I don't understand it.

I re-read my post beneath this one and all I could think of to say was...that poor bitch. Then, I realized...she is me. I don't know what to do about this mania any longer. I have tried to sleep it away by getting really drunk, loaded up with various pills and making myself fall asleep. It only seems to worsen it when I get up again. Again, it's four am. My husband went to bed a few hours ago. My daughter and son in law will be getting up soon to go to an amusement park. Me? I have work in less than 12 hours. I have been making a lot of mistakes at work...some of them purposefully, some...not so much. It's the constant ringing in my ears that is making me lose my focus. I hear things all the time. I see things, peripherally, that aren't there.

And, I can't sleep anymore. Two hours at a time, here and there...but not enough to exist on. My schedule is so blown to pieces. I am off the clock, working and eating and sleeping at all sorts of random hours. I can't schedule my life any longer.

I have the psych doctor at noon today. I can't wait to see how he thinks he is going to fix this. I think psych docs are pretty bogus actually. They just keep shoving little pills down your throat til they finally get it right. Then, they take all the credit for your ability to function. Big fucking deal. I have been self medicating all my life. Sometimes it works...sometimes, not so much. No different than a psychiatrist. I always knew I was bipolar and perhaps mildly schizophrenic. I just never had an MD throw a label on my ass to make it official. I am completely manipulative and medically knowledgable which makes me a dangerous person to care for. I know just what to say to get what I want when I want.

Problem is...I don't care so much any more. it was fun at first. challenging, even, to see if i could get them to write me a script for this or for that. And I was rarely turned down. It was like being the Master of Puppets...and I had all the strings. It was funny, really. Sometimes I would get prescriptions that would sit in my medicine cabinet for months...just to say that I did it. That's the crux of my problem. I do a lot of things just to say I did it. Things that don't make sense. Things that are wrong. Things that are unhealthy or just downright unwise.

Last night, I washed down my Lamictal with my Geodon and two 40 mg Prozacs with half a bottle of Raspberry Vodka with lemonade mixer. Sure, I knew I could drop dead...but there is no fear involved. I was having fun. I was entertaining. I was saying such completely inappropriate things in front of my daughter and son in law...but I thought it was all so funny. And besides...dropping dead doesn't scare me. It never has. I don't force it...I don't necessarily want it at this point in time...but if it happens, so be it. Everyone is preordained. I believe that. It's all already set in stone...you just have to sit around like a poor motherfucker and wait for the day your number comes up.

I have updated all three of my blogs at this point. The funny one. The girly one...and then, this one. And, if you don't see three different people in those blogs...then there is something wrong with you. Sure, I know everyone has different facets of their personalities...but all three blogs don't even appear to be authored by the same person. One is intelligent and witty. One is superficial and catty. One is soulful and mournful. None are the same.

A long time ago, I had a defense mechanism character I called Rosaria. She was a Puerto Rican woman right down to complete mastery of the language. No, I didn't speak spanish...I learned it so that I could make Rosaria come to life. And, whenever CP couldn't handle something...Rosaria handled it for her. This bitch would catfight with anyone. When the girl inside of me was breaking down...Rosaria was the one that would get all crazy and do insane shit just to pull the girl inside of me back out. How? By scaring the living piss out of me enough so that I would come back to get Rosaria out of me...or she'd kill us both.

She's gone now...but sometimes, little traces of her remain. And the latina in me comes flying out now and again.

interesting...because i don't have a drop of hispanic blood within my entire body.