(no subject)
Everybody's Hustlin To Get Some Scene
With Bipolar comes a lack of stability and coping mechanisms. When you have Bipolar, you are incapable of reason and rationality. I broke up with Ben. I can't even begin to tell you what I've done this past week because I pretty much don't remember. I work two jobs, cry nearly every night from exhaustion, from missing him, for my future and yadda yadda. After I cry, I go to this house down on campus and drink beer to disgusting levels and stumble home around three am. My cats smell and are nearly as depressed as I am. Another fish died. My place is weirdly clean because I've been waking up at six to compulsively clean behind couches and the bookshelf. The iPod is rarely in use because there is nothing on it I can stomach and I haven't touched the pictures. Weird bouts of sitting in the bathroom, confused where I am, literally wondering what the fuck is happening. Weird bouts of hysterics in which I dance, alone, screaming and screeching, laughing at the fact that I left the oven on all day. It's kinda scary when I think about it. Yet, this isn't all due to Ben. "Self Destruction Is On My Mind" Marvin Gaye says. Me too, Marvin.
This isn't permanent. This week is Kelly Rehabilitation Week. Girl knows that self destruction is like so five minutes ago and I've got too much going on to sit in a sad panda stupor. Last night I ate combos and drank v8 while studying for about three hours. I went to bed early and allowed Franny and Zooey to cuddle for a little bit. I wrote some, talked on the phone some, watched as the Ghetto Copter and Columbus Police lit up my street in search of bad guys.
You know, I am too fucking good. A little bit of recklessness then I get that shit in checked. Or at least I'm trying to. I am supposed to drink liquor tonight with old coworkers. Ah alcohol. Misleading asshole.
With Bipolar comes a lack of stability and coping mechanisms. When you have Bipolar, you are incapable of reason and rationality. I broke up with Ben. I can't even begin to tell you what I've done this past week because I pretty much don't remember. I work two jobs, cry nearly every night from exhaustion, from missing him, for my future and yadda yadda. After I cry, I go to this house down on campus and drink beer to disgusting levels and stumble home around three am. My cats smell and are nearly as depressed as I am. Another fish died. My place is weirdly clean because I've been waking up at six to compulsively clean behind couches and the bookshelf. The iPod is rarely in use because there is nothing on it I can stomach and I haven't touched the pictures. Weird bouts of sitting in the bathroom, confused where I am, literally wondering what the fuck is happening. Weird bouts of hysterics in which I dance, alone, screaming and screeching, laughing at the fact that I left the oven on all day. It's kinda scary when I think about it. Yet, this isn't all due to Ben. "Self Destruction Is On My Mind" Marvin Gaye says. Me too, Marvin.
This isn't permanent. This week is Kelly Rehabilitation Week. Girl knows that self destruction is like so five minutes ago and I've got too much going on to sit in a sad panda stupor. Last night I ate combos and drank v8 while studying for about three hours. I went to bed early and allowed Franny and Zooey to cuddle for a little bit. I wrote some, talked on the phone some, watched as the Ghetto Copter and Columbus Police lit up my street in search of bad guys.
You know, I am too fucking good. A little bit of recklessness then I get that shit in checked. Or at least I'm trying to. I am supposed to drink liquor tonight with old coworkers. Ah alcohol. Misleading asshole.