I started writing a post, but the subject matter made me so angry I couldn't keep my train of thought while writing.
I've written and deleted 3 different posts.
I did some research. It makes me want to throw up.
In other news I made a goose out of post it notes today, and it made me smile.
…I guess I'll try writing another post Sunday, and see if I can come up with something that doesn't make me want to cry and scream.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Note: this post contains frank and straightforward discussions of mental health issues. This isn't a request for sympathy. This isn't a request for help. This is me getting things off my chest, and being open about the significant impact a recent diagnosis has had on a lifelong condition.
Not a manic pixie dream girl. Not the girl next door. Not normal.
Nature and nurture both contributed. (But diving into that isn't where we're going today.)
The last few years have been a mess/whirlwind/nightmare/time of growth/catastrophe, depending on my current frame of mind, and how I look at them.
I hunkered down, closed in on myself, survived a bunch of tumultuous life changes that still have me pretty shook, if I'm being completely honest.
Since my last post here I've had two major medical diagnoses. I've been to the ER three times. I intentionally severed relationships that, back when I wrote that last post, I thought would last the rest of my life.
Some parts of it I'm not ready to talk about yet, like the severed relationships. I only cut those ties back in July, and those wounds still hurt. Sometimes, when I'm sad and weak and down, I question if I did the right thing in cutting those folks out.
…but this isn't what this post is about so…
Let's pick apart this post's title working from the end: "hypomanic tiefling goth girl"