*Make My Day
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Return of the monster
Cranky(krang ke) adj crank·i·er, adv crank·i·est crank i·ly, n .
1. Nautical Liable to capsize.
2. Having a bad disposition; peevish.
3. Having eccentric ways; odd.
4. Full of bends and turns; crooked: a cranky mountain road.
5. Working unpredictably; erratic: a cranky old truck.
6. Rickety; loose.
7. Addicted to crotchets and whims; unreasonable in opinions; crotchety. [Colloq.]
8. Unsteady; easy to upset; crank.
9. (used of boats) inclined to heel over easily under sail [syn: crank]
10.easily irritated or annoyed; "an incorrigibly fractious young man"; "not the least nettlesome of his countrymen"
[syn: fractious irritable nettlesome peevish peckish pettish petulant testy tetchy techy ]
virtuevur choo n source:Dictionary.com
1: the quality of doing what is right and avoiding what is wrong [syn: virtuousness, moral excellence]
2: any admirable quality or attribute; "work of great merit" [syn: merit] [ant: demerit]
3: morality with respect to sexual relations [syn: chastity, sexual morality]
4: a particular moral excellence
So being eccentric and unpredictable, and odd is an admirable quality. Crankiness IS a virtue!! I picked my diaryland name on a whim because it described how I felt at the time, and still do much of the time. It really is the most apt description of how I feel, especially when the monster starts returning. It is exactly how I have felt since sometime last night.
I am afraid the great dark monster is comming back. I am angry bordering at rage, but I am not mad at any one person or thing I can place my finger on. Its not the type of anger where I can come to my diary and rant because so and so did such and such. I just feel like smashing something, or yelling or just anything destructive. I am easily angered when I get in these moods and I have a tendancy to snap for little or no reason, often over stupid things. If I am doing something and I am interuppted I just want to scream and scream. I stuff most of it, and bite my tongue to control it with my son, its not his fault his mother is reduced to a basket case at regular intervals thanks to a less then effeicent uptake system in her brain. Most of the time I suceed, but sometimes I don't and that hurts, the guilt is overwhelming. That only adds to it.
Work is a nightmare when I get like this. I grit my teeth and make nice with stupid strangers. I smile at my coworkers, everyone thinks I am the most easy going, friendly and flexible person around. If they only knew that inside I am seething and would dearly like to rip each of their heads off, verbally and physically. But I don't because that kind of behavior tends to get one fired, not too mention sent away. People are friendly and just being nice, because I am a nice person and supposedly a good friend. Yet I feel like anything but. I want to scream I want to yell, "JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!". Again I dont'. Nice people don't do that. People who do that soon have no friends at all. Especially when the people you are yelling at have done nothing to deserve such treatment. Only those poor souls unfortunate enough to live with me, ever get to see that dark side. By then it is too late.
Only afterwards do they get clobbered by the fact that little miss sweetness, has an evil darkside and can be quite nasty sometimes for reasons she doesn't even understand. I take everything personally, no matter what any body's take is on something I immediately have to have the opposite point of view, even when I agree with them.
I just want to be left alone, I want to lie in bed all day long and make mad passionate love to my anger and my depression. We have been mates since I can remember. The first indication I can remember of my darker side came when I was little, shortly after my brother was born. I was not even four yet, but I soon changed from a charming child into the brat from hell. I remember throwing temper tantrums that would go on for hours, till I either wore my self out or my mom gave in out of sheer exhaustion. I would break things, I would throw things, I would say and do the most nastiest things. I called my mom every name in the book, long before I was old enough to have a clue what I was saying. My parents would send me to my room and I would destroy the place.
Then it would pass and the eye of the hurricane would come in. I would be a sweet child, I would love my brother and help my mom. I would be nice.
Then I would hit the other side. I would be come so hyper and over happy that when I was a little older my mom accused me of being on drugs. I wasn't , but my behavior at times could be mistaken for high. I would litterally run around the furniture, and yell and not stop moving for what seemed like forever. As I got older the dark periods became more intense teenage angst. I would litterally lock my self in my room (where my mom had left me when I was a child) for days on end, emerging only to use the bathroom, or get food at night when everyone else was sleeping. Once when I was in 7th grade and had the chicken pox, some thing told me to take all the phones off the hook. I did. To this day I can not explain why. I would have to wash my hair or my body a certain way. If it touched the "dirty" water after I rinsed it I would have to wash again. (I lived on an old farm, we had a tub, but no shower).
