What is going on? This is how it began. My diagnosis. It began with anger that I seemingly couldn’t control. It came out of nowhere and had no reasoning. I all but ran towards help for fear that I would lose my family, friends, my job.
I feel like my whole life is defined by my anger. I am not making excuses. Everyone gets angry, but I have learned to distinguish justified (by me) anger and bipolar anger. I know that getting upset when someone speaks is not justified. I felt like it was getting better. SO. MUCH. BETTER.
I really cannot remember the last time I was this angry all the time. It snuck up on me. It is an unbearable rush of animosity that I can’t quite swallow. I can’t hide it. It creeps up and jumps out. It is always lurking in the shadows behind my joy. I have a silver tongue. It is my weapon of choice, but I didn’t invite it here. I didn’t invite it to a sunny afternoon of crafting, I didn’t invite it to a facetime conversation with my sister, I didn’t invite it to Thanksgiving dinner.
Someone else being right is not a reason to be angry.
Missing an ingredient for pie is not a reason to be angry.
Being asked if I was up late because I slept in is not a reason to be angry.
And yet I am.
So angry that I called a friend a bitch.
So angry that I broke a perfume bottle.
So angry that I intentionally left the ham out overnight so nobody could have leftovers.
A vengeful, spiteful, destructive hate that I throw around like confetti.
I often question if the medication is actually helping or If I am just having highs and lows and the in betweens. That maybe the in betweens were the past few months and it was just an unusual length of okayness.
I am not okay today.
And that is okay.