OKCupid and Masochism, Why Do I Feel Like Getting Rejected Today?

So yeah, I went there.  Ugh.  Just another way to get rejected.  I have the Virginian, but I just had this curious need to go back to OKCupid and see what was out there.  (Insert drumroll, now crickets).  What?  I looked at some profiles and sent two, count them two, well thought out and funny messages.  And you know what I get.  No response.  Its amazing.  If you already feel like shit about yourself, the thing you could do to make yourself feel worse is actually put yourself out there to another human being, and have them hit “Delete.”

Eh, its for the best anyway.  I have so much shit on my brain, so much baggage.  Being bipolar and badshit crazy won’t mesh well with the “Crossfit” guy.  But oh, he was cute. Love the beard!  But the Virginian has the beard.  Fuck.  What the hell am I doing?

Excuse me while I go slap myself in the face for the next 20 minutes or so.

Ok.  So why do we do it?  Are we masochists? I think on some level we are.  We sit there and think to ourselves as we are typing away our message to this stranger, (who is probably a huge douche anyway), “he’s gonna like this, and oh, I am so funny, he will respond right away”.  Yeah right.  Women hardly send out messages so how dare these dicks not respond!?  (Ravenous scream).

Its alright.  Get mad.  Get mad at me guys out there if you’re out there reading this right now.  I am going to be really sexist today.  Sexist Sunday.

It’s ok, I’m just some fucked up bipolar chick anyway, my opinion doesn’t really matter. Or does it? Hmmmmmmm.

Stay tuned.

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Turning the Corner, When Not to Give Up

Light TunnelYou know a lot of my posts have been rather dark.  Not really inspirational, but coming from a place of pain.  As I look across the Winter Sky, these stars looks different than they were 15 years ago.  Wow, has it been that long?  Back then my life had begun to make sense.  I got rid of the drug dealing fiancee, lost about 50 pounds, had a great blossoming career, and a crush on a debonair older man, (not bad for a 20 year old huh?).

But through alcohol and my bipolar demons all that came to a screeching halt and I have spent the past 15 years trying to recover and figure out what in the fuck went wrong.  Men. Ahhh, men.  Complex creatures aren’t they?  The say women are hard to figure out, but God, men are just as difficult.  Guarded fellows, some looking for the next lay, its hard to understand what their motivations are.  The ones thinking with their penis are pretty much simple creatures, but I go for the loner, complex, and brooding type.  This has always been my type of man.  The ones with no friends, doesn’t watch sports, and just stays locked in their own world.  This type of man I can relate to, because even though they may seem anti-social and shunned from society, as a misfit and often misunderstood myself,  I understand them and they become quite a challenge.  Also, they are usually fuckin’ brilliant!

This type of man is usually 10-15 years older than me.  Not this time.  The Virginian.  He is a mere one year older than me, but has reached my level of maturity and understanding where so many of his peers are struggling to catch up.  I have lived ten time lifetimes in my 34 years, and as I approach my 35th birthday, things through my lens of the world are very different than they used to be.  My focus now is my weight.  I really have to get it down before I attempt another job.  I need my confidence back. I am so beautiful but I do not see it at all.  I am broken most of the time, and through my writing, I have expressed some really deep shit.

Suicidal and lost, the bipolar fucks with me.  After 8 years of being stable, (if this is what you call stable), I feel the anti-psychotics wearing off.  Drinking doesn’t help, I know this, but as bad as that sometimes gets, the clarity is a gift.  My dark secrets.  Never in my life did I expect anyone to accept them.  The Virginian does.  No matter what I throw at him, the darkest of the dark, the desire to die every day, he has me holding on for a future and a better tomorrow.  “You never know what’s around the next corner,” he says, and you know what he is right.

We are dark.

We want to end it all.

But there is hope.

Here’s to the Bipolar.  Let it not break me.

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Drunken Bipolar Haze

drunk_woman_lead_gallery__600x392-420x0Clarity.  We don’t see it often.  After four glasses of wine I am seeing clearly.  Thank god its not whiskey this time or I wouldn’t be able to write.  Too much in my head.  It hurts.  An alcoholic bipolar mess.  Dizzy.  Clarity.

You don’t love me.  I am lost.  Without your love.  Waiting.  For that other shoe to drop. All consuming, unrelentless, impossible, inconvenient, cant live without you forever love.  Oh my god, where are you?  I am fucked.  Take me.  From this life.  Its ongoing.  The universe. So much to see.  Where are you?  I am looking for you but I can’t find you.  I am manic.  I am crazy.

Crazy.  Such a harsh word.  They label us that you know.  The Bipolar ones.  Oh she’s texting me too much, she’s bipolar.  She is obsessed, she is bipolar.  Why do people fuckin’ throw that word around so much.  Can’t they see it hurts us?

Love.  We want it.  We crave it.  Give it to us.  All of us want it.  I am heartbroken.  I am in love.  So much emotion.  Pouring out of me now.  Where are you?  Does this make sense. The dagger.  I feel you.  Your silky blade against my chest.  Plunge in me.  Make it stop. Fast.  Slow now.  In me.  Deep.  My blood.  You lovely demon.  Bipolar.  Take me over.  Let me fly.  Bring me back to my mania.  I want to feel it.  All consuming.  Love me.  Just love me.

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False Hope in This Thing Called Love

hopeHow many times have you stared up at the clouds and said to God, “this is it right?”  On this cold winter’s day I look up at the clouds and I feel an overwhelming sensation of melancholy.  It isn’t the same as it was years ago.  I will be 35 this year, and I have FINALLY learned something about this thing called love.

