When that time comes every month to write my post for this blog, I find myself struggling to talk about something. Well, something different. I always find myself writing posts about my bipolar and how hard life has been with it. I want to be multi-dimensional with my writing but my mind keeps rushing back to that topic. Maybe it’s because life has been so hectic that I find myself looking for an answer as to why I haven’t be able to cope with it all. Maybe it’s because I’m a broken record, only able to talk about one topic every time it comes to writing. Maybe it’s because my mental illness encapsulates my entire life, which I already know, but subconsciously because it’s not something I think of daily. It’s something that only really comes out when I’m alone and with my own mind. It plays tricks with me and allows me to think of nothing else but the fucked up hormones within my head. Not that I’ve really been helping myself much with that because I keep forgetting to take my meds. No matter how often I make alarms or have people remind me or how bad days get or good they are, I forget. I have to take them but I forget. Taking pills is just a menial task to me and doesn’t seem important. But, it really, really is. Oh well. I’ll remember eventually.
Right now, my life is completely hectic. That’s why I had to skip my post last month. I found myself struggling to do papers that were due around the same time that I was due for this post. I still find myself struggling to do work for school. My grades are good. But, I feel like they’re not good enough for my professors. They always throw the “you’re the brightest students ever” bullshit into our heads but then make us feel like we’re never good enough. I have a paper due tomorrow that everyone seems like they understand the poem we have to write about. But, the poem just looks like a blank page of printer paper. I can’t find the meaning or form or whatever I need to write a five to eight page paper.
I feel myself giving up and not wanting to deal with school. I only have about three weeks left of school, so I’ll make and force myself to finish and get everything done but my motivation is slowly disintegrating. It has been since, maybe, September, and I don’t know why I’ve been like that. Maybe it’s because as it gets closer and closer to the holidays, I find myself pitying myself because of how much I can’t stand them. The holidays, for the past five or six years, have been a waste of energy for me. It’s consumed with memories of my mother skipping out on my family to spend Christmas with her secret and illicit boyfriend instead of her family, and hiding her act with the charade of her going to work for the weekend. I knew it was bullshit. Also, for the past three or four years, I’ve worked in retail, which means that once November 27th comes around, I’ll be a lackey for assholes who don’t know anything about compassion and think that I’m a walking robot, lack of emotions and there to completely serve them. Granted, not every customer I’ve had during the holidays have been terrible but I have a lot more negative memories than positive. Like the creepy guy last year, who grabbed my arm to see my tattoo without my permission, and then followed me around my store and took pictures of me on his phone. Also the same guy who told my store manager that he would “rock her world like a porn star” or something like that. Or the woman who flipped out on me when we ran out of the size of pajama pants she needed, which we had other styles in her sizes, but blamed me because I definitely was to blame for pajama pants running out on Black Friday when they are buy one get one free and everyone was totally not buying them. That’s just the easy customers I’ve had to deal with.
The holidays, also, remind me of how broke I am. How I would love to splurge on the people I love, buying them things that they would love and make them super happy about. However, I literally barely can afford to survive on the almost $300 paychecks I make every two weeks. So, most of my loved ones are lucky if I can even afford to get them the smallest thing. And it makes me feel like absolute shit because I can’t make them happy with monetary things like the holiday season is making me do. Even though I know that they are happy with just having me around instead of me being dead from the constant thoughts and urges that I’ve had to deal with all my life but my head doesn’t allow me to think that way. It blames me for not being good enough financially to give back to people. I have panic attacks when I mess up in the slightest way. Not being able to give back during the holidays makes me feel like a complete failure.
I know none of this is important. I just let my mind loose for a few minutes, letting whatever words I had built up flow from my head to my fingertips to the keyboard of my laptop. Writing these blogs makes me feel relaxed. It’s my monthly therapy session for myself, since I haven’t had the money or time to go to my own actual appointments. I know all of this is just superficial issues, at least they are to me but everything tends to get me worried when things don’t work out for me. Hopefully, this holiday season won’t be so stressful. Hopefully, my mental illness won’t try to consume me again for the n-th year in a row. It’s all catch and go. No one knows the future. I’ll find out what will work out for me when the time comes.