Read the new ‘Midnight’ edition, no, edition of ‘Mr. Midnight’!- “(Don’t) Be Lasagna” >>>
I’m sitting at a public computer at the White Marsh library. A teenage girl and a middle-aged woman sit beside me, chewing bubblegum and making an annoyance. It’s not just the sound, it’s driving me upwards that I can’t chew Bubblicious anymore, like I used to when I was in high school, before the TMJ disease.
A toddler is sitting in a stroller behind me, fussing. Another baby somewhere starts crying. Parents are hushing their children to stop whining and shouting because it’s a library. I’m sitting here thinking, I’ve just told my therapist I’m already losing it about how so many people my age are married or already parents. I don’t need more noises.
The chatter from librarians, kids playing with computer game noises in the children’s book section, and printing library receipts are all second nature to me. I’m used to it by now. A few minor things irk me, but I’m trying not to let them get to me.
I’ve already bought some aromatherapy lotion from Bath & Body Works on clearance, some stuff that I tried on my hands and smells like my Tension Tamer tea at home. So I feel like I wasted too much of my money, enter the post-receipt guilt.
I’ve been trying to look over some new quotes on GoodReads; my profile still looks a bit thin. I remind myself I’m still behind on reading the books I’ve already taken out from the library: halfway through Silver Linings Playbook, a quarter of the way through my long-awaited anticipated Enchanted, Inc. fix Much Ado About Magic. By now, I can’t believe the number of roadblocks and speed bumps I’ve had in the last two weeks. Still can’t get my wisdom teeth pulled without going broke, still can’t make better transportation arrangements, and I’m still waiting to go back to working part time at the very least.
And I think I’ve finally come to terms with whatever’s going on in that ugly messed up thing I call my head. I have my good days, which are rare. I have my bad times, which are pretty frequent, coming to me in the waves: the irritation, the anxiety, nervousness, anger, rage, fear, and finally the sadness and depression come dead last.
I thought for a while it might be just moderate panic attacks with the struggles of being a writer in need of some good pep talks. Wrong. This is me. I know I probably need to re-evaluate my life a little bit. Sorry, I just realized I’m doing the first lines of Pixar’s Ratatouille, where Remy the rat is frantically escaping from a kitchen disaster. 🙂 Let me start over.
The brain static I keep referring to, a.k.a. my personal Prisoner Zero if you watch Doctor Who, now has a new name. I wished so many times that I was wrong about it, and that the doctors would just give me a clear answer as to why I come off as such a scumbag.
Bipolar Depression. Bipolar disorder type I, if you’re looking for the technical medical term. By definition: Moments of euphoria, sometimes rage in slightly more areas in my case, plus the complimentary panic attacks, and followed by depressive “down” times.
No wonder I don’t feel like smiling more than half the time! The brain static makes me so moody I can’t make up my mind whether or not to be disgusted, angry, aggressive, terrified, or a sad sack of mope. Don’t get me started on being a lady with this crap; it doesn’t just happen only once a month. Ha-ha… Well, laugh! (*Labyrinth goblins laugh*)
Right now as I’m writing this post, I guess I’m feeling better, thanks to an overdue phone chat with my best friend and listening to Plain White T’s and Sara Bareilles on repeat. (See playlist selection at bottom of post) And ok, you can also add the United States Supreme Court victory for same-sex marriage rights and my crocheting kick right about now- you’ll never guess what I’m making for my other friend’s upcoming baby shower present. 😉
But the thing with bipolar depression is I don’t know when my next wave of brain static is going to hit me. It starts off as a quiet hum, like white noise, usually the racing thoughts going on in my head. But once they start escalating into weird “left-field” thoughts and assumptions, it’s hard for me to stop thinking those ugly, dreary extremism things, as if I know for certain that it’s the apocalypse of my personal and professional life.
This is why I need to see the latest Pixar movie Inside Out, which came to theatres about two weeks ago. So why haven’t I seen that movie yet with any of my friends, I wonder? Oh, that’s right, I remember now… never mind.
Since today is June 30th, I don’t think I’m going to jump into Camp July for National Novel Writing Month for a number of reasons. First of which, I always seem to be very busy in July, and this year is no different. There’s the federal holiday July 4th, the upcoming Doctor Who comic store meeting in two weeks, my “Blackout” 27th birthday (of which I am saddened about more than happy), the aforementioned baby shower the week after said birthday, and finally, the Shore Leave 37 convention.
And when Shore Leave comes, I refuse to put on a fan-girl facade like so many of my fellow Doctor Who and Torchwood fans will when John Barrowman makes his grand entrance. I am still in the process of watching the first season of Torchwood, which I’ve found to be tricky to get through with its intense themes and choppy writing style of Russell Davies. Maybe I should give it another chance and watch the “Cyberwoman” episode tonight, if I’m in the mood for it, pun intended.
The other reason why I don’t want to try a brand new Camp NaNo this month is because A- I don’t have a novel I’m thinking of working on, and B- I’ve never won the July, ever. Or maybe it’s because I set my goal a little too high at times. I honestly haven’t logged into my account in a while. Maybe I should just gradually increase the goal as I go along. My WiFi is back up and running again properly this time at home.
Let me come back to you on that. I’ll think about it.
Ok, I’ve now written the first draft of this post and before I look it over, I need a minute to think about my stomach… and how much of an icebox freezer this library is. I need air.
For those of you looking for my new addition to Confessions with Mr. Midnight, here you are, as promised. I shudder to think about yet another sinus infection after writing both installments of nonsense.
Now, back to the writing studio, where it’s actually warm outside… Unlike today’s humid Maryland weather, it’s not cloudy, the sun is out… palm trees… wildflowers… warm water and sand… quaint French style gates… and a cuddly Baymax giving me a hug radiating warmth.
Sara Bareilles at her poetic finest:
“Dementia”, you’re driving me crazy…