Mad as hell and can I continue to take it anymore?

I should write something, but there really isn't a need to blog every day. Maybe there is. I don't know.

I am still over the moon about the Giants winning yesterday's Super Bowl.

But reality has to set in.

After the Super Bowl was over, and our team won, all the neighbors gathered outside and started a block party. They were putting food on car trunks and hoods. 

I had no food to offer, but was welcomed and spent a bit of time outside, scarfing  down a few wings.

Eventually I went back inside, put on my sleeping clothes and curled up on the couch. I found myself cycling down hard, so I watched the Puppy Bowl with the kitten half time show, thinking their cuteness would bring me back to the middle, some state of equilibrium.

It did, but there is only so much cuteness you can watch. Like sugar, you can OD on cuteness. I changed the channel to a shopping channel because it's white noise and fell asleep on the couch. 

And woke up early in the morning by a baby striped tiger in a pussy cat's body. She was rubbing against my bladder. 

I am incredibly sad today. Could it be let down form the game? I turned off the shopping channel and the next in line was Montel. Haven't seen this guy in years. He has a family on who are complaining about their mother, a woman who appears to be in her 50s. They tell Montel that she is fat, and lazy because she is always sleeping and depressed. 

Turns out that mom is bipolar, something the family doesn't want to admit. She is on a med cocktail that would put anyone to sleep 16 plus hours a day. All the meds she said she was on, I've been on, and most of them are enough to knock out a horse. 

I wish I lived in the Jetsons time, where I could go through my TV and slap these people silly.

Like the mom wants to be medicated? They think she does.

They think she can get better if she just tries, because there is really NOTHING wrong with her that a little hard work won't cure.

Oh this is the story of my life.

I was supposed to go to a Super Bowl party last night but  did not want to go because my siser would be there and she thinks this way. There is nothing wrong with me, I just need to get off these meds and find a nice 9 to 5 job and I will be Ok. What she doesn't realize is that I want to work a job and collect a paycheck again. She has a successful job in the city and makes six figures. She goes to trendy restaurants, buys designer labels and spends more in one night on a meal than I do for my entire budget for the month. She makes me feel like the biggest f**k up ever existed. 

The schizoaffective and other Axis 1 diagnosis, don't exist. I am just saying things and doing things to get attention. People don't hear voices and see things unless they are in the Bible. 

Does she not realize that if the cops had come a month earlier, they would have seen aluminum foil on the windows and blinds? I didn't put them up for attention. I didn't tell anyone I did this either. I felt like my brain was crumbling and this was a last gasp to keep sane.

My new therapist, who I adore, told me last week I need to get mad as hell about this illness. I never have gotten mad as hell yet. I've been stiffling my emotions, stuffijng them in so tight they cannot breathe.

Mad as hell. Like the scene in Network. "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore".

I've been getting mad the last couple of days. Mad at this illness and what it has cost me. Any chance for a normal life. Any chance for a husband and children. I don't know if I will ever make peace with that, not being a mother. 

It cost me a PhD and some great jobs. 

I AM NO DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE. It's done this to other people. Cost them dearly. Can ruin their life.

And I am pissed about it. I don't want my life ruined anymore. I don't want anyone to have their life ruined by bipolar! 

As for the creativity that comes with the illness, the genius, you can have it.

My creativity is bone dry. I cannot seem to write anything decent anymore.

Maybe it's a good thing I am getting mad.

Maybe I should go to the window and shout like that scene in Network. Maybe the guy who wrote the screenplay from Network should practice what he preached and not offed himself.

Or maybe I should just go back to bed because this new med cocktail is making me beyond sleepy.

I don't know. I blather on. I don't know . Thank you for listening.