Blind, Murderous Rage

Yeah, so much for sleep.

I'm so mad right now I could probably shank somebody.

B., the idiot I dated because I couldn't figure out how to say, "No, I'm not interested," is doing his "I need to take care of you because you're incompetent" spiel again. It's not out of any noble desire to help on his part. No, he and his girlfriend just broke up earlier in the week, and he's desperately trying to play "rescuer" in hopes of getting laid.

Today, he's trying to convince me I'm schizophrenic. Paranoid schiz, to be exact.

Ok, first and foremost, if I were schiz, I'm pretty sure the doctor would've caught it. Secondly, I have a degree in psych; I don't need him copying and pasting text from Wikipedia at me. I fucking know what schizophrenia is. I even took Abnormal Psych junior year!

He was like, "Well, you were convinced snipers were ready to shoot you."

I tried to explain that I was also manic/mixed, and the bipolar I diagnosis includes psychosis while you're in the throes of a mood episode. At first, I thought he was just genuinely confused because, yes, the schizophrenia, schizoaffective, and bipolar diagnoses have considerable overlap.

Then, I realized what he was doing. When I said that bipolar people can have psychotic episodes and that schizophrenics don't really have mood instability, he quickly changed tactics and said that he doesn't think I only have delusions during mood episodes. Number one, that's completely untrue. Number two, how the hell would he know? He's not in my head. Hell, I haven't even SEEN him since...last summer?

So when I shot that down, he decided to tell me that I hallucinate. Oh, really? I do? I must've missed that memo.

Then, he did what made me fly into this rage that's keeping me from sleeping. He claimed that just because I don't remember doesn't mean it doesn't happen because, after all, I don't remember a lot of things--I told him so myself. But HE remembers because I've asked him about "birds and whistling." (WTF? That would be some really stupid shit to hallucinate.)

He's fabricating this entire story to manipulate me for his own purposes and trying to prey on my fears about losing parts of my memory in order to do it. For his own purposes, of course, means that wants to scare me about my own mental state badly enough that I tell him to come down, and then he'll do his whole fake "Oh, you poor baby, I'm the only one who truly cares about you because nobody else attends to your needs like I do" schtick to try to get me to fuck him.

Yes. He's fucking with me in the worst possible way, by preying on my fear of my illness(es) and what it/they has/have done to me, to get me to fuck him. Way to gaslight the crazy person, asshole.

Oh, by the way, I was talking to Fangbunny online and asked her about this. She said that in the 6-ish months that she lived with me, I never asked her about "noises" and never acted like I was hearing anything. See, if someone other than him told me these things, I'd be more likely to believe them. But apparently, my own belief that I don't hallucinate is correct, and he's just a douchebag.

Also, did it ever occur to anyone that maybe part of the reason I'm suspicious of other people's motives is that I'm surrounded by people like him who'll play on my fears and insecurities to manipulate me into doing what they want?

Besides, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. If we're tacking diagnoses onto me in addition to bipolar, the most likely culprit is borderline. When I told him that, he shut the hell up.

I'm going to try again to go to bed, but I'm still mad as hell.


Editing to add what happened when I tried to get off Yahoo messenger and go to bed. Apparently sensing that he'd gone too far and pissed me off, he said, "You know I love you, right?" *Facepalm*

Do you SEE what I have to put up with?

Yeah, Well....

So much for not sucking. It was obviously too much to ask. *Eyeroll*

I'm not a very happy camper right now. I'm being ignored--AGAIN, goddammit--and something not good is going on. I can tell. I'm trying not to get angry until I know the facts, but it's awfully hard.

I'm so tired. This whole situation exhausts me.

I've also been running off a manic high for the last week or so. It happens every time I fuck with the Lamictal dose. I think it's winding down, though. A lot of stuff has gotten done for work, though, at least.

But I do believe it's time to try to stop worrying and go to bed. "Try" being the operative word here. I've got to get to the bottom of this little psychodrama before I run myself crazy (ok, craziER). But I suppose now's not the time. Maybe tomorrow. Time to go sleep off the about-to-crash post-manic exhaustion.

Also:

You Know You're In Bad Shape When...

...watching YouTube videos of massages turns you on.

Yes, really.

I was trying to find self-massage techniques for my poor aching neck. But, apparently, I'm in such desperate need of human touch and attention that the merest thought drives me crazy.

*Sigh*

This is never gonna end, is it?

