Baby talk

"Where do you want to be when you're 34?"

"I don't know. Everything has changed since I hit this rough patch. My timeline is off. But I just figured out something that changes everything: I don't think I want kids."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Really? My aunt thinks I need to be pampered; taken care of instead of being the one who always takes care of others.

"You and your cousin Henry shouldn't have kids. I've told him this, too. You both would be better marrying someone who has kids already, older kids."

I wouldn't mind someone elses kids. Especially older kids. I think that would be just fine. I just have no patience for the screaming toddler phase or the losing sleep of infancy. Call me selfish, but I'm just not the kid type.

"My generation fucked up raising kids, and I can say that cause I did it too, though my kids are great. The baby boomers, the hippies, just all screwed it up."

I am a rock, I am an island

Abandoned. Some synonyms are rejected and forsaken. Rejected. It all leads to the irrational fear of abandonment.

"It's a wonder you can even function. I mean, with parents like that, and I love my brother and your mom, don't get me wrong, but they aren't the most stable people. And they left you. To drop you off at school and leave you for three years at your most delicate time. No wonder you can't get close to anyone! No wonder you won't let anyone in."

It's funny when even your aunt thinks your parents sucked. They really tried. They did. They're both good people, but neither of them should have had children. They both would make, and do make, great aunts or uncles, but parents? Not so much. But I love them anyway.

She's right, about the fear of abandonment. It's why I can't let anyone close to me for more than a year. All my relationships last about a year and then I push away. Julie and I were talking about it on Tuesday, and she said, "That would include therapists, too, no?" And I think she's right. I haven't had a therapist for more than a year and a half. I suppose that's my timeline for closeness.

Do I have to let people in? "You know you can call me anytime. I'm going to be there for you. You have to let people in. No one can do it alone." No man is an island, I suppose. I ask for help sometimes, but I just don't trust that others will be there to do it. I am perfectly fine taking care of myself. I always have been. I even got through that last suicidal patch by myself. I don't need anyone else.

But I'm lonely.

From the mouth of auntie

I had a nice dinner with my aunt last night, and we covered a lot of ground. We went over some things that I had just discovered in therapy; or more like just finally want to think about taking on. This is going to be a few blog posts, me thinks.

"What's with this alcohol thing? You're not an alcoholic, you know." She said.

"I'm not? But I was drinking alone, a lot, and blacking out?"

"You were using it as a crutch, and that's bad. You're the kind of person who can have one or two drinks occasionally, especially with your meds. But it doesn't make you an alcoholic."

Words to think about. In fact, I had been. I mean, I drank. A lot. But I gave up easy. And it's been fine. I don't know. I was thinking I'll give it till a year and then try to drink like a normal person again. Perhaps alcohol just isn't done with me.

Disturbing the dust

"Everything has to be up off the floor by Monday. Except the furniture."

One wouldn't think that a huge request, except if you're living out of boxes and living with a hoarder. It's taken 2 weeks and he's finally moved the majority of his collection to storage facilities around the building. But what am I supposed to do with my stuff? I've managed to fit most of it in the closets, but I still have the odds and ends that now can't be tucked away somewhere.

"Bring more of it to your storage facility," he says.

If I were doing it right, I would get rid of some of my shoes and pack the winter stuff up. It's only February, but March is coming fast, and around here the weather can change to spring really quickly. I'm anticipating the change soon, and so I need my wardrobe to reflect that.

But I'm not smart. I'm just shoving it all into boxes without really looking at it. I'm throwing trinkets into boxes knowing I don't really know what the hell to do with them once they come out of boxes - if they ever come out again. I don't want to be hauling this stuff around with me, but I don't have the heart to let it go.

Monday. Crap.

Pharma sleep

It's too late for pharmaceutically enhanced sleep. Or, maybe it's too early for it. Either way, I'm not going to get a lot of sleep tonight. My stomach hurts and it's keeping me up. That's right, I ate too much (I think it was the pickled vegetables) and so I have a stomach ache. So what did I just do? I ate again. Yep. Because sometimes eating makes a stomach ache go away. It's counter-intuitive, but it works, sometimes. I can't tell yet if it worked this time.

I have to be up in a couple of hours to go to work and work out. I'm going to do it this time. I mean workout. I always go to work. My cousin Roger told my dad I was the hardest working person he knew. I don't know where he gets that from: he works two jobs and has a two year old. I give him mad props.

Ok, I'm going to lie down and see what happens this time....

It's baby fat

"You're the queen of the yo-yo weight." -Michael

Sometimes I want to smack him. In context, he was giving me a compliment. The whole conversation was: "I can't fit into my pants. I'm so fat." And he replied, "At least you're still pretty. You're the queen of the yo-yo weight, but you're always pretty. You can fix fat." Awful! I love him.

I've eaten so much today that I feel like vomiting. I'm still eating, though. If I thought my dad wasn't watching I would go out and eat more food. I know that's sick. I just eat and eat.... And I'm sitting here belching and really feel sick. I don't know what's wrong with me.

I need to start running again. I have a marathon to run in a month and I haven't run since Christmas. I'm so not going to make it, but I'm going to try. I'm going to run until I can't run anymore. So tomorrow I'm going to run for a half hour just to get myself started. I need to start watching what I'm eating and stop binging. It's time to get serious about Weight Watchers and running, again. I need to lose about 20 pounds at this point, but I'll take 10.

The full monty

So there's a cool chat on Twitter that happens on Tuesday nights at 9pm (#mhsm). Tonight they were talking about disclosure; when and who to disclose to, what the repercussions are, etc.

I'm one big contradiction. Everyone in my life knows I'm bipolar. I tell people usually the first or second time I meet them. I like people to know up front, and I like to have the people around me educated about the illness. I find it easier to just be me and have people who can call me out on my behavior if it gets too one direction or the other. It's also good to have people in your corner when you're not a very good advocate for yourself. Saying, "I don't feel good." to someone who knows how bad you can really feel is easier than getting yourself to a doctor. So really, disclosure is totally selfish.

But hardly anyone knows I'm sober. Isn't that odd? It's not like I care if they know, but I do, sort of. I mean, everyone drinks, and everyone is used to me drinking heavily. It's part of my personality, like being bipolar is. So what happens to a me without alcohol? I'm just finding that out, and I'm not sure I know how to represent myself yet.

Strange, huh? That I should be ok with the debilitating illness and not with the minor alcoholism?