Another bizarre dream about running - I worked for airport security and there was a bomb scare. But people got in my way, so I couldn't take off like I needed to. Yet it never occurred to me to just shove them out of the way. That's not nice.
I think that nature makes women increasingly more insane and miserable with PMS in the years leading to menopause. It is absolutely getting worse for me. My mood swings are getting violently worse, though it is thoughts of personal violence that really plague me.
I've spent the last three days at work explicitly, vigorously, and instantaneously cursing people in my head the minute they cross me. Some of that isn't limited to just foul language -- I really am wishing for ill to befall them via curse.
I know, it's wrong. But I don't believe it is a sin to mentally tell off some jerkoff who is being ugly to me. Besides, it allows me to stay quiet and not say bad things out loud.
Know something? The last few days I've seen a little bit of karma coming 'round on some folks. Whatever you believe in, even if you're one of those people who has faith in nothing more than sex (as you do, some are merely hedonistic), you know that there is payback, eventually.
Now, I am still hoping for some of the good karma to show itself, but have only seen the bad. Still, right now my mood is affected by the tunnel vision of extreme depression, really nasty hormonal imbalance, and a pre-existing and untreated diagnosis of BD.
In short, I'm in Hell right now and I feel abandoned. I feel that even if they knew, they wouldn't care. All expecting someone else to check on me while all contact is broken off. Times like these it is easy to believe that most adults I know would breathe a sigh of relief if I just killed myself.
I'm not going to be a lab rat to have medication experiments enacted by inept general practitioners and I'm not letting the local version of uncertified counsellors mess with my head either. They're no better than witch doctors. Charlatans.
Some day, pharmaceutical companies will begin work with the intent of keeping people well, instead of poisoning them for profit. I believe they will eventually learn to engineer medications by patient so that they can reliably bring people up from their depression, make their mania controllable, and NOT KILL all of their creativity in the process. No more zombie nation.
Then I might consider medication again. None worked for me other times I took them, the side effects were unpleasant, and other people responded positively to my turning into a zombie.
That's why I object to people encouraging me to pop handfuls of pills like they do. I don't think it's glamorous, I think it is a crutch of ever-growing dependency, no matter the excuse you lay forth.
I was abused and I still don't think pills are going to make that go away. (Gee, did I hear yet another man tick that off as an excuse to disregard me? Your loss. BTW, that line of thinking makes you the problem, not merely lazy.) The only therapy that will work is to replace the misery of yesterday with happier situations today and tomorrow. It's too bad I can't just make it so by sheer force of will. Nobody can.
Hopefully, I won't be let down on planning a sudden cruise with my sister. I have to get out of here. If she lets me down...