Fuck

I'm just going to sit here and worry myself to death. God knows when I'll hear anything because I'm the fucking dirty little secret. I found out on Facebook, for God's sake. I feel helpless, useless, and panic-stricken. I want to be there. But I can't. This kinda shit is a big reason I didn't want to keep it a secret. FMLFMLFMLFML.

I'm going to bed. If I don't, I'll run myself crazy.

And One Last Thing

The other night, I had this really weird dream where I had extremely dirty, kinky sex with Charlie Sheen. I have no idea where it came from, but I can tell you that if I knew he were really as good in bed and as into fucked up kinky shit as he was in my dream, I'd be hunting that man down in a heartbeat.

So I told some of my friends about it, and I've been catching a good bit of good-natured hell for it because everyone--including me--thinks it's hilarious. My friends K. and B. have been giving me the hardest time about it, coming up with nearly every Charlie Sheen joke known to man.

So I leave you with this quote from a man who is apparently my new idol and subconscious crush.

"I'm not bipolar. I'm bi-winning!"

Good night, all.

Forgot To Include This

Forgot to include this, but here's the perfect song for this entire fucked up situation. Or, at least, the "she" in the song perfectly reflects my own thoughts.



She said, "I don't know if I've ever been good enough
I'm a little bit rusty
And I think my head is cavin' in
And I don't know if I've ever been really loved
By a hand that's touched me
And I feel like something's gonna give
And I'm a little bit angry

Well, this ain't over
No, not here
Not while I still need you around
You don't owe me
We might change it
Yeah, we just might feel good"

I wanna push you around
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna push you down
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna take you for granted
I wanna take you for granted
Yeah, yeah, well, I will

She said, "I don't know why you ever would lie to me
Like I'm a little untrusting when I think that the truth is gonna hurt ya
And I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me
You couldn't stand to be near me when my face don't seem to want to shine
'Cause it's a little bit dirty

Well, don't just stand there
Say nice things to me
'Cause I've been cheated
I've been wronged
You don't know me
Yeah, well, I can't change
Well, I won't do anything at all"

I wanna push you around
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna push you down
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna take you for granted
Yeah, I wanna take you for granted
Yeah, yeah, well, I will

Oh, but don't bowl me over
Just wait a minute
Well, it kinda fell apart
Things get so crazy, crazy
Don't rush this, baby
Don't rush this, baby, baby, baby

I wanna push you around
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna push you down
Well, I will
Well, I will
I wanna take you for granted

Yeah, yeah, yeah
I wanna take you, take you, yeah, well, I will
I will, I will, I will, yeah
I will, I will, I will, yeah, yeah
Push you around
And drag you down
I wanna push you around
Well, I will

Don't Just Stand There; Say Nice Things To Me

This whole fucking day has basically been a bust, and now my head hurts too much to try to be productive now. So I think I'll blog and go to bed.

My friend B. told me about some MORE shit I've apparently forgotten. *Sigh* Just how much of my memory did this fucking disorder take away from me?

I post on a message board for kinky people, though admittedly not as much anymore as I used to. We've got a thread on there called "Dear X." What you do is write an anonymous--or not so anonymous, if you choose--letter to someone in the thread. Some people use it for happy things, and some use it for not-so-happy-things. Today, I'll be Dear X-ing on my blog. There will be four letters, for X, Y, Z, and for all three. People who know me will know who each of these people are by reading. People who don't have no reason to know, anyway.


Dear X,

I loved you. Well, before I realized you were a narcissistic sociopath.

No, scratch that. I still love you. It just has to be kept veiled in a thick layer of bitterness and resentment, otherwise you'll just hurt me again. Probably not intentionally because you don't ever even think of me anymore. Just through complete indifference.

I did the best I could for you. I never measured up, no matter how hard I tried. No matter how many times I asked, you never even told me what you wanted from me. I asked you over and over and over what would make you happy, and you never told me. I scratched and scrabbled, trying so hard to do something, anything, that would please you, but it never happened. In retrospect, I'm sure it was a ploy. If you never told me what'd make you happy, you'd always be justified in acting as if whatever I did wasn't good enough for you.

In two years, do you know how many times you kissed me? Three times, two of which were to shut your husband up. I don't particularly like kissing, but I crave it from people I care about. Same thing with receiving oral. I'm not necessarily a fan, but it feels nice and intimate when it's someone I give a fuck about. Do you remember how many times you did THAT to me in two years? Once. For about a minute and a half. Also at your husband's instruction. Regardless of the fact that I used to do it for you every time we played and for extended periods of time. Because I wanted to. Because I wanted to please you.

