Odds against me

I read today on Facebook that one of my old high school substitutes and driver’s ed teacher died of Alzheimer’s at 66 years young. Jesus Christ, my dad is that same age and he isn’t close to dying. Or so I think. I think a lot about how things could be different and how things should have or could have been and the paths that would have changed had things been different.

Numerically, the odds are against me to succeed. I may have grown up in a two parent household and never had to beg on the streets for money or go to the food bank for food but my mother was not diagnosed as schizoaffective until I was 19 years old and my dad was never home. My mother was also an actively drinking alcoholic all of my life until I was 18 years old. It was no surprise to anyone that I was on antidepressants at 14 years old. It was no surprise to anyone that I was diagnosed with bipolar two disorder at 17 years old. It was no surprise to anyone that I cheated on the man I was supposed to marry because he made me feel something for the first time in my life other than sadness and apathy.

It was no surprise to anyone that I nearly killed myself twice. Not once, but twice. It was no surprise when I found my own self in the throws of addiction. It was no surprise that I dropped out of school as many times as I started school back up.

I am not one to follow up and follow through no matter the passion. Maybe it’s the disorder, or maybe it’s just how I am made up. I gotta stop letting the bipolar disorder or whatever these delusions and hallucinations are telling me to do stop me from being a productive member of society. I strive to be normal to think normal and to act normal. Yet I talk to myself, out loud, uncontrollably, I see and hear things that aren’t there almost like you do when you’re high except I do that completely sober. I am constantly paranoid and in delusions that people, especially cops are out to get me. But I rationalize this. I contain it.

And I go to work. And I come home. Sometimes I see Diego and my dog, Poncho. I do my homework. I cook and eat. I drink red bull and orange spice herbal tea. And lots of water. And take my medicine day in and day out when I am supposed to, as I am supposed to. I smoke weed and I smoke my mod (vape nicotine). I don’t smoke cigarettes, never touched drugs, and I seldom drink alcohol because it makes the big sad come out. I don’t have many friends but I am close with those I am and I care a lot. I sleep around a lot because I have lack of respect and low self esteem and that makes me feel less empty or so I think.

That’s my normal. Part of me wants that to change because I don’t want to hallucinate and be in delusions all the time, but I fear that the medication will numb me more and not be able to be productive or creative.

Odds are still against me no matter how I swing the situation but I’ll make it through. Just you wait.


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