Spilled Milk

*** This was archived in my drafts from 2021. No idea when I actually wrote it. But the dog still loves me 🙂

Apparently, yesterday’s little meltdown took more out of me than I expected… I slept all of last night and most of today. I am still tired. I didn’t get a chance to even see the sunlight today. I went into one of those dream states that I had difficulty breaking free of. I knew where I was and tried to come out of it a few times and failed. I don’t even remember what it was that kept me there. Usually, I can remember what my dream was about. So, bye-bye, January 2nd. My biggest accomplishment today was eating my left-over cinnamon roll from yesterday and refilling my med container for the next 2-week cycle. Living that dream life. Maybe I can have my long-dreaded family meeting tonight.

I do hate when I sleep my life away. It’s always a result of depression kicking my ass and preventing me from being a productive human being. I am tired of feeling like I am. It would be so great if I could just magically heal and/or the meds kick in. Even having a moment where I was ignorantly blissful in my life would be nice too, but I am bipolar… ignorantly blissful doesn’t exist in my world; I am hyper-aware of EVERYTHING! This lack of motivation to life is miserable.

Last night I knew I still wasn’t okay. My dog knocked over a full glass of chocolate milk into my very full and messy nightstand drawer. I yelled so loud, and so much my throat hurt. The dog bolted. I cried about it. It’s literally just spilled milk. Nothing was actually ruined, and all I had to do was rinse everything off. I felt so overwhelmed at that moment, and I had no idea why I was so angry. I didn’t need to be that angry, nor did I need to explode. I did later apologize to the dog for being an overreactive asshole. He is a good pup; he forgave his momma.

I was in my own home, so having an outburst was safer for me to do than when I was out in public or, worse, at work. I hate that I can’t and don’t always control how I feel. I know what I am angry at. I am angry he hasn’t come back yet and said he’s sorry, wanting forgiveness. I am also angry at myself that I even hold on to the idea of him coming back. I am angry I can’t just let go and just be okay. I am angry that I let someone in and allowed myself to be fragile again. I am angry with the universe for always making my life impossibly hard. I am angry at my parents for making me never feel good enough for their acceptance which manifested into a multitude of ineffective coping skills and a cascade of events and people that now equate to my train wreck of a love life.

Nikki