Half the time I forget that I have Bipolar 2 disorder and then other times I feel like I’m running 90 miles an hour toward a brick wall. And today is one of those extra, emotionally labile days. I just want to be missing in action with all of my life responsibilities but I’ve been fairly productive today despite the depression rearing its ugly head once again.

I went to an AA meeting at noon with my mom and although it was a good meeting, I was irritated because it felt like it was much longer than it needed to be (granted, it was only one hour) but sometimes no matter how good a meeting is and even if I do participate, I feel as though I’m just there to get a court slip signed so I don’t go back to jail. And that is a negative way to view my recovery. Fortunately, I normally don’t feel so bitter and resentful, but today I did.

We decided before the meeting that my sister and my mom needed new phones. I am the account manager for their Verizon account even though my dad pays the monthly bill and I don’t even have Verizon as my cell phone carrier anymore. I think my dad and I merged accounts years ago but in order to get more independence, I got my own plan through T Mobile and my sister and mom kept their plan through Verizon on “my” plan that dad pays for them.

So long story short, I was there and we picked up my sister after the meeting and got coffee and went to the store. It went pretty well considering my mom got a Galaxy S24 for free and my sister’s iPhone 14 was close to free with under $10/month in device payments. Not only did they get two new phones, but the bill went down over $20 even with the device payment plan! So hey, as much of a headache it was to download and login to apps on my mom’s phone and set it up for her, I’m happy everyone else is happy even my dad since his monthly bill went down.

I talked to my boyfriend on the phone and I kept feeling small and sad for no real reason. I took two hydroxyzine while on the phone for anxiety but I couldn’t shake the depression. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. I have all my laundry done and put away in my closet, all color coordinated. I set up blood work for Tuesday morning at 8:45am. I have my last intensive outpatient class tomorrow morning 9am-noon. I should hear back about a few different jobs that I have applied for and interviewed for by the beginning of this week. But I’m still fucking depressed.

Can’t kick this feeling of utter morbidness. I want to not be alive, not so much that I want to die, because I don’t, but I don’t want to be living. I can’t go on much longer feeling this way…

Now before anyone calls the crisis hotline on me, I’m not a harm to myself and or others. I won’t “plunk myself” as my father calls it, but I’m really fucking sad and I don’t really want to write about it or talk about it anymore. I don’t even know why I’m writing this now. I mean, this isn’t a cry for help. I have help; I am being helped. I am helping myself by taking my medication and I got my support people and I’m doing what I can to keep my head above the waves.

I thought maybe writing might make me feel something again. It used to make me feel like I was ,making a difference in this world but I still feel apathetic and lethargic. I feel like my one blessing don’t fuckin’ matter anymore because I don’t bleed for my art anymore. Maybe other artists might understand… I don’t feel the pain that it takes to write. I don’t feel the joy that writing should give a person, shit. I don’t even feel sad writing this. I just. Feel. Nothing.

I think if I had a little poor me in my heart for the way I write it might make me continue because I’d want to change the way I felt when writing about whatever the case may be. I’m not sure if this makes any goddamn sense. Maybe it does and I don’t really care if it doesn’t. I don’t even care that I’m writing anything at all but I do know that some of y’all out there do wonder where I go when I stop writing. I know I feel that way about some other writers I follow. I may not care about myself but others do. And I even care for others too. Just not myself.

I think if I showed myself an ounce of compassion and empathy toward my own self the world might be a brighter place. I say that because when people truly love themselves, they spread their energy to those who need it most. As empathetic as I am toward folks, at the end of the day, I am a narcissist who does it for my own gain. Maybe if I had a speck of self worth, I wouldn’t do that.

Who’s to say though?

I no longer try to play God up in the sky. I just let the chips fall as they may and play my hands accordingly. Maybe I’m just an asshole. I think part of this recovery process we gotta overanalyze ourselves to the point we are forced to change. We assess our character defects and fix ourselves to be the autonym of each defect. For example, a character defect I have is narcissism so the opposite of that would be selflessness. the one thing I can’t stand about recovery is we do all this self work and the world passes us by. I’m so focused on god damned me that I can’t help others who are hurting because my face is in the mirror. But those regular drinkers and social users don’t have to self reflect and make their best selves happen. But when they’re being a dick to me, it’s apparently my fault because I have to focus on my new character attributes of being self less? Give me a fucking break!

But then again my mother always told me in life growing up that nothing is fair and there are folks with a silver spoon in their mouth. Then there’s everyone else. I think alcoholism, drug addiction, and mental health disorders fall in the “everyone else” category. And it’s up to me to fix myself regardless of what anyone else says or does because life ain’t fair.

I think I should get off my soapbox now.

Goodnight and farewell for now, friends.

Much love,

Dani