and everyone to answer all my questions, no matter how silly it may seem. Consider everything I say a real question and enjoy yourselves.

Now, here's the 2nd thing. First of all, I apologize to the person who might read this and knows the person that I'm about to talk about, but it was obnoxious enough to take the risk.

I show up at the first bar last night to meet up with some of the gang. There is a girl there who I've never met before who immediately gives me a dirty look. I think I was too fat to be talking to her or something or talking to people that she talks to or something like that. That didn't bother me. What did bother me is that she's trying to be some sort of social worker or something for crazy people.

I have never been so bored in a conversation about crazy people. Usually, they're the most interesting conversations ever, but she was just lame. She kept going on and on about how I wasn't crazy enough. No, I admit. Not all bipolar people are as well-adjusted as myself in so many words, but it's not that I'm better than them. Maybe they're more free than I am. I about socked her when she said, "And that's just not normal". I don't think people like her are normal, so who's to say who is right? I'm sure there's a book on it somewhere, but still.... Just because a woman screams crazy things in the shower and talks to people that other people can't see doesn't necessarily make her abnormal. Chances are she's popped too many pills. I think the meds can make us crazier sometimes. Maybe it's the institutions fault for such things, the doctors, or maybe she popped too many of her own pills. It's hard to say. People don't call autistic children crazy although they suffer from some sort of brain function or dysfunction depending on your perception. They live in their own world, so why is a bipolar person considered crazy and an autistic person sick?

Needless to say, I hope that in my hey-days of nearly killing friends in car accidents because I was convinced a man in a red truck with one headlight out was following me all the time are over, but I hope no one ever tells a story about me that isn't at least somewhat entertaining. If I have to listen to someone else's life, I want it to be good somehow. Some tips for telling stories about me is to not be judgmental when you tell the story, don't leave out any of the details, and always be sure to use my name. I don't want any of my luscious goodies credited to someone else.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 13

So, most days I just hate people. People in general. I hate clothes. I hate everything about them. I hate the fact that I am required to wear them by law, but then everyone has the fucking gaul to make the most hideous, uninventive, boring, overly priced, God-awful statements that they expect me to even pay $20 at a discounted rate for. It infuriates me. Not only am I infuriated at the disgusting fashion industry, I'm disgusted that I have wasted any portion of my life in TJ Maxx. Who the fuck wants dig through thousands of endless discounted clothes? Who the fuck has nothing better to do? If I could be naked, everything would match all the time, nothing would be too short or too tight or to loose or to long.... Okay, I digress. I guess people would just judge bodies, but at least for the most part, there's a lot less to complain about. Maybe we would notice more of the shades of people's skins and moles and scars and judged based on those, but point being... clothes make me sick!

People make me sick too. I love it secretly. They sit around in their corporate outfits and say something about their "training" at work and then laugh, big, hearty fake laughs. They're not really fake laughs, but nervous laughs. Nervous because maybe they realize they have wasted most of their lives thinking this is as good as it gets. Overly stressed because of jobs they don't really care about, they have wives or husbands they hate and kids that drive them crazy. At least they bought a house or a car. I mean, that is the point isn't it? That's the fucking goal, isn't it? To be able to accomplish the same thing that literally billions of people have accomplished. YOU ARE SO FUCKING BORING I WANT TO SLIT MY FUCKNIG WRISTS! I need something different! I need something interesting! I need something that says, "I've never seen that before", "I've never heard that before", "I've never even thought of anything like that ever before"! I don't even care if it sucks right now, I just crave the need for individuality.

Sitting here at this desk staring at grey cubicle walls, hearing people have meaningless conversations, stare at my pants that are a little too short and judge me based on pants or maybe my tattoo or maybe my streaky colored hair. I want someone to judge me for being too dull. I want someone to walk up to my desk and say, "What the fuck do you think you're doing sitting there, typing away, saying nothing and pretending you're working! Will you please get the fuck out of your chair, stand on the fucking table, sing and do the chicken dance!" Then we'd all break into a Drew Carey musical episode. GOD BLESS THAT MOTHERFUCKER!

Everything is boring right now. I'm trying to work on the novel and can't find it interesting. I'm trying to get some work done, but I can't do it all here, so that's just frustrating.

