I Been Fallin' So Long It's Like Gravity's Gone and I'm Just Floatin'

 I get like this and I'm more than a little crazy. I mean, I wonder if this is what a manic episode feels like. I wonder if this is a manic episode. I feel wild. I feel like unhinging myself. I feel like the only way to live is to explode and then pull me out of the debris. I feel self-destructive. 

I haven't done anything dangerous to my body in years. I mean, really dangerous. But I am a master at emotional self-destruction. I can unhinge myself into the best shape of my life if I do it right. I can't sleep. I'm already barely eating and drinking most of my dinner some nights. All three drinks. Even wondering if that's a problem probably means it's a problem. Down a good eleven pounds in three weeks. I look great. I feel like complete shit. And that's the way it is in here, for me, for my Mama. People tell me how great I look. The weight of the years of feeling I avoided all crashing down somehow looks good on us. And it has moments where it feels good. A weighted blanket. But mostly it's just living inside a very loud head and trying to quiet it by reaching out and there's just the goddamn abyss left. I guess the reaching is pretty intense from me and it freaks people right out. I totally understand that.

Boy, oh, boy, "Gravity's Gone" is hitting real hard. I can't see the bottom. It's gotta be down there somewhere and that not knowing scares the mother fuck out of me. And not a soul left to help me sweep up when I shatter. That's my fault. I get hurt and I get scared and I just shut down. And I thought I was doing better, but I realize it's probably just the exact same thing, a wolf in sheep's clothes. Can I just have a sheep in wolf's clothes one time? 

I mean, I've spent the last couple of years doing that thing that I was so afraid of in all those literature classes. Where the men would wall a woman up behind stones and plaster forever because she was an adulteress or whatever. A literal wall. With a slot for her food. I was horrified that they could do that to a person. And then I did it to myself. And I look around and wonder where the fuck everyone went. They're on the other side of the wall I built and I don't know how to take it down.

I keep apologizing. I know that's easy. Well, it's not easy for me, but here we are. I have only just learned that. At 37. Yikes. That's late in the game. But apologies are words. I'm working so hard to prove that I am sorry. That I will do better. I guess I just have to wait and see if forgiveness comes and if it doesn't, don't keep beating myself for it. Oh, look at that. The forgiveness I really need is from myself. Imagine that. I've always been the absolute hardest on myself. I've never shown deeper unkindness to others. It's like that book I just finished. Blaming yourself for everything. And wondering why you self-destruct.

Fuck me, epiphany. You get what you give. I knew that part. But here I am, someone who can apologize and it's always that person just one step behind me that I find. I will do better. And that's okay. I have to learn when to step away. Here if you need me, but not so close or so easy that you can hurt me so easily. My poor mascara has taken a beating.

A wise friend of mine who never pulls punches says "You can't expect well behavior from sick people." I know that's some full-on AA stuff. I guess the trick is to hang on to what helps. Well behavior and that fifth step. I always pick the sick people. And then I get all surprised and further damaged when they aren't well. I'm not well either. But why the fuck is it so hard to do better together? That I can do. I guess I'm so used to being part of a bigger team.

It felt really good a few weeks ago to be around that passel of young people, all playing Scrabble and wrestling in the living room. I miss that big pile of friendly competition and love. And for once, I was kind of the secret weapon. I don't know who appreciated it. But I did. It was like going home to the good parts. Gave me a whole new perspective and it healed something in me. My whole self was calmer and quieter and less frayed nerves and blathering. It felt like the old me for a minute. The sponge. The one who sees so much. I want her back.

I'm still going to be real attracted to men. Probably more of that self-destructive desire. I love men. Rough hands and biceps and that sort of accidental easy humor that comes from not being constantly self-conscious. Or maybe showing it? More of that stonewalling. But women too. I like them. I love them. And it wouldn't be a new thing, it would just maybe be more obvious.

I just hate all the shit that goes with being a youngish, attractiveish woman who also sometimes likes women. The kind of gross shit people do, mostly men. The fact is that I fall much less in love with a body than all that goes with it. I've always been that way. Probably why I'm still so hung up on that soul same as mine.

If one fucking man could just show a tiny bit of that softness and not feel like he was suddenly going to really like penises, that'd be ideal. I'm solid. I'm strong. I'm steady in my loyalty and in my love. Maybe that's part of it. I will take so fucking much shit from people I love. Because I can. Because I will. But you can't soften people. You can't make them let you love them. I just wish I could stop being so soft about it. Like a piece of ripe fruit. Crush me in your hand. Watch me run over your wrist and down your arm. Then get grossed out and drop me when you find the stone has spikes.

I have to be better about protecting that heart. Careful about who I let near it. Careful about making myself available. I've known for so long why. It's so so hard for me to ask for help. And I always expect that I am the worst of the people I know. More of that blaming myself for everything, thing. So if someone obviously needs someone, I'm the one. I'll catch even the most trash human who needs it. Because no one ever caught me. I want to be for the world what I've always needed. What I've never had. And learn not to trust "I'll take care of you" and "I won't do it again." Here, just let me pulverize myself for you. I'll be your soft place while I'm on the cliffs.

And I totally just finally barfed all of this at my best friend. Two beers in. I feel better. Did I mention that my therapist has covid and hasn't seen patients for three weeks while she heals? Despite me kinda freaking out and saying I need her. What a shit show I am.

The next morning looks a little different. It always does. My recommendation is to not mix prednisone, ADHD meds, emotional Armageddon, and PMS with a couple beers. I gotta go fucking apologize.

A dear friend asked me what I need. I can't remember the last time someone did that. That's a whole epiphany itself. What the fuck am I doing around people who never ask? And all I can think is that if I knew what I need, I wouldn't be so fucked up about it.

I'm telling myself that I'm in the metamorphic phase. That I'm in my chrysalis of goo right now and that any minute now, I'll solidify with wings. I believe that too. Which helps. All of that really being sorry is the mush. A butterfly is going to come out of that.