Blog Slut

My problems are multitudinous, my physique gelatinous. I'm also, I'm discovering, becoming quite the blogosphere tart. The trouble with visiting great blogs is that they link me to other great blogs, and so on and so forth until I have a Google Reader overflowing with daily updates on all the things most loved by me. Binge eating. Borderline Personality Disorder. Bipolar. Barbie. And those are just the Bs!! So much amazing writing, so many stories of great trouble and triumph. I really love the virtual community, not least because to participate in it I don't need to shower or put on lipstick. Also, in the last few months since my murky crackups gelled into a diagnosis-of-sorts, the blog world has reassured me that I am a) sane and b) not alone. Those two things were starting to be less and less "true" in my "real world". Thank you to all my blog friends, old and new, and keep fighting the good fight!

Weirdly, my weekend has been stable and...dare I say it...boring? Secretly, I long for the day when my next mood cycle hits, or some massive trigger kicks the stool out from under my dull ass and I go all rainbow-hued and mental again. I know this is SO stupid. It's counter-productive to WANT to relapse. But then I think of all the times Dr A has said to me that recovery needs to be tested over and over again, and I want to start TESTING some of the new techniques I'm learning with this CBT palaver. I was reading a biography today by an Australian Rugby player who has bipolar disorder, and he says after diagnosis and medication he used Ecstasy as a way to recapture the feeling he had during mania. Es have never been a part of my repertoire due to the SSRIs I was packing. But I can see the point... I really don't want to schiz out again and wander the streets believing I'm reading the minds of passing folk. I clearly don't miss hyperattachments to sundry stupids (mostly at work, just to give me a reason to go there!).

I don't even know why I'm bringing this up - it feels like an apology for the fact that I am doing okay. Which sucks. As mentioned, I read other blogs and a lot of us seem to need to reassure docs, workmates, families that contrary to outward appearances, WE ARE NOT OKAY.

Three reasons I am not okay, today:

1. This morning I found a drowned mouse in my dog's water bowl. He looked peaceful, but still.
2. While pruning my rose bushes I tripped over a sprinkler and gashed my leg, which bled all over my "good" socks and my New Balance trainers (sneakers). The blasted injury is killing me and prevented me from lolling in the bath all evening.
3. Twice this week I saw DK. Once driving past the bus stop and then yesterday when C and I drove past his house and he was mowing the lawn. I miss him "like my left arm that's been lost in a war" and although it's been nine months since we talked, in my head we are always always always talking, we tell each other everything as always and I still don't get, will never get, why we aren't friends any more when all I did was tell my Hopeless Husband that I wanted out, clearly a terrible unforgivable thing that made it impossible for DK and LK to continue speaking to me, to either of us, to continue allowing me to be godmother to their kids, sometimes I hate her for this, I know it's her and not his decision because when we see each other there's that moment when I FEEL his confusion and he seems to want to wave, to, smile, to speak, to acknowledge that I still exist and am still seen in thousands of photographs and videos that MUST still be in their house, and no wonder I tell people that this betrayal hurts me so much more than Mr Ex and his ambivalence.

For this, and legions more, I am not okay dammit.