Lately I’ve been struggling with trying to use the correct terminology and phrasing so as not to offend anyone. This is exhausting and I will have Carpel Tunnel soon. I am Bipolar, I am an Alcoholic, I have a form of PTSD that is hard to explain, I have multiple health problems that even I don’t understand.
If I personally have what I’m discussing than I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells talking about it. Too many people get upset because I say I am Bipolar. Implying that I let Bipolar Disorder define who I am. Doesn’t it? Really think about it. Due to recent information from my Doctor, “The Team” estimates that I probably started to exhibited signs of Bipolar Disorder as early as 9 years old. I hadn’t told him about rocking back and forth or banging my head when I was little until our last session. He actually wants to do some testing to make sure I have the correct diagnosis or if another diagnosis needs to be added. YAY!!
I’m tired of being a science experiment. My thoughts are always dark. They always have been. Don’t get me wrong, some are humorous, but still dark. Only I would find them funny.
Even my choices in Movies and TV are dark. I have a tendency to always pick Action/Drama/Revenge themes. Anything else I get bored. Give me John Wick, Banshee, Gladiator, Justified, Vikings, In a Valley of Violence, Happy Valley, The Magnificent Seven, Unforgiven, and it goes on and on. If there’s a dog involved like in John Wick, forget it I’m in.
Most of my favorite songs are dark. I never listen to “happy” music. I find comfort in the darkness of things. I don’t know why.
On the other hand I also feel too much and I hate it. There are times I wish I could rip my heart or brain out because the pain is so bad it becomes physical.
I walked in to the kitchen earlier to clean near the bird cages. I said hello to both birds like I always do. When I looked at our Sulphur Crested Cockatoo I saw she had a hole in her chest like she had been shot. I felt sick. I tried to keep her calm so I could get a better look at it. I needed to know if she did it to herself or if there was something in her cage. I told my dad who just sat there and did nothing. They are his birds. I understand he had dialysis today but if a guy came to the door wanting to show or talk pigeons you can bet your ass he would’ve gotten off the couch.
I have a magnifier with a light that I used to look at the wound. I didn’t need the magnifier just the light. When I was done I put my head on the table and cried. No, I didn’t just cry, I sobbed uncontrollably. I then went to my dad and told him “If she did that to herself, YOU WILL HUMANELY EUTHANIZE HER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? And you will get up and look at the wound NOW!”. Do I like talking to my dad that way? No. But I refuse to let any animal suffer because of an owner’s ignorance or neglect.
When a bird plucks out it’s own chest feather’s it isn’t good to begin with. But she was doing okay. If a bird goes as far as self injury like pecking a giant hole in it’s chest, that is a completely different matter. At this point the bird is usually too far gone to be helped. This is my father’s fault. He won’t listen, he won’t let anyone else help him, and his pride will not only hurt his health but every living thing around him.
I feel like I need to do something away from this environment. But I might need a car. Priorities suck. Screw ’em. I’m not sure how much more I can take. My birthday is coming up, it’s never celebrated, just like Christmas wasn’t, the anniversary of my mom’s death is also coming up, the next few months are always my hardest and this year I’m not sure how I’ll do. Physically I’m not well and losing weight which means I’m not absorbing all my meds correctly. There’s a constant dull ache in my head and I have to tell myself to unclench my jaw every 20 minutes.
Oh well, Happy New Year! Here’s a pic of my cookies.