It was as if I was too revolting for you to touch.

How many times did I want to be held by you before bed, only to be blown off repeatedly? So many nights, I asked you to please come cuddle with me after your husband went to bed. You always told me you would once you got to a stopping place in your stupid fucking game, and you hardly ever did. I'd stay awake for hours, hoping you'd come and get in bed with me for a few minutes, so I could snuggle close to you and get a tiny shred of attention. I'd hear you in there talking to your friends who played your game, laughing and being loud, while I lay in bed crying because you didn't want to touch me. Then, I'd hear when you'd go to bed without even looking in on me.

You wondered why I acted like I didn't want to be there? Because you didn't want me there. I can only be rejected so many times before the self-hate and resentment consume me.

You promised me that the next time you went to the beach, you'd take me. I love the beach. The next time you went, you made plans to take someone else without even asking me if I wanted to go. I spent money I didn't have to buy you and him Valentine's Day gifts, only to be told I wouldn't be getting anything because you didn't have the money for gifts. Less than an hour later, we all stood in Sam's Club, and I watched you buy over $100 worth of things, some of which even *you* said you didn't need. You told a bald-faced lie right to my teeth and didn't even care that I saw right through it. I suppose I wasn't worth a fucking 50 cent card somewhere in that $100+ shopping trip?

And these are just the things I remember off the top of my head. I loved you. You used me for doing your laundry, cleaning your house, getting you off, and giving your husband someone to tie up and abuse because you think his (our) perversions are bad. Normal people would've just hired a maid and a hooker.

To top it all off, you took him, and you took my best friend from me without so much as a "by your leave." Most times, I was treated as less than human, like my feelings didn't matter one way or another. I was denied even basic human decency. I became your scapegoat. You claimed that you couldn't give me what I needed, but the truth is, you didn't even try.

I'm sorry that you couldn't love me because I don't have a penis.

To me, it feels like you milked me for all you could get out of me and then tossed me aside when you couldn't get any more, neatly replacing me with my best friend. You blamed me for my illness. You didn't realize that YOUR treatment of me is what caused most of my anger and bitterness toward the situation. You said nothing you did was ever right, that you couldn't make me happy. I gave you an entire list of things I liked, things I enjoyed. Most of them didn't require a lot of effort. Several didn't even require money. Did you try even one of them? Of course not. I wasn't worth the slightest bit of effort to you.

I loved you. You used me and threw me away and then had the audacity to blame me for it.

I should just chalk it up to the fact that you are a sociopath. You never had one real feeling toward me whatsoever. You cared about me only in so far as what I could do for you. But I can't. I still love you, and I hate myself for it.

All I ever wanted was to be good enough for you to love me. I'll never understand why I wasn't, but rest assured, I'll beat myself up for it for the rest of my life.

~Bunny


Dear Y,

I loved you. You betrayed me in the worst possible way. You blamed me for ruining our relationship. You blamed me for being crazy. The truth is, you found something better and left me in the dust.

I sincerely hope they never turn on you like they turned on me. I'm not sure I have it in me to save you again.

~Bunny


Dear Z,

You promised me you'd be there for me. You swore 3 years ago that you'd never run out on me again. But you did. You do it every time the going gets a little difficult. And then you wonder why I can't trust you.

It's hard to trust someone when you're waiting for the next time he leaves you.

I still love you. But I accept the basic fact that you're weak. You've always taken the path of least resistance. You want to have your cake and eat it, too. You want to have all these things, but you want them to come to you and stay with you without you ever having to lift a finger to maintain them. You play both ends against the middle and cave to whoever's the strongest force acting on you at the time. Integrity in the face of adversity is unknown to you.

And when it becomes something other than moonlight and roses, you leave.

I could move on. I doubt the situation will ever get any better. But I can't. I love you. It's a sick addiction, I suppose, but I need you, and I know I'll shrivel and die without you. But the situation is intolerable. There has to be an answer. And I'm sure there is, but it'll require you to get up off your ass and show the backbone that has, up until now, been conspicuously absent.

Forgive me for not being so sure it'll ever happen.

People ask me who my ideal man is. I always say it's you, if you didn't suck. Please stop sucking and give me what I need from you for the first time ever--love, consistency, strength, attention, and, most importantly, love. Please. If we're going to be shackled to one another for all eternity--and it damn sure looks that way--we should at least try to make it as painless as possible.

~Bunny


Dear X, Y, and Z,

Even after all this shit, I still love all three of you. I know you don't feel the same way, but I'll probably spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough.

~Bunny