It isn’t certain.  Humans are unpredictable.  The Virginian talks about a hidden variable in relationships.   The one thing that can destroy them.  He is fearful that that I will end up leaving him as so many others have done.  Or he may leave me.  That hidden variable. That’s the tricky one.

I look up at the sky and I think in time and space and in terms of the universe. Our hearts can soar and reach heights that can rival even the blissfulness of Heaven.  Then we can be left broken that not even the fires of Hell can compare to.  Why is this? Do we have to endure this?  I have been reading posts that deal with “heartbreak”  these past few days and I am amazed at the clarity. the hope and the undeniable pain some are feeling.  Must we experience this to experience Joy?

My bipolar is my key.  My mind is open and not as heavily medicated as it used to be.  I feel things.  Horrible things most of the time, but at least I feel them.  The fact is I don’t want to go to the doctor for more pills.  I want to feel every sensation, all the joy all the heartbreak.  To be honest, this thing with the Virginian is false.  Its a false hope of love.  I am flying blind into it, but I know deep within myself that he is not “The One.”  Why am I holding on then?  Because fuck maybe he is.  Haha.  Totally contradicting myself there. Isn’t that what love is though?  A total and utter contradiction?  Tying yourself to someone where the whips and chains they are beating you with feels so good, like the exquisite pain of a hope of the future.  I don’t know.  I will never understand love.  Will you?

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A Pattern of Choosing the Wrong Men

You know there is a law somewhere that says, if you do something repeatedly the same way why would you expect to get a different result?  I am drawn to a particular kind of man.  Emotionally unavailable, romantically damaged, or just plain stupid.  My self worth has been measured in direct result of many relationships, whether is is full on dating or whether they were just one date or even if we have just chatted online.  When these men disappear, or tell me there is “no spark,”  I immediately turn it on myself and tell myself the most horrible things.  “You are too fat, too ugly,” and so forth.

However through my bipolar haze of upward and downward emotions, clarity has arisen. Its a pattern dear.  The Virginian.  My latest obsession. He hasn’t rejected me, nor disappeared, but isn’t giving me anything.  I am chasing after a man that just doesn’t have it in him to commit to anything, not even a constant pattern of talking to me semi-daily. Three, four days go by with just silence…..until I have the courage to call him and sometimes he just doesn’t even pick up?  I mean,  I am broken.  My ex had told me there was no spark. The dates I went on weren’t attracted to me because in my opinion I’m too fat.

Something, ANYTHING, has got to give.  In this push and pull something is going to break and I think it is me.  Being bipolar clouds things.  Meds numb you or knock you out.  You never get to just be you and just fuckin’ think.  Somehow, some way I am thinking.  Clarity. Its a goddam miracle.  Who knows, I am on the lowest dosage of Haldol, so maybe they are just wearing off.  Then again it could be because I am finally getting enough sleep.  The crying has stopped.  The gut wrenching pain has let up.  Things make sense.

Fuck you Bipolar.  Now I can think.

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Sadness and Disappointment in the Universe

Grand_UniverseSometimes, just sometimes, we wake up and say today will be better.  God will hear my prayers today and everything will be just fine.  Then we find out our dreams and hopes have been crushed and the days just kind of run together.  I am blue.  Gutted from the inside and out again.

Bipolar haze.  My psychiatrist is getting on my last nerve.  He wants me to do all these tests.  Just give me my scripts and leave me the fuck alone please?  I don’t want to face the world.  The next few days are going to be hard.  He is all I think about.  I am totally and utterly obsessed.  How do I deal with a man like this?  This is hard.  So vague.  So closed off.  He wants to be alone.  I am too available.  He doesn’t miss me like I miss him.

I wish I didn’t feel.  I don’t want to feel.  The universe is calling out to me.  God its cold. Take me away.  Take me from this life.  I want to go.  I don’t want to be here.  I feel so trapped, so caged.  All I ever wanted was a man’s love.  I am never getting that.  I am putting my heart and soul into this and getting nothing back.  In relationships one will always take more than the other.  And then the other is left with an aching emptiness that time and space won’t heal.

Take me.  Oh take me.

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Lust, Love and Darkness

The Darkness.   Nothing can express it more than my last post “The Dagger”.  Someone as fucked up as I am had two Valentines this year.  Two men that mean more to me than life itself.  One is my ex who broke my heart two years ago and still remains my best friend forever and the other is a new shiny relationship.

The Lust.  I am a sexual demon. I am a homicidal, suicidal wreck.  It boggles my brain how fucked up I really am.  I have engaged in cyber online sex for a few years now and as it has evolved from text chatting, into full blown cam and voice sex and I became addicted.  Men telling me they are hard as soon as they see me sign on and so forth.  But the ultimate quest is Love.

How could a person like me love?  Sometimes I have no morals, no remorse for anything I have done.  But I feel it.  Every aching bit of it.  Its the bipolar.  Pills.  Fuck.  Writing just to write, just to feel.

A lot of people were alone this Valentine’s Day.  Who said I could never find love in this life?  Oh yeah that was me.  Baby names.  Did I really discuss baby names with the Virginian?  Who would have thought.

That all consuming self-hatred though it shakes me to my core.  The plunging in my heart. I want to drown.  Drown in alcohol.  Just plunge in a sea of self medication.  You know being bipolar is a hell that no one can imagine.  I am here.  Today isn’t a bad day.  But I am a procrastinator.   I haven’t gotten on the treadmill.   I haven’t cleaned my room.  I haven’t done my taxes.  Everything seems like a fucking mountain.  Kill me.  Its a mountain.  I want to be beamed up.  I want the world to end.  I want something to change. ANYTHING. Shake me. Wake me up from this nightmare.  The dagger so close to my heart now I can feel the blade.  Shiny, and exquisite pain.  Bring it.  I can take it.

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