sick to my stomach

you make me sick to my stomach.

you make me want to go home, want to crawl into a strange bed, pull the sheets up over my head and never come out.

reality makes me carry on.

responsibilities. far more than the first time you tried to take everything from me.

perhaps i care more now that i understand you, and am more acutely tuned in so as to know when you're going to bitchslap me upside the head.

you won't win. not this time. not anymore. i won't let you.

i am better than you, even when i can't imagine it could be so.

adjust, readjust. whatever it takes. i'll never beat you, but you won't win.

Calling Dick Tucker...

were you assigned this case?

if so, i want the exclusive.

solicited advice

from one of my most favorite bloggers.

thank you, my friend. your advice always means far more than you could ever imagine.

I may be batshit crazy, but at least i'm not a fucking stark-raving mad, co-dependent lunatic.

ahhh, depression, my oldest frenemy

not being a rapid-cycling manic-depressive is some hard shit to deal with.

while i'm glad i don't get 'stuck' in a manic episode, i'm pretty well sick and tired of depressive episodes. i'm obviously better than i was 3 years ago; i would never have even attempted to get out of bed on days (or weeks) like today (or this week). and if i did make it out of bed it would be with an unwashed face, unbrushed hair, stinky breath from not having brushed my teeth, and i'd sit in dirty ass pj's for days on end.

well my jammies are clean, my flat iron plugged in, i'm getting ready to get up and go to work.

what a difference the right medications make; but man, i wish they'd just knock the depressive episodes out of me completely.

boys aren't helping, either. or it could be perception.

all i know is that you should *never* text a boy and ask him if he's ever wanted to 'kurt cobain' himself. it was an off the cuff remark; i'm not suicidal. he didn't see the humor in it at all.

as for the rest of the boys in my life, well, they can all fuck off for the time being. i hate being alone, i really do, but it's better than the jackassholes that enter my life at an alarming pace. i need to quit some boys, keep other stuff closer to my heart, and fall in love again.

a haiku

surface resurface,
stay/go push, pull on heartstrings
surface resurface

where'd my mania go?

when i was manic, i could write for hours. it was probably a manic episode that led to the creation of my original blog.

now that i'm properly medicated?

zip. zero. nada. nothing.

i'm just a crying depressive bitch who has fiber farts.

seriously, who says this kind of shit?

from an e-mail @ collarme:

lucky if yoiu get any cock girl

why, because i know the difference between 'dominate' and 'dominant'?

or because i write haikus about assholes that piss me the fuck off?

'fess up

which one of you is playing the jackasshole 'make a chippendale dancer call me' game?

waiting sucks.

i hate waiting for him. his 'i'll be there in a few days, if not tomorrow' loosely translates to 'i'll be there when i get there...and then i'll text you'.

it really shouldn't bother me. it never has before.

cock withdrawal sucks.

Nerve.

I've never shied away from the fact that i'm bipolar--it's a fact of life, i take a pill daily and hope for the best. Every now and then I have a manic moment, and yesterday was one of those days. It was sparked by several events: 'friends' who threw me under the bus, a close friend's terminally ill parent and my inability to physically be there for him, and work.

Work is the least of my worries. Honestly, they can't do much about it, and i didn't flip out on the floor.

And that I can't physically be there for my friend and their family is also beyond my control. I can support this person via phone/e-mail/text, and it will have to suffice. Why it's even an issue is because I've been exactly where this person has been. This person was my rock when I needed them, and I'm sorry I can't give back the way I'd like. If it were up to me I'd be on the next plane out of here.

What's far more troublesome, and what actually sparked the manic episode was a couple of my alleged friends. They are both bipolar, one medicated and one not. The medicated one is a recent discovery and while i'm fine with that, i'm not fine with being chucked under the bus because my cellphone ringer wasn't on.

First of all, I have a fucking landline for a reason. Secondly, my ringer is *never* on. Third, get fucking bent. Fuck you for blaming an admittedly weird and shitty night on my lack of being there.

Did you think you wouldn't have done coke had I been there? Every single one of my friends knows that I cannot/will not be around that stuff. It's been 12 or 13 years since I've last touched it, a relative of mine struggled with addiction, and my husband was a (recovering) addict.

That you collectively had a shitty time is not my fault. I wasn't there. And it's not fair to throw J under the bus either. She got sick. Didn't feel well, went home.

I would rather continue to live my monk's life than hang out with these people. I will not allow addiction to have an effect on my life. I'm far too old for this shit, and I've come too far in the last couple of years.

translation, please

from one of my many 'admirers' on collarme:

I dont mean to barge in here but I have red your journal entries over soem time and wanted to respond. There is no need to respond if you don't care to. I was thinking back over My life as a man and when I was younger I wanted to fuck anything I could get My hands on. Lets face it, fucking is great, no beeter feeling than cumming at the end of a nice time. As I grew and married I still had those feelings of wanting to get laid where I pleased but I loved My wife and needed to stay true to her. We found that we were so secure in our relationship that we wanted to try some things of a sexual nature. We did and enjoyed it. She passed away and I remarried again enjoying a nice piece of ass would be wonderful but I loved her and that is where My loyalties would remain. I divorced her and since then have only been with a few women in teh past five years. I think the point I am making is that they never grew up. There is nothing wrong with wanting to get as much pussy as you can but to hide it behind a relationship is wrong. Those that cannot be faithful cannot commit and without honesty and commitment there is nothing but fucking.

Does someone have an idiot-to-literate dictionary handy?

Anyone?

Dallas

Are *all* of the boys in Dallas profoundly stupid when it comes to the art of women? Is it something in the water?

Seriously. Stop professing interest if you're not going to follow through.

Holy Fuck

Squeaky's getting out of prison.