I have written three blog posts, consumed 2 blocks of chocolate and slept 9 hours since my last publication. The topics I have written about have no place here, or really, I have no guts to publish them. So this post is about me being open and saying that there are some things that are too dark for me to share. There are corners of my past that are arising out of the deep, narrow spindlings of my memory, and I am processing them through writing, but I cannot bring myself to share them. This is playing out in my life though, with intense feelings of anger at seemingly nothing occasions like the cat licking herself to get clean (one of the reasons I wanted a cat was because I was sick of having to clean and keep clean, the spaces of a dog), Master X refusing to sleep (I can’t even with this one – it really triggers deep anger and the lack of sleep propels the anger cycle), Mr A not doing the dinner menu properly so we can eat quickly of an evening (I love that he loves to and is a good at cooking, but the process it takes is not conducive to the 30mins time slot we have when we get home from work).
Whinge whinge whinge. I fell like all I do is complain. “Well than fix it dear Regi, Dear Regi, Dear Regi…”
I can’t fix it. It feels like since starting to try and help Mr A with Master X’s sleep problems that my mood is unmanageable. Such a short amount of time with broken sleep and I am already feeling the pull of self loathing, and anger, and spite, and all those nasty combinations of these foundation emotions and reactions.
Last night was unfathomable. I have tried to let it wash through me, in the hope of self-forgiveness and love but instead the beast was fed and I had to eat too so I binged on some McDonalds alone, sitting in my car only an hour before dinner time, I wanted to express my fatness from the Olanzapine having had to sit through 3 waiting rooms filled with blossoming and beautiful women who are popping. I could feel the mould of the chair squeeze into my back and oozing my back fat to encase the sides like mud tearing down a mountain during a landslide. I wanted to eat my shame in what I had done, in my reaction to Master X not being able to sleep and the subsequent reaction towards myself for having been so… unloving.
And that the shame hangs even now and I cannot write, think or consume anything but my disgraceful efforts at being a parent of late, that I cannot be who I need to be for Master X due the increasing crush of space between us with my expanding belly and drooping breasts. Also that my patience is ridiculous and uncontrollably absent since starting to wake at nights and still try to manage a full time job and responsibility role. All I want to do is lay in bed all day, not out of depression but rather the sheer exhaustion.
How do you beat this thing or do you just go with it? Is this the down after the hypomania?