Not so much

Oh, folks. Things here are going... not so well.

I think it's been about six months since I went off my meds. I could be wrong. I could go check. I'm too lazy. Give or take, six months.

I've started yelling again. I'm not really sure where it comes from. Somewhere deep in my brain that I'm not consciously aware of. I can maintain calm for a finite amount of time, and then...

I snap. I yell. I say things that, if they ever remember them, will make my kids feel like shit.

I've started to get that feeling, where the outer shell and the inner being are disconnected. Most of the time the shell is intact. Things get accomplished. Dinner is made, laundry done, phone calls returned. Moderate-to-good parenting takes place. I read bedtime stories. I teach the Bear how to skip.*

But underneath, the hate and the anger are just simmering, seething, waiting for any excuse to erupt. It's like a solar flare - brief, violent, intense, then gone.

I remember this feeling. I've been feeling like this for, oh, I don't even know how long now. Years. A decade? Maybe two. I can't feel connected to anyone in any human way. I'm entirely alone in the Universe, and sometimes it's too much to take.

Along with the anger comes a decided lack of impulse control. I mean, NO impulse control.

Exhibit A. I just threw away my cat. Not into the trash can, obviously, because that's highly impractical. Into the street. She bit the Bear. I'm tired of listening to the Bear cry when the cat torments her. I would get arrested for throwing a human child into the street. Not so with a cat. So, cat is gone.

I want to be happy. I do. I see things that I think should make me happy. Turning leaves. Smiling children. Tomorrow is the Fall Festival at the Bear's school, which I have been informed we must attend. Games! and Prizes! Games And Prizes! It looks like fun, or something that passes for fun when you're four. The school is sponsoring a pumpkin decorating night - we'll go to that in a few weeks. Free! I'm going to a conference that promises to kick ass - for like four days! Free! My mother is going to come for a visit - yay! The New Guy is coming for a visit - also yay! But really, much as I know I should be made happy by these wonderful things, I'm not. I can't be.

I think my soul is dead. Try as I do, I can't feel anything but pain.

Good god, that sounds melancholy. I swear I'm not being overly dramatic on purpose. I hate that shit.



*Did you know that children don't innately know how to skip? They must be taught. I, myself, was six years old before I put the right sequence of motions together. The Bear, it seems, is my child.