I might have mentioned this before.

Going from this blog to my "other" one is frightening. It's like I have dual personalities. I don't think I am manic or depressive right now. I think I have the ability to switch back and forth between the two like a lightbulb. This isn't "rapid cycling". This is literally Jekyll and Hyde at this point. Is it the Lamictal? I don't know. I am so tired of speculating what is and is not causing the mood swings. Dr. B. asked me if the medication is helping. I said I didn't know. That was the most honest answer I could give. I don't know. I'm truly not sure. I am so used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. I have these "lulls" where I am just normal (whatever the fuck that means). I can think rationally and clearly. Then, BOOM. I drop through the floor. Or, BANG. I shoot off like a rocket. I never know which way it's going to go...up or down.

It's a constant "wait and see what CP does today" kind of thing.

I feel out of control at times and then, perfectly in control at others, all while rotating happy or sad in their most extreme senses. It's insane. Sometimes, I feel like I just want to crawl out of my own skin and hide from myself.
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I haven't been studying. I am going to be in a huge amount of trouble if I don't get myself together ASAP.
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This weekend, we continued our tradition at Abby's house for her annual NYE party. The "next day people" (the people who sleep over) always write out their NY resolutions. Abby sticks them in a bag for us to re-read at the next party the following year. The other tradition? We write on a piece of paper the one thing we want to let go of for good...and burn it in a big bonfire.

I wrote "Esther's toxicity".

I burned it with everyone else's...said goodbye to it and let it go.

I hope I am done with her.

I am consumed with thoughts about that letter that I wrote. Not regret, mind you. Just thoughts. She didn't call me on NYE at midnight like she has every year, so I can only presume that not only did she get the letter, but she didn't agree with my assessment. That's a bitch, for her. I know I am on the money. I know that she is sick, burdened with BPD just as I am. However, I know that in a year from now, mine will be controlled (I hope) and I will be free of the constriction of this disease.

I liked watching that letter burn.

Originally, I just wrote "Esther" on a piece of paper. Then, I reconsidered. I don't want to let go of my mother so much as I want to be able to stop her continued abuse of me. Mental abuse. She's too old and fat and I am too young and strong for her ever to inflict the physical abuse on me anymore. She knows damn well I would knock her $10,000.00 worth of dentistry right out of her mouth if she ever put a hand on me again. It will never happen.

Anyway, I digress.

I changed the "Esther" to what I decided to go with. I felt that burning her name would be like asking God to let her just die and get out of my life. I think our relationship is probably dead, but then again, was it ever really alive to start with? I don't think so. I don't think we ever had one. I think I was just fooling myself into believing my mother and I were close. I think I wanted that so much that I believed my own lie.

It was a lie. It was always a lie.
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It's nearly 6am. Another night of no sleep. Ambien CR is a joke. It doesn't work. Neither does the klonopin designed to relax me enough to sleep. Please. Doesn't make a dent.

I suspect I am on the upswing again. Look out world, here come super CP, in town for a limited engagment. Tickets are limited so buy now!

Stay tuned for morose and miserable CP after these messages.