I need to get to Target and buy shit, but I can't because I'm stuck here. Who the fuck in the genius that put no stationary stores within walking distance in downtown Cincinnati. Are there not like a billion business that have needs? Is everyone going to rely on Staple's to deliver for free all the time?

I have to get my oil changed, I need to pay my Cinergy bill, I need to go grocery shopping. I can't do it because I'm stuck here and even if I wasn't I just can't bring myself to do it. I hate the mundane feeling of buying food and the ritual of paying money for electricity. Have we not advanced enough that we shouldn't just get electricity for free? We can get free wireless internet, but we can't get free electriciy? Electricity was discovered centuries ago. Getting oil requires me stopping my car and not doing something else I should be doing.

Do you know I sit in the bathroom of work for nearly an hour a day reading a book? Do you know that I'm posting my crazy ass thoughts on this website for everyone to read instead of doing what you would have me do which is apparently nothing. You should eliminate this job. There is no purpose. I answer the phone maybe up to half a dozen times in a day, get the mail twice a day (only once if my boss is gone), take an hour and a half for lunch and maybe spend thirty minutes on this stupid report that I'm trying to strech out across the rest of eternity. There are days I don't even work on it all. If I can find anything else entertaining to do I take an hour and a half for lunch. I have wrote four novels in the course of my work day. This is what you people are paying me to do and I know that you're all pretty aware of it, although it's something we don't talk about.

All in all though, I love the annoyance of the day because it's different. It's not the same. Sitting in a crowded food court listening to people laugh about training is more relaxing right now than anything else because I have no desire to be relaxed. Who can be relaxed all the time? How fucking boring. I'm too cold, I've been coughing for days, I want my voice back. I want to be able to kick my feet up on the desk, shut my eyes and fantasize about boys, then read for a bit before I head home. At the same time, if I did that I'd always be satisfied and who wants to be satisfied all the time? How would I ever appreciate satisfaction when it did come along? How would I appreciate my friends if most everyone else didn't SUCK MY COCK ASS! I can't wait for that feeling to come back.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 12

Sitting at my desk trying to not go crazy and I do mean in the good way, of course. I have "Onto the May" by The Host in my head and it's all I can do to keep from jumping out of my seat, dancing and singing, "If I could I'd wait...." Why don't I? I guess I need the money simply. You do that in an office and eventually they catch on that you are cooler than they are and they can't be around that kind of coolness. It's a little bit like that moment in the movie Teen Wolf where Stiles surfs on the top of the van, even the part where you fall on your back and laugh yourself silly.

I try to always remind myself of how lucky I am, but how often to I remind my friends that they're the reason I'm lucky. How often do I get to sit down to some shots with someone I've been friends with for a while and someone I've never met and have one of the best nights on the planet. I started out thinking the evening was a bust because I didn't get what I expected. I didn't think it was disappointing by any means. I had great conversation, great wine, and a good friend. When the night ended it was unexpected and, okay, I guess a little disappointing, but I was rewarded.

This new person, who may have been my friend for only one night, but God, was it great, actually looked at me at one point and said, "What you're saying right now to me is epiphonal." It amazed me that he said it. He just said it like that. I can remember moments in my life that were epiphonal, but not moments where I was ephiphonal. Why is that though? Probably because of the same reason my friends don't truly know that what they said had that much impact because I didn't say it to them. I try to remind my friends of their importance to me, but I don't do it nearly enough and not to nearly enough of them. I think that every month we should have just one day where we tell our friends what they mean to us and thank them for making us so much better. When they say something and it means something, let them know right away. Don't wait for it. Go crazy if you must. Skip down the streets holding hands and wait for that moment in the night where you grab onto them and say, "You will never know how important this is or how important you are to me," make those moments happen as only you can. You won't be disappointed if they are a true friend. How can you be? Who doesn't want to hear they made a difference somehow? That is what makes life worth living.

Live every day like that's the only day you'll be friends with that person because you never know when it will be or when it's the last one.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 11

So, I'm sitting at my desk, not intentionally eavesdropping, but when people sit right behind you having meetings about nonsense when I hear this woman start talking about how her son wants to major in music which she finds as the funniest thing she has ever heard of. One guy finally speaks up after the third time she is saying this between tears of laughter and says, "But there's nothing wrong with that. You're saying it like he wants to become a stripper" (which I'm sure there's a whole other conversation just waiting right there to happen). So, laughing, she asks him, "Yeah, but how many people do you know who make a living in music, besides if they teach it."

