I’ve been a bad, bad girl.
Guess who’s back on their bullshit! This girl! That’s right, I’m a bad, bad girl! But not THAT kind of bad girl. No, I’ve been the boring kind. Not the kind you see movies about. You know the movies I’m talking about; where some beautiful starlet is wild and fun and out of control. And she makes mental illness look sexy until the final act of her bad girl struggle where her lips are a little chapped and her eyes a little too wide and kind of scary but still what someone might call “totally bangable.” Yeah, that wasn’t me. I had food stains on my shirt, bags under my bloodshot eyes, and I didn’t move from my couch for so long it gave me back problems. But I don’t think that makes for an entertaining movie.
I stopped taking my medications. No real reason, except for that I missed a doctors appointment. I forgot to put it in my calendar and then I missed it. I got a note, basically a written wrap on the knuckles, from my doctor reminding me that I shouldn’t do that again and, if I could, please refrain from wasting their time. Which I totally understood and felt guilty about. So that guilt stopped me from making another (because they’ll see my name and think “that girl! That stupid girl who wasted our time. Look at this bullshit, wanting another appointment”) So then I ran out of pills. Then I kept eating foods (because, hey there substitute for medication and self esteem and friendship and love) and gained weight. And I knew that all of these things meant I should get back on medication. But I needed to lose weight so the doctor wouldn’t talk to me about how much I needed to lose weight. Plus, they’ll know it’s been a while and that I stopped my meds when I shouldn’t have. So yes, I’ve been the unsexiest bad girl and I need to be punished with lectures about how I’ve let people down. I’m a disappointment, daddy. Sternly tell me how much I’ve disappointed you. Am I doing this right? I don’t think I’m doing this right.
I’m actually at a point now where I feel pretty good in terms of energy and getting things done. And I’m not letting my entire life and relationships backslide so that I have to rebuild EVERYTHING. But I can’t sleep at night. The obsessive thought patterns are back and I’m having trouble making them be quiet. (Side note: why do my obsessive thoughts have to be about the general nature of death? Why can’t it be mathematical equations or entertaining stories or brilliant articles or something that makes use of this broken brain bullshit? It’s always so dreadfully, existentially boring). I wish I had a legit reason for getting to this place again. It would be easier. But all I have are basically excuses for not doing the things I should be doing. What can I say? Broken-brain bullshit happens, I guess. I’m trying not to hate myself too much which is not an easy feat for any of us. We’re, all of us, olympic medalling experts in the self hating endurance event. I guess the best thing to do is take stock of how better this time was vs. the last time and look at what I did right. I didn’t completely fall back. A minor slide into a dungheap is better than a headlong dive. And it isn’t hopeless. It’s just difficult. But what life isn’t difficult, really? Mine, by comparison, is relatively easy. Just a minor bout with broken-brain bullshit.
Spring is here and everything seems to be in bloom now. I was born in the spring so I’m a creature of rebirth, I guess. Hopefully I don’t get reborn as the same thing. Here’s to another sloughing off of the skin. The next bad girl will be a little better.
I still don’t think I did this right.