headpurge time again

As the day is long and the world is old, many people can stand in the same place, one after the other. (Marie in Woyzeck, by Georg Büchner)

I am a total sucker for poignant, wistful and melancholy words. Also, very good at taking myself too seriously or not seriously enough, in completely the wrong circumstances.

Here’s an illustrated guide to my navel tonight.

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And I am, as I frequently am, sick to the gills of the inanity of distraction. I’m sick of distraction being necessary and I’m sick of my brain getting too fried to at least find some challenging distractions. I’m sick of hearing myself bitch whine moan gripe complain. I’m too lonely to shut up. I want people/I don’t want people. I’m tired of waking with a drenched head and a tshirt neck soaked in sickly sweet and medicated sweat. I’m tired of the way my teeth default to the clenched position. I can almost always write or talk my distracted way into some sort of defocused and ok state – and then it all slides off and hurts a little more than before.

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I’m tired of not having anyone to act out at.

(I didn’t want to confess to that.)

I can’t even whine I want my muuuum ironically anymore. (Grow the fuck up, Blah.)

I’m tired. I shouldn’t be tired, but I am so very fucking tired.

I think I am mostly tired of myself. (Get over yourself.)

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There are very good things in and about my life. Even more importantly, amazing people too. And my dog. Blablablaaahhh I’m not gonna write my spewtastic gratitude list here. I love it, but it doesn’t need airing right now. I feel so churlish, so ungrateful – I really am so very fortunate. I tell that to my depression daily and every day it gives me a look as though I just yanked its jaw open to pour castor oil down its gullet. Not this again, it moans, I don’t care, I’m in pain, I don’t care, just fuckingwell sedate me for a year. Wah wah wahhh. Frankly, a lot of the time I don’t care either, but I go through the motions like I’m in bipolar fucking bootcamp out of respect for the corners that still care.

I can vent it … go scream at the sea or a road … feel my throat hurt … feel stupid. Catharsis my arsis.

I’m just emptying my head again. I generate a lot of words and they’d fester if I didn’t.

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The horror, the horror :/ the internet is far crazier than any of us will ever be.

My moods don’t yo yo the way muggles think that bipolar moods do, but sometimes, some days, my outlook vacillates between determination and despair far too frequently for comfort. I don’t like it. I think I handle at least a full day of one or the other better than one of those days. Sucker punched by your own attitudes … all that feckin effort to adjust them and adjust to them. Meeeeeeh!

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I realised sometime within the last year or so, that all the losses I have mourned, all those I still mourn, all ganged up and then I lost every single fucking dream I had. I am more used to it now, but I can still remember *melodrama alert* the icy razor realisation of it, and just how much it hurt. Some hurts knock the air right out of your lungs.

Sometimes I think that my only saving grace is the fact that my funnybone’s connected to my sighbone.

Wait there’s one more … I can still love.

Where the flagellated fuck is my wishbone anyway? You lose dreams and watch hope pack its bags too. There’s nothing left to wish for and it doesn’t feel the way the Dalai Lama said it would.

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LOL. So fecking mawkish.

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It is cool like Kerouac, shrugging off the shackles and making friends with tumbleweed. And it’s amazing just how far you can go before you know you’re lonely, and you’ve worn right through your soul and the soles of your shoes. How long does a ripped and faded denim, beat up boots swagger last anyway? Here I am riffing on misery and mystery again.

If I took myself even more seriously, I’d chuck some jagged line breaks at that paragraph and call it a poem.

Alright, I’ve finished barfing on my blog now. I’m ready to go and sing to wildflowers and gambol with lambs and so forth. It’ll be epic.

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They never include the next line in the wistful memes …

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Chk chk boom, baby.

Kthxbye.

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Published by

blahpolar

battlescarred, bright, bewildered, bent, blue & bipolar

22 thoughts on “headpurge time again”

  1. I love your blog. I, too, have an extensive vocabulary for one who says fuck a lot. I, too, treat myself like I am in bipolar boot camp (love the term, btw.) I usually don’t feel lonely except when it comes to the bipolar because I am surrounded by mundanes (your muggles?) that just don’t get it. You not only get it, you live it and you spew just as I do, complete with the guilt for feeling self pity and not being grateful for what is right with life.
    I love that your humor is connected to your sigh bone.
    I swear my sarcasm is what keeps me alive.
    Well, as much alive as a living dead girl can be.
    Anyway…Keep writing. I’m listening and loving it.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you so so much for that comment, it made me feel a bit less like a whiny shit. Yea mundanes = muggles. I try v hard not to use sarcasm – I’m English by birth, so it’s my default setting tho. Hrmmm – clicking the link by your name took me to a defunct blog? Where are ya?