I don't know smart-ass? I probably know a many people who make a living at music as you do people who look at insurance policies. Jack ass. Bitch.

I pray that for every day that man majors in music he never regrets it and never has to go back to his mom and say, "You were right. I should be just like you." (draws small square with fingers)

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 10

So, I have this friend who is struggling with the evil ways of how others see her and being judged. We all want to admit that the way people see us isn't important and for most of us, it's truly not. It leads me to believe she's being judged by someone she cares about.

I never gave a rats ass what people thought of the way I looked or what I wore until I met my husband. Suddenly, I wanted him to accept me. That's where I should have realized that things were going to go wrong. I didn't change anything too severe, or so I'd like to believe, but I changed things I didn't really care about. He didn't like my shoes, so I threw them out. Not because I didn't like my shoes, but because I just don't really care about shoes. If I really don't care about shoes, why would I care about getting new ones?

She recently wrote an entry about how she was judged all the time and then followed it up with who she was. She tried to define herself. That got me to thinking. Why should anyone feel they have to explain themselves? There are things that should be explained sometimes because they only work in your brain. I have plenty of these things rolling around inside all the time. Sometimes I define them for people, sometimes I let them be. It depends on their importance to that particular person.

I think I am a true believer in not having to define yourself to anyone ever. Especially with this person. I don't want to know exactly who she is. What fun would that be for future conversations. I dont' want to know someone so definitively that there's nothing else to discover. That's what makes a person. There are so many people who say they know someone so well or that they are such a good read of character, but most of us are. It's not like a big mystery to figure out if most people are telling the truth or not. It doesn't make you a genius or anything.

I am a good judge of character because I'm a good person. Put crudely, I can recognize evil. I can recognize it when it is in me, so why would I not recognize it in others. Does that make me special?

Are there poor judges of character? Yes, of course there are. For instance, one of my best friends is dating a girl that everyone can tell instantly that there is something wrong with. I don't lead them to these beliefs. It just happens. Does that make my friend a bad judge of character? No. It makes him wrong in judgement because there is something he wants more than to be able to see it. He wants a relationship. He wants to get married and make icky babies and he probably will. He won't realize until it's much too late that it was the wrong decision. It will hurt more, it will be harder to get out of, it will be heart-breaking. It will hurt everyone that cares about him. In the meantime, it's hard to be supportive. I've made made decisions, poor judgements of character to the point that it's been hard to get the friendship back to where it was. It's important to me that he knows that I'm here and that just because of this I wouldn't judge him, it's just the way things are. It's the things in life we go through to make us into we are.

I don't know how someone can expect to define themselves. We all change too often to sit down and one day say.... here world, this is who I am.... take it or leave it. We fail to recognize that most people will leave it. If we're lucky, we come to realize that it's okay. It's okay that people leave it and don't understand it.

I don't care if the person wears designer clothes or not. Do they truly like the clothes they're in is the question? Same applies to our skin and our very souls. If designer clothes would make my friend happy and she loved them because of the simple fact that she did, then I can't expect her to want to go to a thrift store or Hot Topic because she should put off a different image of herself. If she decided to change her style, that wouldn't make me like her any less either.

PEOPLE CHANGE! That is the fantastic part about people. That's why we have friends, lose friends, make out, make love, skip down the street or sit on a bench.

I recently had a friend ask me if I noticed how moody another friend of ours was. I said that of course I did. I loved that about that person. He said that he didn't. My thought was, "And that's what makes you special." We both still love our friend to pieces, but we love him differently. Because of that, we're able to meet different needs for him. Because he's moody he meets different needs for us, but we all fit in the puzzle of life somehow together. I love emotion. I love moods. I love that people have them whether they're happy or sad or angry or confused. To me that is what makes someone human. It's what makes you an individual. The firrst friend had no need for that. There's something else that draws us all to each other.

It's so fucking beautiful in the end.

To my friend who is struggling with the judgment, if ever you should read this and know who you are, know that you are perfect the way you are. I don't need to know who you think you are because to me you're something else entirely and I accept it and think it's wonderful.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 9

So, the word "vermin" actually came to mind today as I was nearly run over by a three or four year old kid in the workplace. Why do people bring their kids to work? Am I interested? Am I supposed to tell them their cute as they run over my toes and nearly knock me down, making me have to wait another minute to open my Diet Coke so I don't spray it all over myself?

