One day this last week, I was over-the-moon happy. For no reason, whatsoever. None of the usual things that spiral me downwards could touch me that day. But there was nothing lifting me up either. I literally have no idea why. More sleep that day, maybe?

Manic depression runs in the family on my mom's side, I know. And I think I got a portion of that depression/moodiness going on. Because the next day, the dumb little things affected me again, dragged me down into that stupid pit of "nothing matters, I'm worth nothing, etc." And when I barely touched the surface on the topic of my father with a co-worker, I was so angry that I couldn't stop shaking for a good hour. When I'm alone, it doesn't affect me in the same way, but as soon as I vocalize it to a semi-normal human being, I'm infuriated that it all happened and that I cannot express it right. I don't want pity, I don't want to dramatize what my childhood/teenage years were like, I just want someone to understand that I am the way I am in part of because of the freak I was raised by. But I can't get it right. And I get really, really upset by all of it, the sharing and the remembering.

After writing all this, I went skimming through the internet for 30 minutes. I'm not sure I really had a point to this post....or why I felt compelled to write one at all. Today was kind of a lousy day. Talked to my cats (yes, you read that right), watched Girl with a Dragon Tattoo and then, for the hell of it, started watching Orange is the New Black (really like it so far). Nearly watched the whole first season. Yikes.

Tomorrow is my official homework/laundry/stress-out day.

And then...back to work.

I'm so tired of my isolation, but it's all I've had the past three years. The thought that I'm turning 26 next month is just laughable.

I've spent another 15 minutes just trying to find a song that I am feeling right now, but no luck. And I'm tired. Whatever. G'night.