      Like

        1. Ohhh of course, you’re take a ride on my mood swing …

          You fix it in your account/profile settings.

          And yep, most of my life in South Africa though.

          :)

          Like

  2. I love when you head purge. I have a decent vocabulary but use fuck waaaaay more often then “necessary”. PFFFFFFFBT whatever the fuck that means. Love “muggles” ( which autocorrected to MUFFLES-wtf) And I have an unnatural love of British humor for a wanker of a yank 😉 Keep up the purges! wish I could get mine below 1,000+

    Like

  3. I know what you mean about distraction, needing it, and fucking hating it. I’m sliding (falling) down the slope today after a week or two (more? My memory is the worst its ecer been at the moment …) of hypomania back into the depths of my depression, and I am so fucking unmotivated to distract myself. Its not fair, why can’t I just sit down on my couch and flick on the tv and be bored and satisfied? I have lots of shit i could distract myself with, but without mania the thought alone is exhausting.
    What you said about “going through the motions” for those that care rang home, and pretty much summed it up.
    This made me sad for you, but am I totally fucked for saying it made me feel a little less lonely and the sky a little less grey?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I hear you … I am a sort of serial monogamous distraction indulger. During the past year or so, it went: gaming, doodling cartoons, embroidery – and I read whenever I can focus on reading. You know how it goes. And the memory thing sucks and not in a good way.

      You’re so not fucked for saying that – I wouldn’t wish it on you either, but it’s good to have your company in this shitty journey. It’s too hard alone.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I think that it would be good for me to write a headpurge! If I blog about the juicy stuff I really want to write about, my Mom (who has undiagnosed mental illness, most likely borderline) will read it and freak. During the times she flips out after I publish a blog post that concerns her, I wish that I had gone anonymous. Oh well. It’s a sacrifice.

    Re: potty language My four-year-old knew how to say “motherfucker” – I’m not proud of that. Thankfully she stopped saying it, but guess who’s fault that was? Now her worst curse word, at age seven, is “idiot” and she says it with pure venom at us. She also told me today in a fit of rage that she didn’t care if the police arrested me and Craig & put us in jail! Other than that, she’s really quite loving and that’s just her Satanic side.

    I LOVE to curse. It helps me so much – I do it a lot by myself, really loud and crazy-like. I am happy to tell you that I have a rather large vocabulary!!!! And I am also a total sucker for poignant, wistful and melancholy words, which is one of the reasons we are kindred spirits.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s wonderful that you and your child are so in touch with her satanic side. As long as her head doesn’t spin round and spew green bile, I think you’ll be ok. It all sounds like normal 7yr old stuff to me. Haha I can remember my little bro saying ‘fuckarse’ at a young age – a combo curse that he made up all by himself. Mother was not impressed by his genius lol.

      Headpurges (no autocorrect, you twat, not ‘head poo urges’) are good and you’ll find another job way to do them if you wanna. I wouldn’t want a borderline mom giving me hell :D

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Holy Shit, my Mom is so out there… she has resembled Linda Blair in “The Exorcist” – hell, she could have played that role in her sleep along with the Joan Crawford role in “Mommy Dearest”. I love her, but she’s very….hmmmm. Very.

        The woman was an award-winning, professional actress, so if you add that + untreated borderline + God knows what, she has created public scenes that have utterly humiliated me, but has entertained others. You know she pretends she’s a Dr. and people believe her, right? (I forgot what she says her specialty is, she never seems to reveal it, but since she was a speech pathologist she probably related it to that. I think she wanted to be a doctor.)

        I know I should appreciate her being around still and I don’t mean to (Gag, I hate this word) “trigger” you when it comes to mothers. I hope it doesn’t upset you when I mention her.

        p.s. I’ll write some private “Head Poo” urges ;) Sometimes autocorrect can be on the money!

        Liked by 1 person

          1. Good, because I just fired off and published another blog post (it’s your fault! ;) that briefly mentions her. You gave me the freedom to post more than 1/x a week, thank you. Check it out – I’m curious what you think of the very controversial subject matter. ;)

            Liked by 1 person

    2. Wait… you curse? I’m soooo gonna “unfriend” you! No, that’s not how this works… that’s not how any of this works… ahaha.. love that commercial.. Love you! :) Uhgg. I have these fake fingernails that a friend convinced me I needed – apparently they make you sexy – and they soooo get in the way of blogging!

      Liked by 1 person

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