Anyway, today I blogged that I write this. What's the point? I don't know. I think everyone wants to think they have something significant to say. I guess somewhere residing in my delusions of grandeur I think I do too. Well, let's be honest, everyone has something to say, it's the significance that's key. Thinking your significant somehow to at least one person or another. Maybe somehow something you have to say means something or helps one person. Wouldn't that be fucking cool? I guess as long as it doesn't mean, "Pick up and axe and kill someone" we'll all be alright.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 8

For real. Babies. Why is everyone trying to get you to hold them all the time? Is it like, "Look what I can do?" or are they trying to make me jealous or am I supposed to be happy for them? I can understand sort of when it's my friends, but when total strangers come around and act like you are supposed to fawn over their children it just makes me sick.

"Congratulations! You've just squeezed out a big pile of goo that looks like a raisin. You must be so proud. By the way, when was the last time you had a thought of your own. Oh, probably right before you said, 'Hey! Where'd I put that condem? Oh, well, fuck it, let's do it anyway.'"

I cannot feasibly understand the concept of kids. They're obnoxious, can't do anything for themselves and you're not supposed to leave them home alone. Why not? What are they going to do? Poop? Cry? They can do that while you're there. I think you should watch them more when they're teenagers and not leave them alone then. That's when they get in trouble.

Upon enlightening some friends on my thoughts of children I was asked, "I hope you keep some kind of birth control in that bag."

So now, everyone presumes I have sex with boys? Now, it's a reasonable request. I appreciate that they would at least ask such a question, but I responded, "I don't have sex with boys, so I figure that works pretty well for not getting pregnant." As far as I know, there's only been one reported case of pregnancy without sex in the history of the Earth, so I think I'm good. I think if someone were to ask God to give me an immaculate conception he would slap his knee and laugh and say, "Have you ever met Jenn? I mean, I know I have a little insight because I created her, but I thought I made her fairly obvious."

The thing about people who want babies to me is that for some reason they feel incomplete themselves, like it would take some whole other person to make them who they are. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but I dont' understand it. I remember when I was married too and my husband was overseas I was worried about him all the time because I'm an over-worrier (another reason I should keep away from kids). I thought that if something did happen to him on a flight or something that it would have been nice to have something that much a part of him. At the same time though, we're both so crazy, why would we want to make something that has a little bit of each of us in it. I just can't fathom it, especially now.

Am I saying I'm immune to children? I would like to be, but I know to never say never. If I had one, hopefully I'd do the right thing. Hopefully I wouldn't have a heathen such as myself running around making everyone else's life miserable. Given the choice to have a hysterectomy though, I would take it. One less decision to make. If women can pay to have their boobs enhanced, fat sucked from their bodies, staples inserted into their stomach and chemicals injected into their face, surely they should be allowed to decide at any given point if they want to have their ovaries removed.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 7

Yeah, so I guess I jumped my own gun on that one. Yesterday I found out nothing has really ever changed about people. Didn't realize it until today, but still, found out about it yesterday.

When I was eighteen, I made a decision. I was not going to tell anyone I was bipolar anymore. The thing about it is that while it makes you extremely immature at times, it makes you grow up too fast in a lot of ways because none of your friends are mature enough to handle it yet. They treat you like a leper. You can't cry for the sake of crying any longer. You can't be happy without being hypo-manic. You can't "just freak out" like a normal person anymore. Everything is because you're nuts. That's just the way it swings. I can't say I blame them. I guess I presume that anytime a cancer patient has a cold it's because of they're chemo. I haven't been very fair myself.

When I was nineteen, I realilzed it didn't matter. I tried to just not hang out with my high school friends that went on to college with me, but it didn't stop them from talking about me. I still hung out with them, but just not the same way. I needed to expand out and find out more about different people, plus, all my high school friends had pretty much too normal to hang out with my crazy. They were still immature enough though to spread the rumor of my crazy to all of my new friends, turning those poor saps into the strange and unusual people that I had hung out with in high school. One of them, Derek, even went as far as to tell a guy I like that I was a stalker. So, what does that make the guy do? Analyze every phone call, every time he runs into me in the hall, every other guy that I made out with while I was in college becomes some sort of target of humiliation and interview. Didn't really matter in the end, because that guy really was crazy. Nearly sociopathically. I ended up in the same situation I had been in high school in the long run though. They won. I quit college and left them all alone. Still went back and hung out, but it just wasnt' ever going to be the same.

