I Am Not Fit For Human Consumption

I’m having one of those days when everyone and everything gets on my nerves to such a degree that I can’t trust myself to be rational or even civil.  The cats drive me crazy with their incessant meowing and frucking fuzzy cuteness, all in my face and making me feel like I can’t breathe. My hubby’s perky helpfulness drives me into a murderous rage in my head, even though I rarely let that shine through because I really do know he is trying to help. 

He doesn’t need to know that on the inside I’m plotting his murder or our mutual demise, just to put us both out of our misery.  Gaawd – he better not go get himself killed, now…the police will definitely think I did it. 

My child’s cautious silence marred only by the sniffing from their allergies makes me want to peel my own skin off. I need to be ignored when I’m like this, and the people that love me want to HELP, but ignoring doesn’t feel like helping, so they don’t know WHAT the heck to do.

I call myself “not fit for human consumption” on days like this because, really, who would want to consume me even on my BEST days.  I have a high fat content, and very little nutritional value.  Add to that the toxic waste dump that is my soul at this moment, and I just CAN’T be good for you.

Of course, what I really mean is that I’m not good company, and not handling other people’s presence very well.  There are definitely days when I truly love the company of others.  However, in true introvert fashion, I often need time to myself.  Add anxiety and whatever this version of mania is on top of that, and it’s more than a NEED…it’s flat out desperation.

I am best when I can DO things when I’m like this.  Exercise, dance maniacally and for long stretches of time, punch things, or physically act out in some other explosive way. Used to be I would go dancing all night, or take a really long run/hike, or go to seven aerobics classes in a row, or swim until I almost drown…or throw things. 

I can’t throw things anymore though.  I’ve been getting rid of stuff, heading toward a “minimalist” lifestyle – so now the things I have that I’m willing to destroy are getting few and far between.  Throwing the cats doesn’t seem like I’d be happy with the outcome – could get messy. My 22 year old child is too heavy to throw…so is my other roommate.

When You’re Feeling Manic and Your Body Betrays You

Unfortunately, my body has been trying to die unsuccessfully and without my permission for several years now.  Truth be told, sometimes it has more than my permission – sometimes I am a psychotic cheer leader on the sidelines of my own demise, shaking my pom-poms and screaming:  “Just get it OVER with already.”  Any-hooooo – so I have very little strength and even less stamina, due to that pesky “slowly crawling toward death” thing, which means I’m left with cleaning.

I hate cleaning, but I hate mess and dirt even more. I have always hated cleaning, but I used to be able to manage it in my own dysfunctional way.   I had a very “all or nothing” approach to cleaning – ignore it until I can’t stand it anymore, and then clean until I drop.

I would be busy, busy, busy, and just jump over piles of clothes to take a shower and put on clean clothes and leave my house again so I wouldn’t have to face the disaster.  Then, when things got too bad, I would clean manically for as long as it took to achieve perfection. Unfortunately, it is ALWAYS depressingly short of perfection, no matter how clean I get something.  So I would clean until I couldn’t stand up any longer.  That’s normal, right??

Nope, Still Not Clean ENOUGH

I have cleaned the finish off of bathtubs, and scrubbed window sills so hard that the paint came off…but the offending grayish mark would still be there.  Or I spend hours trying to get every last hint of that dirty, dark “dust” that is in the corners of the inside of the bottom of the windows – the stuff that is black from traffic driving by and never really goes away, even if you clean it every damn day.  Turns out, some windows have a piece of black rubber or some weird black fuzzy seal thingy that is actually meant to be black, which means that shit doesn’t go away no matter how hard you scrub – trust me on this.

I also kind of suck at cleaning.  I never really learned the happy home-makers’ tricks.  This may be why it takes me 2 hours per window to NOT get all of that black shit out of the corners.

Being a clean freak and being poor don’t go well together.  Cheap apartments NEVER get clean.  We owned a cheap townhouse at one point, and one lovely day when I was feeling much as I am today I ripped up the kitchen floor because one gross linoleum tile after another was just TOO much.  My hubby went to work with a kitchen in tact, and came home to a kitchen without a floor.  

Yes, I moved the refrigerator myself to rip up the floor, because I’m an independent woman, gawd dammit!!!  NO, I can’t get up off the floor, because I moved the damn refrigerator by myself, gawd dammit!!!

My Poor Head

I have shaved my head more than once, when in such a state.  The first time, hubby went to work having a wife with a full and glorious head of hair, and came home to a wife with no hair.  He had already begun wearing his head shaved, or with the shortest of short buzz cuts, so my then 3 year old child, who was in the tub while I was shaving my head at the sink, looked up at me and exclaimed delightedly:  “It’s a Mommy-Daddy!”

Hubby came home, took one look at me, and said:  “Well, if anyone can pull that off, it’s you.”

I learned that shaving your head with the razor you use to shave your legs is a really bad, and painful, idea.

I have an epic struggle for hair domination that has been going on most of my life.  Right now, I’m at “Buzz Cut For Life” level…but who the hell knows.  I could go back to the “I need the glorious long silver hair of a moon goddess” phase any moment.  Then I’ll spend between 1 and 4 years trying to achieve that moon goddess gloriousity…only to have a day like today, and shave it all off RIGHT before my hair is FINALLY perfect.

I Have to Go Clean Things Now

I can’t type fast enough to deal with my overwhelming need to destroy something, so I must go clean more, now.  If I pass out at the bottom of the stairs because my body can’t take what my mind is throwing at it, just leave me there.  I’ll get up eventually, and keep going. I’ve only put myself in the hospital a couple of times from literally “going until I drop”…and that was YEARS ago…so I’m fine.  I’m fine…right??? Sure. Yeah…I’m fine.

Move along now, nothing to see here.

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