If I speak, will he hear me……….

My Mental Fuckery Blog:

I think it was on my 2nd visit with my psychologist, you know, the shrink that doesn’t give out cocktails for us mental weirdos.  Anyway, we started talking about my dad.  She knows I’m not the religious type, nor is she, but she asked if I talk to him.  I looked at her and said, “In the beginning I spoke to him, small talks, I mean literally a one sentence talk.”  She asked why I don’t speak to his “spirit” and I told her I was too afraid.  There’s that fuck’n fear I have again.  It kills me that I don’t have conversations with him, but it kills me more that there would be no response back from him.  I mean, can he truly hear me?  One never knows.  Some people would tell me OF COURSE HE CAN HEAR YOU, HE IS ALWAYS WITH YOU.  Well shit I hope he’s not ALWAYS  with me.  Kind of creepy thinking your dead family member is in the bathroom with you while your sitting on the shitter, amongst other things.  But seriously, I really do want to have my own personal conversations with him, but it’s fuck’n hard!  I think about him often, and I hope that is something he does know.  To this day I keep my favorite picture of him and me in my car on the visor.  If I feel I really need him, thats when I flip that visor down and the picture stares down at me as I drive, that he is there……….or I’m just trying to block the damn sun from interfering with me being able to see where the fuck I’m going.  It was a conversation with the shrink that made me feel uncomfortable.  I’m not sure why, I guess because not just her, but anyone (especially my family members) would think I’m more crazy than speaking about teacups in my head.  It’s definitely something I will work on.

As far as my cocktail shrink goes, we have been switching my meds almost as much as I change my damn panties.  It’s ridiculous trying to stabilize my Bipolar disorder.  Sometimes I wonder if my body is just saying fuck off with this shit, lets just keep you miserable, than happy, than crying the next minute over Gawd knows what, have the ride of a life time in your pretty little teacups.  I’ll be seeing yet another doctor.  This time it’s an endocrinologist.  I have hypothyroidism and that shit can fuck ya up even more on top of the mental fuckery’s. 

My regular doctor, well it’s actually her PA, think’s I may be perimenopausal…………well ain’t that just fuck’n great.  So this Friday my vagina gets to be probed by an object bigger than a damn dildo.  I’m quite sure that will be a fun piece to blog about.  On a serious note, I sure hope they don’t find anything unusual down in that little cave we call vagina’s.  Of course not all vagina’s are little.  How do I know this?  In case you don’t remember I’m a nurse.  So that means I’ve seen more penis’s than a hooker and more vagina’s than a damn gigolo.  That’s a fuck’n lot of……….well you know.

Well I’m still on a long road of trying to get better.  I haven’t given up, although there have been some close calls.  And unfortunately it has started affecting my marriage.  My hubby is a GREAT man, but one can only take so much from a wife that doesn’t communicate, except only in my head.  A wife that can snap in an instant.  And a wife that lacks a libido.  I could go on, but I’m sure y’all get the damn point.  My hubby came with me to my last visit with the cocktail shrink and he seriously asked him if they made a pill for libido’s.  Naturally the shrink just smirked and told him “no”.  That’s when I started to cry a little.  No, not about the fact that there isn’t a pill for a woman’s libido, but the fact that I’m mentally and physically unable to give the love of my life pleasure.  Maybe I should become a chemist and make a fucking pill to help us women out that don’t want to fuck, or at least lack the desire too.  I shouldn’t really use the term “fuck”, at times we do make love to our spouses.  The other times we may try and act as if we are the characters in “50 shades of Grey”…………oh if you haven’t read those books, you have no idea what your missing.  Granted the damn movie sucked ass.  But I do recommend the books.  Who knows…………..you just might want a “red room of pain” in your home.

Well that’s all I have for now.  Okay that’s bullshit……….I have plenty more, but I’m just to lazy to keep typing.  I know I haven’t blogged in quite some time……..but I suppose you can say I let my mental fuckerys win part of the battle. 

Again, as I usually end these blogs.  Mental illnesses of any kind suck!!  But you need to know YOUR NOT ALONE.  Depression lies, being Bipolar is like having multiple personality disorder (not that I know what that’s truly like), and anxiety is like an unknown stranger that just wants to strangle you so you struggle to breath, or an elephant that decides to sit his fat ass right on your chest so you are not only having a hard time breathing, but your chest feels sunken in and your heart just wants to jump out.  Aside from living with severe anxiety and Bipolar disorder, there is another thing I suffer from………….fear.

Toodles ((peace sign))

Turkey day with Dad

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