After going home, it didn't really matter that I told people or not. I only tried to bring it up when it was relevant, but after a while, I just told people whenever I felt like it and such has been my pattern for the past ten years. I realize I can't change this pattern because it turns into a vicious cycle.

I realize how truly fortunate I am to have the gang even though I annoy the hell out of them at times as well. It's just the nature of the beast. All of them are either just as crazy and insane as myself (and yes, guys, I mean that as a compliment) or they're mature enough to handle it and don't just give up when the going gets tough.

I'm truly frustrated though because I've been blamed again fro something I didn't take upon myself to do. I had one conversation with one person and they're now using it as an excuse to write me off. I think that's what people do when they're uncomfortable. They sit and stalk for that moment when I truly lose my mind and instead of being a friend and seeing it through or trying to forget it happened and move on to the next conversation, they use it as an excuse to say polite things like "if our paths should ever cross", henceforth, making them more sane again because they aren't as angry as you are. They find polite ways to tell you that they're better than you and always will be. Funny thing is, the people who are truly hurtful about it are usually just as crazy, if not crazier than you. I guess they can't be troubled with more crazy or they're in denial of their own nature.

I like people as crazy and moody as they are. That's what makes them real! Someone who is happy all the time is always repressing something. They spend a lot of time begging for understanding, but when it comes to them having to understand someone else, it's easier to just forget about them altogether and pretend that however long of their life you were a part of never even existed.

I cherish every moment I have that has been crazy or sad or angry. It's how I know I'm alive. When people don't get that way, there's no way of telling if they're even real. Do I like sitting here in my cubicle wiping away tears in front of near strangers? No, but if I were somewhere else, in a more acceptable world of emotion, would it be so hard anymore?

Sometimes we don't always know when we hurt people's feelings. Sometimes we're oblivious and selfish and just say exactly what we say all the time without any thought to how the person feels. When I do such things, I'm ready to go with an apology. It may not change anything that I said or how I feel, but there's no need to just be cruel about things. People who are avoiding you for your crazy never apologize for hurting your feelings because your feelings aren't real to them. They're emotions based on a chemical imbalance that triggers some sort of over-reaction in the emotional part of your brain. The news flash is, that they are still real emotions, whether they are justified or not. Now, I do my best to recognize when I've over-reacted, but this world, these people, have caused me to think that I'm over-reacting to everything, so why shouldn't I over-react to everything! Those who think they're normal are certainly going to behave in a manner that thinks they owe no crazy person an apology. It's not their fault I'm crazy, now is it? They all bide their time and say they should just wait it out and the episode will be over soon. Maybe it is an episode, but what if it's how I really feel? Then what?

Lack of interest becomes stupidity. I believe in creation, but do I really want to discuss the terms of creation vs. evolution? No. I have faith and have been taught enough facts throughout my lifetime to know that I believe it, but it's really boring to me. I don't want to discuss it. I'm pro-life which being pro-choice is nearly a new way to be popular anymore, but I don't believe in stopping any life from forming. Why do I think cells are a life? Who cares! I do think that. That should be all that matters. Why can't pro-choice people let you choose to be pro-life. I'm not personally trying to shove any kind of beliefs or facts down your throat, so don't do the same to me. If you can hold a unbiased conversation (which most pro-choicers and political types can't), then maybe I'll entertain you for a minute, but do I really find these sorts of matters enthralling? No! I'm not here to judge you. I'm not here to judge anyone. It's not my place. It's not my job. If you flat out ask me if I think something is wrong or right, I will tell you. I'm close-minded in those matters because I believe them strongly. I'll listen to your argument and if I come to a conclusion I'm wrong, then I'll admit it, but I'm pretty much a standard individual. Yes means yes, no means no. Right is right, wrong is wrong. Who am I to be right about everything though? When I go to meet my Maker I will have Him to answer to, not you, oh normal one. And I'm pretty sure I'll have plenty of stuff to answer for which will keep me very busy, so I don't really want to waste my time here explaining things to you.

