From the title something about taking the high road comes to mind.  Changes are constant in life, especially so for the bipolar.  Abundantly so for those on the mend.  A thousandfold for him that has a budding family, a tolerant, accepting woman and is changing careers.  That’s right, my whole world is changing shape.  I will no longer be Pangaea.  My entire landscape is moving and heaving, tectonic plates are rising and grinding, bursting forth.  It is a wild time to be me.  I have no idea what it is that I intend to become, but I know that it will be something that utilizes my mind considerably more than my current occupation.  Also, hopefully when all is said and done I can even tell you, Dear reader, what that and my current occupation are.  No promises though.

Strife is coming to a close with with the three year old boy.  I am normally very good with children and for reasons that I cannot explain I had been having trouble with my girlfriends son.  I think perhaps because her whole world is wrapped around this difficult little human larvae.  He is generally speaking a good child, though when his veneer cracks and his (only human, all too familiar) manipulative nature shows I just could not abide it.  I cannot stand having his whimsy become the centre of my universe.  This woman means so much to me.  So much that her slightest mood is my weather system, further up the chain from that is the boy and he has this effect on her…  No good.  If, as a self-interested churl, he should take advantage of this situation as children are often wont to do when they realize they have their mothers at their whimsy, it causes utter disaster in my life.  So, when I see this and attempt to address it with her I further underscore myself as the outsider and asshole.  Because OBVIOUSLY a toddler cannot POSSIBLY be self-centred and clever enough to take advantage of it.  OBVIOUSLY her child is special and precious and unique and angelic and perfect and good and magnificent and better than and nothing at all like all the others that ever came before it.  OBVIOUSLY I am just a ROTTEN CHILD HATING SHITSACK.

So, you see, I have had some adjusting to do.  Toddlers are perfect people innately, without training and over the course of thirty or so years they do nothing but pick up bad habits, learn superstitions, lies and become bitter, conniving, spiteful and hateful.  We clearly don’t make objective observations based on what we see with our over one hundred and forty I.Q. and interest in psychosocial development.  So I have had to learn to adjust my entire broken, shitty life to accommodate them and their healthy ways.

I know it sounds bitter, really though it isn’t.  I know that it is wrong for me to passively lay down and just let them roll all over me.  However, if I take a stand and scream and yell and tell them that they need to shut the fuck up and let me in and listen to me.  Let me fucking show them how accept me.  Nobody is going to accept me… So I just have to take the acceptance that I get, the love that I get.  If it is in their unhealthy balancing act, so long as I actually want to be a part of it… I have to do it on their terms.  I love this woman very, very much.  She loves her child very, very much (OBVIOUSLY).  So I have to enter that on their terms.  I can’t disrupt the chi.

I am learning the various outcomes that constitute positive and happy resolutions.  Crossroads often have more than two divergent paths, some have many, many options.  Some of those options lead onward and upward.  I elect to take that road.


Hurricane Hugo Boss

I would like to tell you that things have been amative and blissful with Zoe and myself, alas such is not exactly the case.  There has been a lurking tension stalking me as I find myself in her home, in her space and among her family.  I am an interloper, a squatter with no real role nor space to call my own.  Subconsciously this and other things have been weighing on me and I have not been myself.  I have been actually downright hostile.  I have gone so far as to shout and call her names, even in front of her children.  I have grouched at the toddler.  I am not particularly proud of this and I am regretful immediately the moment I have done it.  The strangest thing about it is that I feel like I am a passenger watching these events occur as a third party.  I feel embarrassed more than guilty (though I do feel guilty) as you would for someone else who lost their temper like a fool for no reason.  I have been depressed and I have difficulty determining if it is because of my disorder or just general malaise.

Zoe and I went out this weekend with some friends and there was an incident where some hooligans catcalled and harassed her as we were walking home from the bar.  Normally I suppose you might ignore this or shout something back like: “Get bent, loser!”  As a bipolar and a male feminist I actually always go a little bit further.  I always make it personal.  I went to address these assholes face to face.  Sadly however, I was silly drunk and full of dysphoric rage.  There were anywhere from eight to a dozen of them and they were all just around the legal drinking age give or take a year.  They too had been drinking.  At no point was I attempting to be gentlemanly about this, I was openly hostile and I did not give a fuck about their numbers.  I am not a coward sober and I sure as shit have no thoughts of danger when I drink.  Jack McBastard is Batman.  After some shouting and a little pushing I ascertained one mouthy little prick was the original offender and I made a dive for him.  Well, I would like to tell you that it ended well and I was a hero but there are no heroes in a story this stupid.  I caught a beating, the only thing I hit was the pavement.  I gave it the old college try more than twice, I came back for more and found myself on the ground all three times.  I got a kicking and a stomp for my efforts and eventually dragged myself into a trotting retreat.  I was furious.  I was determined to return and burn the place to the ground.  I might have too had it not been for Zoe.  I had a shouting argument with her about the location of her gasoline, which she claimed to have none of (not true).  I then jumped into my car drunk as fuck and drove to two gas stations that were both closed, pumps off.  Finally I resigned to defeat.  The dysphoric hypomania and delusional interaction of my meds and alcohol wore thin and I returned (mostly) to my senses.

Were the events of my weekend not disturbing enough, I still think that the place deserves to burn a little bit in the back of my mind.  There is a part of me that thinks it would be kind of justified.  Logically and rationally, my intelligent mind knows that this is not true.  However, were I passing the place with a gas can in my hand I would stop and start pouring.  I have resolved to never drink again ever.  It surprises me that Zoe is still with me through all of this.  She is the greatest thing ever.  I really do love her so, so very much.  I don’t know why I have behaved the way I have, I just know that it needs to stop.  Also, something I was not aware of that might be partially responsible for my outbursts is that caffeine and energy drinks can cause mania.  I will be cutting out energy drinks and down on caffeine.

Things with Zoe’s son are not ideal.  I desperately want to improve our relationship but I cannot relate to a toddler.  Sure he likes many of the same things I do but he is so high energy and his activities are all fairly exclusive.  There isn’t much that I can actually DO with him.  I can sit and watch but this gets annoying and tedious.  Zoe, like any single mother of a very small child has made her whole existence about this boy.  So much so that it leaves very little room for anyone else.  Many women with children who want to date make room or space, with her it seems that she has set her boundaries at a maximum for her child and if I can’t accept that I go.  I’ve pointed this out, told her that her house belongs forty percent to her child and she simply denies or defends it.  In defending it she is defensive almost to a hostile degree, claiming that I don’t live there so it isn’t relevant.  Which I suppose is true but not very assuring nor welcoming.  I’m still very much the outsider and that is being displayed to me very plainly.  There is a clear line in the sand and I am the only one on my side of it.

I am trying to envision a different me.  In a previous blog post I mentioned that my efforts were to blend the desirable traits of Dysphorian and Jack McBastard into one person and that would be the ideal end state.  I have changed my mind.  I think I should like to remove Jack from the picture entirely and start fresh.  I want to be the father figure that I maybe never had.  I want to be wise and dependable.  I want to be responsible and knowledgable.  I want this woman and these kids to know that when they have a problem I am the person that they can come to.  First, I owe her daughter a sincere apology for my recent behaviour as she has been exposed to much of it.  She needs to know that of all the things on this planet that I hold dear women, moreover her mother is the most sacred to me.  She needs to know that by extension she is also very, very important to me.  I need to be that better me.