Cause I’m capable of anything
I used to love pickles. They were my favorite food. Both sets of grandparents would buy them for me when I would come to visit. The last time we visited my Gram and Pap in NC before he got sick, my Pap marched us into the Food Lion right to the pickle aisle. He picked up the largest glass jar of the biggest pickles I had ever seen and we marched right out of the store. Of course I wasn’t able to eat all of these pickles during my stay (hubs doesn’t eat pickles, weirdo) so he arranged them behind the driver’s seat of our car and on our way we went. I remember this so often. Primanti’s serves pickles of this size. I order them but I can only eat 1/4 of it. I loved my Pap so wholeheartedly. I haven’t eaten pickles like that since. I just can’t stomach them like I used to.
Over the years, I have alienated myself from family and friends. I’ve struck out at those who were standing by my side. I’ve told people that I love that I hate them and probably to go somewhere and die. I’m not sure about the last part but it seems like something that could come out of mania’s mouth. I could give two shits less about someone outside my circle, but I am to destroy to those inside it. I’m not quite sure why I do this. Granted, it doesn’t hurt me as much as those I accost, but it still hurts pretty damn bad. I do a lot of self-reflection in general, even more so since I’ve begun writing this blog. They may have forgiven me, but I don’t forgive myself. I constantly feel less than…less than whom I should be. Less than whom my spouse deserves/wants/needs. Less than whom my family needs in a granddaughter/daughter/sister/sister-in-law/aunt. And my friends, well, there aren’t that many left. The last two ditched me because I’m too crazy for them and they need less drama in their lives. I was manic at the time. That’s when I needed a friend the most. They refused to learn about my disorder thus assuming I’m always a nutjob. One I miss, the other…not so much. For not wanting any drama, she sure creates a lot of it. At the end of the day, they weren’t anything more than acquaintances, people to go out drinking with. (I’m not supposed to drink with my heavy artillery of medications. I still do, sometimes it’s fun other times I let the crazy out.) I have some girlfriends, but I haven’t trusted them with the big Bipolar news. They’re pretty smart. I’m sure they think something’s up especially since I’ve had two leaves of absence in the last few years. One of a little over a week and the other was a full two weeker.
I was full blown manic, up through the clouds, into the sky high. I was beyond functioning. I was worthless. My beloved psychiatrist mandated that I take two weeks off. He threatened me with hospitalization otherwise. Hospitalization was the last thing I’d ever want he said. That’s a bad, bad place he said, avoid it at all costs. I’m going to find one of those resorts like for addicts. I’ll get massages, do yoga, swim in their beautiful pool and eat their fancy food and I should probably mention pay their $5999 fee (airfare not included). But isn’t that all anyone needs? A nice place to get away to all by themselves? Hubs can stay home with the pups and he’ll go when I return. Except his will be longer. He needs it more than me. And, he can go to Jamaica. Yeah, that sounds about right.
I desperately want to move closer to my family. I feel that I need not only their emotional support but social interaction with people I love and trust. Hubs isn’t into it. He’s an only child and feels obligation to his family here. I’m gonna keep working on him.