Rigteously Indignant, yup, that's me.

It's the only picture I could find besides a book I didn't want to promote.

Wikipedia defines Righteous Indignation as follows: Righteous indignation is typically a reactive emotion of anger over perceived mistreatment, insult, or malice.

Last night, I swear Rod Serling was writing the screenplay of my life.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  My life has had more than it’s fair share of the bizzaro. (please hover over that link so you can see what I’m talking about if you’re not going to click it and go read it.)

People, some of my best writing is in the notes when you hover over a link.  Please, to get the maximum enjoyment from my blog, hover over the links. (and if it doesn’t work.. let me know. I’ll cut a bitch.)

So, last night.

I was supposed to go to The Lake after dropping the girls off with their dad for the week.  Ok, I *did* go to The Lake after dropping the girls off for the week.

And when I got there, I stepped out of my car and smack dab in the middle of Bizzaro World.

I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus here.  There is a whole lot of stuff going on that I don’t even know. (Like basically everything).  In a sentence, due to everything going on, I was told I had to leave.  Whether it was or was not my fault hasn’t been determined to my satisfaction.  Ok. It’s not my FAULT, but the drama centered around me, and I don’t know why or how, or what started it, or what the hell is going on.  I just know, that everything I thought I knew going into the weekend came into question last night.

Ok.

This morning, I get up (after driving home at midnight last night) and I’m pissed.  Not at anyone specifically, just at the situation in general.  And at not having any clear cut answers.  Which is the very definition of irony coming from me.  So, I send a few text messages, trying to figure out what is going on, where things stand, blah blah blah.

And basically getting my panties in a wad.

Righteously indignant.

I set about writing a blog post screaming at the top of my lungs (ok, posting in a very loud voice) how effing fabulous I am, and how I am awesome with eleventy billion sides of awesome sauce (inflated ego much?  I know, I can barely walk into my own house.) I was all like, Look dude, I got plans, I got dreams, I got a life I want to live, and I ain’t got time to wait around for you to get your shit together and notice how fucking fabulous I am.  (ok, maybe it was a smidge nicer than that, but clearly not much.  Once I get all wadded panties and shit, I go way over the top.  Yes, really.  Have you met me?)

And just as I’m about to hit publish, and just after I sent him a text that said “Your reservation in my life expires at midnight, either confirm it or lose me forever.”

He texts.

And I feel like a total asshat.

 

Best. Picture. Ever.

So, I saved the blog post to my drafts folder.  I scrambled like eggs to look like less of an ass via text message.  In other words, his simple text took me down a few necessary notches.

Sure I’m fucking Fabulous, and all kinds of awesome, but you know what?  I’m not the end all be all of someone else’s life.  Everyone else is busy living their life, dealing with their drama, their issues, their problems.  It’s not all about me.  While I’m on my soapbox preaching “I’ve got dreams! I’ve got plans!  I’ve got a life and I don’t have time for you to figure out if you want to be in it!” he’s living his life, dealing with his drama, navigating the potholes in the road of his own damn fucking journey.

I had to sit down and think about that long and hard… not all about me.  Since fucking when?

I took a step back and looked at this whole thing and thought “Who the fuck do I think I am?” and if I had gotten that text message from him? I’d have said  ci vediamo più tardi  (Italian for see ya later)  or even baciare il mio culo (kiss my ass).

 

Let’s be honest, I suck at relationships.  I’m the perfect girlfriend… on paper.  It’s that real life face to face shit that gets me all jacked up.  On paper, behind a computer screen, I’m awesome.  I can also hide the crazy.  In real life?  not so much.

I have no real ending for this blog post.  Yes, I know, I suck at endings anyway.  Basically there is no ending because there are no answers yet.  It’s just “it’s up to you.  You know what’s going on there, I don’t.  I’ll wait to hear from you.” kind of thing.

 

The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn…

What does love look like?  What is love?  Will I ever find it?  Will it ever stay?

All valid questions.

Love is a choice we make each and every day.  It isn’t something that just happens, not some place that we fall, it’s a choice.

For some, it’s an easy choice to make each and every day.  For others, it’s a struggle, one they choose not to make.

I am looking for love.

There… I said it.  I’m looking for love.  But before I can find it I have to define it, at least for me.  What does love look like, what do I want it to be?

I read Britt’s post today about/for Jared and my heart ached with an emptiness from a lack of deep, true, giving, unselfish love.  I want to be able to love someone that much, and be loved that deeply, that truly, that unselfishly in return.

Loving me isn’t easy.  My bipolar makes it a real challenge.  Even when it’s under control and medicated, I’ve learned medication isn’t always the answer and doesn’t always work.  My medication and treatments have to be switched and changed and tweaked a lot.  That is a challenge, and it takes it toll on me, and those around me.  It’s not something I chose, it’s not something I can help.  Loving me is a challenge.

And so far?

Nobody is up for it. At least not long term….

And I wonder if being bipolar, at least for me, means being alone for the rest of my life.  This isn’t the life I wanted.  This disease isn’t what I signed up for.  Even when it’s controlled, it’s still… a guessing game at best…

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and to be loved in return. Letting someone love you is hard.  That means you have to allow them to see your weaknesses and your flaws and trust that they can accept those things as well as your sparkling eyes and witty personality.

They say it’s out there.. you just have to go and find it.  I wonder sometimes if I ever will.

Days of Truth, Day 3, Forgiveness

Day 3 of the 30 days is Something you need to forgive yourself for. Great jumping-elmo-on-a-pogo-stick how long do we have here people?

I can start off with the obvious… there is this, or shall we include this?  (sorry if the links in those posts don’t work, I’m still rebuilding my archives). Believe me I have a laundry list as long as War and Peace of things I ‘should’ forgive myself for.

That’s the thing about me, I can forgive a whole lot of people a whole lot of things, a whole lot of times, but when it comes to me? Yeah, not so easily, not so often, not so much..

It’s easy to say “I was a total card carrying member of the fucked up freak show because I have BPD”.  It was easy to blame all the shit going wrong in my life on my BPD because in doing that I didn’t have to take any sort of responsibility for anything I did in my life.

TOTAL FAIL.

I am not proud to admit that it took me entirely too long to finally get a clue and figure out that well, I am ultimately responsible for my own decisions and I am *not* my disease and I have to take responsibility for my life.

I am on medication now.  That helps.  It also eliminates my ‘excuse’.

But I still have to learn to forgive myself for my past.  I am not the perfect mother, I am not the perfect girlfriend. I was not the perfect wife (clearly).  But I can find a way to forgive myself.

Eventually.