There's a manic in the neighborhood...

I'm sure it was lack of sleep, and too much expectation, or something that caused me to head to manic rage yesterday.

The day after such events, like today, leave me feeling drained and deeply depressed. I slept until this evening, got up, only to the feeling of pain probably caused by yesterdays "big scene."

My sister arrived with a trailer full of my stuff left at my father's house, which was fine.
I stayed up to wait for her in the middle of the night arrival, but she didn't get here. So, after two hours of sleep they rolled up.

After unloading and a few hours to chat, she and my nephew took off.
I understood there was a big scene at my father's house, and I had told my sister you don't want to deal with them after their five O'clock martinis.
Well, her timing was perfect as they were drunk and obnoxious. There was nothing I could do about it, so I just stayed out of it, until I hit manic rage late yesterday afternoon.

A invited a friend of mine to come over and have some ribs with me, but the timing couldn't have been worse.

I went to look thru the boxes which arrived, only to find that insane people had packed the crap. I started to get madder and madder as I opened each box.

My friend arrived, who is bi-polar as well, so the scene was not "shocking."

At least at first.

I should have walked away, but before I knew it, I was throwing things all over the yard and hitting the boxes with a baseball bat.

My neighbor looked across the street and asked me what was wrong. I couldn't answer I was too angry and the chemicals were pumped up in my brain and body.

Since I have disc problems in my neck and a nice long cut in my abdomen from surgery which has weakened my lower back, it probably wasn't a good idea to begin picking things up and throwing them.

But I did.

I'm sure it looks like a schizophrenic garage sale outside my house, but I ended up hurting myself more than the boxes I threw around.

My friend whipped up the ribs, which I could have cared less about at that point, and watched with neutrality as I spun out right then and there.

Next great thing, get mad and get on the phone. Of course, I did it, making things worse in the process as nothing I could say at that point was even remotely nice.

Yes, I cuss and yell, but I took it to a new level yesterday. Every sentence contained the word "fuck" and then just about everything else I could say contained foul language.

Could I stop? No.

This went way into the night, and my still alcoholic brother, tried to talk me down. He even mentioned the irony of the situation, as I am usually the one doing the talking down for him.

We talked for hours until I finally got tired, the chemicals beginning to recede long enough for my emotions to begin to make sense to me.

Then the depression hits. I blew off all the good chemicals in the angry rage, so the next feeling is one of embarrassment and resignation.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't really care if I lived or died. Then there's the lingering feeling of "how stupid am I?"

That quickly passed as I realized I had hurt myself lifting and throwing and swinging that bat around. The pain was everywhere which made me even more depressed.

I got up for a few minutes, long enough to make some calls, wiping tears away so I could speak.

I was told that I should get someone to talk to about it. Like a psychologist or a Preist? Whatever, they are useless to the bi-polar in this state of mind.

My sister told me not to let crazy people make me crazy. Well it seems to be an infectious situation.

So, we shall see what comes of this, as deep depression has settled in, and mania is gone for now.

I told my dog to eat all the crap I threw in the yard. He had some fun today.

I'm not having fun yet. From this vantage point in time, I feel like it will never be fun again.

It's fucking great to be bi-polar: see you around, maybe.