As for the matter at hand, it just fucking hurts. It doesn't hurt because I'm crazy or because a certain chemical is either firing rapidly or not rapidly enough in my brain, but because you would be hurt too if someone implied you were too stupid or lame to carry on a conversation with you any longer. You're not the only reason I'm crying, but you're certainly a part of it. I'm crying because it hurts, not because of this thing in my brain. I'm depressed because now I feel more alone in the evening, not because you're not there, but because you don't want to be. You have found your ten minutes of glory that give you the out of being associated with me. Congratulations. You're officially just like everyone else.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 6

I just figure it's been a while since I wrote. I'm still plenty crazy, but there have been no milestones of crazy thought, I suppose. I did have some crazy dreams last night though. My craziest dreams are strangely enough the most normal. The strangest part about them is how clear they are, or if they reoccur. Luckily, they weren't reoccurring because that's a sure sign that I'm having a nightmare. They were pretty basic.

Kyle's moved out of the house now, but my friend, Beth (Betsy Fay) is moving in. I've been friends with her since I was six. I haven't got to hang out with her as much since we've been all adult-like, so it will be good to have her around even though her nose will be stuck in her big school books the whole time.

I'm moving into the living room because that's where I spend all my time anyway. I really, really like that room. It was very comforting when I left Chris.

Chris and I talked last night which was a bit odd, but okay. We fought, we cried, it sucked, it wasn't bad, but we're in for a lot of hell with this house. I hate that he has to move, but it was a bad move in the first place. Doesn't change the fact that we bought the house though or that we need to take responsibility for our actions. It's not so much the financial responsibility. I can't just come up with $8000 just like that anyway, but it's just wanting to get this huge thing out of our lives that still joins us together in some stupid way. He's stressed and upset a lot, but hopefully he's really kicked some of his habits. If that's the only thing I get out of leaving him and supposedly being "the bitch", then I guess something really good came out of it.

We moved up eleven floors at work yesterday. It's a very odd feeling. I can actually seem to feel the air thinning. The elevator ride up to the 19th floor is motion sickness. Too many stops and starts now. You have to drop everyone off, pick people up.... it's just obnoxious.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 5

So, more things to think about after long hours of online conversations. The thing about talking to people online is that no matter what, you are always trying to say something better than you would in real life. It doesn't necessarily change what you would say, but more in how you would say it. Sometimes, you find yourself even more profound than you ever thought you would be.

Something I've been thinking on though that I said yesterday is the point that I have been trying to make to myself for quite sometime though.

I will never be well off. I will never have more than I need or just enough to get by. I will always struggle. It's my MO. It's what I'm good at. Just getting by. Maybe someday someone or something will reach up and grab me in the butt and I won't quite make it, but until that day arrives, my goal is to struggle. I know that I can struggle. I've done it many times. It's something that I'm comfortable in. I'm fairly certain that the day I would win a million dollars that I would be hit by a meteor before I could leave the gas station. In which case everything will go to my husband because he is the type to get things that are given to him and not much he has earned. That's just the way things work out for me. Be it said here and now, give him enough to pay off our house bills if they still exist at that point, and then split the rest between my family (mom, dad and brother) and the gang. This being my last will and testament should I win the lottery and be immediately killed by a irreconcilable force of nature (which is bound to be the case).

Struggle is inevitable whether it be personal or financial and chances are that it is both. Struggle is the thing that we all must endure to appreciate anything. If you look at the Paris Hilton's and the fact that she has never and may never actually struggle, you also see what she appreciates. Enough said, I would suppose.

As I see things right now, I think struggling to get by is truly the way to live life. It makes you see who your friends are, what you do have when you feel like you've lost everything, what you can stand to lose and still survive.

Struggle, in turn, turns out to be the true testament of a person. It's what makes us into unique creatures that understand the other. Struggle is about our experiences.

