I’m tired and useless and spectacularly tragic and did I mention spectacular? I can probably crush a diamond with my tits.

I hate myself.

Bipolar has a weird name. Bi, as in “two,” like there’s only two of me. I can tell you right now there’s a plethora of faces to this bitch and they all fight for dominance. One is never in charge, unless I’m stable.

Stability itself is a mystery, too. I have often thought this was the truth, and then I turn and I see that quivering image in the mirror and realize it’s all bullshit lies. That there is no truth, there is only chaos, death, and love.

Stability is a vertical stack of dominos. When it crashes, doesn’t it just sparkle?

I was at a meeting last night where someone got 18 months the day before. He puffed his chest out when he said it, and I, the bitter witch, was proud, too. I shared briefly after the speaker shared about losing her daughter. Something disjointed and rambling, like I’ve been sharing lately, like I’ve been writing lately, like I’ve been thinking lately. 

Afterwards, 18 months bellowed across the parking lot at me: “Keep coming back! Glad you’re here. One day at a time, you know!”

I stared at him and realized my ego was too big to be something like ‘proud.’

What’s wrong with me?

I have the diagnoses, I have the alphabet soup a doctor might make me sip at to answer that question. I have the history of drug abuse. I have the trauma. Yet it only makes it more difficult somehow to answer that question: what’s wrong with me?

There are times when I cherish every fucking moment, when I can hardly breathe from the beauty in the world. I want to believe that’s stability, but I know it’s not.

Jacob gets mad at me. Sometimes for a real reason, but sometimes he lets those slide off him like water off a duck. Sometimes for a stupid reason, and then I let that water drown me.

He’s bipolar too, so I guess we’re quadpolar as a unit. As if there’s only four of us. Wild.

There are times when I hate every fucking moment, when I can hardly breathe from the ugliness in the world. I want to believe that’s not stability, but in those moments, you couldn’t convince me that it isn’t.