I no longer have obsessions. they only seemed to last a short while, then go away. But I was impossible to buy clothes for. If it didn't look just right, or fit exactly right I would refuse to wear it. Certain textures, colors, matierials I just couldnt' stand them . Certain sounds, certain smells, they would just irritate and aggrevate me to the point where I couldnt' function. Even now I have clothes that look nice and fit but I can't wear, because they dont' feel right.
The worst part of all this for me, is that when the monster comes I can not stand other people. I want to be alone, entirely alone. Yet I am a single mother, an I work with the public. My life is one big lesson in irony. I am never allowed to be totally alone..
I have been thinking alot lately about what I am so angry about, what is the source of all this hell I constantly go thru. I am not suicidal, but in the past there have been many times where I was. I have taken too many pills, drank an entire bottle of coedine cough syrup, but never quite enough. I never did the cutting, but I would pick my scabs constantly. I always had an unhealed sore. It was some kind of unexplainable relief. Once about 10 years ago, the monster go so big, I carved the word "Solo" in my arm with a piece of glass. I have never done that since and I was under the influence of codeine, mouthwash and whiskey at the time. Fortunatley a concerned friend interupted me, and knocked me out of my "mood". My parents always considered me the 'normal' one. The one they didnt' have to worry about,, the one they didnt' need to advocate for, and fight for. Yet my brother is doing excellent, and they have no idea of the pain I have been thru.
I don't blame them. Mental illness runs in my family, and back when I was a kid, it was still a hush hush and misunderstood subject. Only once did we go thru a family counciling, and THAT was to help Milo. I smilled and BSed my way thru. The councilor never had a clue. I dont know if getting help at a younger age would have made a differnce or not. I probably would have but on my public face adn charmed my way out, making my parents look crazy. I am good at that sometimes.
People think mental illness is a character flaw, they think they avoid "those people" but the truth is , we may very well be under your nose. Only the worst of us act out in public, the rest of us blend in with the rest of the world. I am convinced that a large percentage of drug and alchohol abuse is an attempt to self medicate mental illness and find relief. It is also a major cause in homelessness. People don't take to the streets because they love dumpser diving. They do it because they have nothing left and no where else to go. Sometimes they get help and improve thier lives, often they wind up dying alone and with out dignity. Thier families, if they still care, often have no idea where they are or what happened. They are unable to return to home, they are not able to function in society, there ilness has reached the point where they no longer have a "public face". No one deserves this.
I am getting my armor on, I will survive this battle as I have survived many before. I must fight the monster again, I will keep fighting, I have too much to loose to give up. I know my moods come in cycles and I have learned that it will always pass, till then I will not give in. I can't. There is too much at stake, but it is very hard.
The monster puts bad ideas in my head, and tells me everyone hates me. It points to little things and says see, see, so and so thinks you are stupid, ugly, laxzy etc.. It point to my mistakes and says, see they are right arent' they. It brings up all the little things I have done wrong all the bad things in my past and parades them in front of me. It tells me what a bad person I am . It hold me down, but keeps me awake. It aggravates me, and itritates me, it has bad breathe. The monster has no predicabilty, the monster has no shape its only color is black. It sneaks up in broad daylight, and the darkness of night. The monster is pure evil, and I must not let it win.
Prequels ~ Sequels
Music of the mind: :
~*~Have you read these~*~
~ Ode to a child who is no more ~
~ She's baaack ~
~ testing ~
~ Facebook me ~
~ Bleech ~
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In every neighborhood there is at least one house that all the neighbors gossip about. This is a diary from the woman who lives in that house. I am a single mother in her mid thirties. I live in North Dakota with my son, Warren.
I tend to be a bit of a slob, and am the opposite of a girly-girl. I am geek girl, who loves Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Buffy, Angel, action movies, science fiction, action adventure, Dr. Who, and so on and so on.
I love to write and while I don't post much fiction online anymore I would love to be a writer someday. I am also overweight, bipolar and suffer from allergy induced asthma.