I would venture to say that people with bipolar, people with most chemical imbalances at this point, have certainly had to struggle just to keep one thought in their head most days, so I guess it could be fair to say that we appreciate more making us appear more crazy than we are. Of course, I don't think of myself particularly special due to this fact. I venture to believe that just about everyone will have joined chemicals enough one day to make crazy the new normal. I do believe though that it has made me who I am, as delusional as I might be most days.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 4

So, I was thinking today, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have a lot to do anymore once I stopped breathing. People ask other people, "When are you going to settle down?" I suppose that means to literally sit, meet the "man of your dreams", buy a house, find some corporate schmuck job, fuck, make babies and clean your house. Well, if you want to know when I'm going to settle down, I already did. I've decided that "settling down" is not really for me though. We don't particularly get along. I want to be the old lady in the nursing home yelling Bingo when there's no game and grabbing all the old men’s behinds. That is, if I would be cursed enough to live that long.

To me, the job of "settling down" includes, your heart not beating, your breath finally leaving you and closing your eyes and never opening them again. That actually sounds much better than the sit-man-house-job-fuck-babies-clean scenario.

Why is fucking always the climax of any relationship? Why is that the summit of the mountain we try to reach to have a relationship? What happens when you meet and fuck first? Then what is there to aspire to? Is that why they're always one night stands? We felt we've conquered that mountain? There can't be anything better than fucking right? There can't be anything more intimate than fucking. I think fucking is pretty damned bland if you ask me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy it. I'm a bit limited in discussion on the topic seeing as how I've already reached my lofty aspiration of only fucking one man my whole life. I didn't really fuck him though because I couldn't think of anything better. I did it because it meant something, well, that and you get curious after a while. While twenty-two years is by no means a record, it does raise certain questions.

I've don’t that now though. I want something much better than fucking. I don't even want it to involve sex. I've come to this conclusion after days and days of being so horny that I can't concentrate. Horniness though can be stifled many different ways. I want to find the Holy Grail of Intimacy though. It doesn't have to be with a boyfriend or a lover or a husband or any sort of standardized relationship. I've found more intimacy in conversation with a friend or the adrenaline of the light brush of a stranger than I may have ever found in fucking. Don't get me wrong. My ex wasn't bad in bed or a terrible lover, but (sorry, hon) in a way I guess he was because he couldn't find the place where I really wanted to feel it. There were a few small moments of time that the two combined, but did I really have to fuck to feel the moment? Did I want to? Hell yeah.

I guess I see sex more like a guy, but I'm girly enough to try to find the deepness of it. Kind of sad really.

Sometimes though, I've realized that when I reach a point in a relationship where fucking would normally come into play, I find myself searching for something more. Something to make this unique. That for once, my climax isn't crawling into bed. I find that I've made it some high and lofty goal to make a man want me bad enough to fuck me, but then realize that's not what I really wanted anyway. Usually, what I wanted was much simpler. It usually wants to take me backwards to the reason I ever wanted to seduce him in the first place.

God, that's sick.

The strangest tmie in my conversion from being married was probably when I had a man I wanted to seduce, completely seduced. I had him there, literally within reach of at least a fantastic make out session of some manner. I told myself at the time that I did nothing (which had never been my nature before Chris) because he had shown me some reason to respect him. I still respect this guy in a lot of aspects, but my real reason that day was that I just wasn't ready. The fact I did respect him at all also made me worry about him thinking that I would be all up in his business which can truly end a good friendship. I stayed off, kept my cool, and let the night be what it was. Good conversation.

He still didn't talk to me for the next few days and there's still this odd tension when I'm around him. I could have got some and still gotten that treatment. At least then I would have had something out of it. When I come to think of it though, I did. I had good conversation, the pleasure of his company for that night and hopefully one day things will go back to some form of normal.

It goes back to the same opint as well. You finally manage to follow through with a guy and suddenly he needs some sort of security blanket to make sure that you aren't trying to stamp him as yours. What I don't understand is where I've ever given off an impression that I needed something more than just that physical moment.

The cause and effect of whichever actions I take all seem to end the same, so it would conclude to me that the decision to fuck (or come close) or not to fuck really makes no difference at all in the end. If the person is going to act like a banana later, then that is how they will act, regardless of what the situation climaxed to.

My Bipolar Journal - Episode 3

So, my fabulous weekend of merely sitting on the couch until I nearly become a fungus was "ruined" by Jody. Ruined is of course used lightly because I enjoy Jody quite a good deal and certainly don't mind helping a boy out. His car troubles led me to Mariemont four times in total for the weekend and up to Butt-Fucking Mason (its official name) and then to Northside Tavern (which I think is about to get a good Butt-Fucking added to its name as well).

First of all, I thought of a great deal of things while sitting down to my meal at O'Charley's and listening to Jody talk and responding or initiating the conversation myself. I make a lot of eye contact. I never really realized it until recent job interviews. Everyone says, "I really like your eye contact. You have great eye contact." I always presumed I was making them uncomfortable for them to notice it so much. Maybe I'm like a stalker. I would make a really great stalker if I could actually find myself even remotely entertained by someone else's life. Anyway, Jody and I were also talking about the fact that I don't usually hang out with too many girls. I find them whiney and obnoxious overall, but there are the few that can handle me. I'm not a yes-girl and more than anything girls seem to want to be told they're right all the time. I generally don't tell someone they're right unless they are. I figure that's why I can meet people's eyes and others seem uncomfortale about it, either veering away or addressing it so that it doesn't seem so strange. I have nothing to hide. Anyone can know anything about me given the right conversation or the right line of questioning. I'm not dishonest because I can't be dishonest and maybe that's because I spend so much time looking people directly in the eyes, which is also strange because I can never remember a person's eye color.

I suppose that's why people feel they can be honest with me. I am the only girl probably still left on the planet that has no particular desire to see a boy cry, but has seen nearly all of her guy friends do it at some point. Now, I generally deal with this just fine, but sometimes, in the moments before I know it's going to happen, I brace myself uncomfortably. There are some people (not just boys) that I sit on the edge of my seat chanting, "Please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry" because I don't want to have to comfort them. Which is again strange because I generally don't comfort them and I think that's why they all cry around me in the first place. They know I'll make them stop one way or another. Most of the time, people crying don't need to be comforted, they need to be told the truth. Most of the time, they're too embarrassed and want to be brought out of it one way or another, so I find honesty and laughter the best tool for those sorts of things. It passes all of those uncomfortable moments clean by. I usually apologize and say, "It's my fault really. I make boys cry."

Oh, the brutal honesty of a bipolar, but life is really much too short to lie about (either way you want to read that is just fine). Probably why I am just as well-hated as I am well-liked depending on who you talk to.

Speaking of being truly well-hated, last night at Butt-Fucking Northside Tavern (yes, I think I'll like it and I'll stick with it) and there is a girl from a particular band (that most people will know anyway, so I'll protect the innocent here) whom I know for a fact hates the Chicks Rockfest. I think she hates it more because she was in the first one and doesn't want to admit it. It makes no difference to me either direction, it's just the facts. It's really a shame though because I quite like her band and music and would love to have her submit some year. Either way though, they played their set and I walked up to her and re-introduced myself. It's been six years since I've talked to the girl, so I said, "Hi [insert name]. I'm Jenn from the Chicks Rockfest." She looked at me queerly although I know she knows what I said and followed up with, "What?" I obliged her by repeating myself and waving it off saying it didn't matter because we met six years ago. She said, "Yeah, I don't think I ever played in that [festival]." I just waved her off again and said, "We played together several years ago when I was in a band, but that's not the point. I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job tonight and I enjoyed your set. That's all." She looked very confused by me and so I said, "That was it. I'll see you around." She shook her head and thanked me although from the looks of her you would think I had smacked her with a carp or told her that her pants were down. I don't know exactly what she was looking for out of me, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't a compliment. She has a good band, they write good songs. Why can't you compliment someone even if they don't care for what you do? Why do people seem to want and expect more drama than a simple compliment?

Another observation while at the Tavern. Girls again. They want to own their territory so badly, I thought I'd take a few on. Just for the shits and giggles of it. One girl was completely absorbed in Dale and the other was completely absorbed with someone I had just met. I came in and wrecked their party apparently because I came out to say hello to Dale. They both shot daggers at me. As soon as the fellow I had just met, did indeed met me, he was completely absorbed in conversation with me although why will be a mystery for quite some time, but I thought I would use it to expirament. I completely absorbed myself in his conversation and within nearly ninety seconds I had been invited back to some place where he said one side of the building was completely full of beer and the other completely of cocaine. He said it rather quietly as so the other girl wouldn't hear him which I found even more bizarre because then he spent a few moments later trying to ensure that he brought her into the conversation, leading me to believe they had a relationship.