This is another in my series of “I had nowhere else to put this”.

Cookies for dinner. AGAIN! I fucking love being an adult. To think that there was a time that I couldn’t eat what I wanted…. Like, my parents told me I couldn’t have cookies and candy for dinner. Man, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not a father because I would let my kids eat whatever they wanted for every meal. Then I would end up at the hospital with some judgy doctor asking me questions while some fucking Helicopter parents who are there because they want to discuss the “merits of not getting their child vaccinated” with their physician stare at me like I’m some abomination.

So when the doctor is asking me why I let my kids eat whatever they want I point to Mr. and Mrs. Helicopter and I say: “Hey, you see those two nervous wreck assholes over there that are so anxious about fucking up their kid that they are making the next Jeffrey fucking Dahmer? I don’t want my kids to be like that pencil-necked little puke. That kid is so pathetic that germs are going to bully him. My kids are going to be his boss. That kid is going to be so straight and narrow with his nose to the computer screen, he will work 12 hours a day out of a fear of not paying his bill two weeks in advance. My son is going to stand around the water cooler telling the middle management how he’s nailing some poor bastards wife on afternoons and weekends while her husband isn’t home and when that kid over there looks around to hear more of the story my son is telling, my son is going to scream at him to get back to work. Which that kid over there is going to do. Then, when he does my son is going to tell those other management pricks ‘That’s the guy’ and laugh hysterically as he outlines how he intends to increase his hours and give him the minimum raise this year. Then he’ll mention how he steals his sandwich out of the break room fridge everyday but doesn’t even eat it, just throws it in the garbage.”

The doctor will look confused and the Helicopter family will look appalled. “Oh, I forgot to explain why. Well you see, my kids will get sick and get their stomachs pumped and that will be the worst thing that has ever happened to them.  Then I’ll explain to them it was because they made bad choices. They ate candy and cookies instead of healthy balanced meals. Then I’ll explain that there are always consequences to bad choices. Also, when you make bad choices you have to live with the consequences, take your lumps but then rise up from them, not dwell on them and move forward. Move past it and learn from it. Without hesitation and without fear.”

“So old Pencil-neck No-needles O’Helicopter over there will get polio and his legs will shrivel up as he sits in front of a computer and my kids will stomp on everything in front of them like dinosaurs.  They will have no fear, they will take risks and yes they will make mistakes, but they will come through smelling like a rose with confidence.”

Then the doctor will probably either call or consider calling child services and the Helicopters will ask about boosters for Pencil-neck.



First I would like to start this by stating that things are progressing with the young lady that I spent the weekend with.  This would be irrelevant but for the fact that someone from my exes camp, a friend of Zoe’s who happens to know someone that my date knows is spreading rumours and misinformation about me.  I wouldn’t give it much merit except for the fact that they are being malicious and making wild claims about my character and just plain lying.  Saying things like that my ex has a restraining order against me, no she doesn’t.  Not even a little at all.  I cannot directly contact her.  Also, however this is a two-way street and kind of backfired when she made it happen as I showed the police my texts which were the catalyst for the incident and they agreed that she was crazy.  Of course it was in my best interest to stay away from her (I agreed heartily) as I had told her in the text that I would, yet she still called the police… proving essentially that she was spastic.  The police assured me that anything coming from her would be reasonable for me to contact them and have them intervene on my behalf.  Now, in public occupying the same business, like the club I was at, I only attempted to make contact in order to remain diplomatic and she decided to be a drama queen and run to a bouncer like a fucking child.  Whatever.  Great way to make yourself look more sane and mature, well done.  Also these same people were telling my new lady friend that I write a blog about how horrible my ex is… For fuck sake.  Don’t flatter yourself.  My blog is about me as I am way more important than you.  Even if I was a stranger and looked at the two of us I would identify myself as the important one between the two of us.  Save for the fact that you have children.  Most of the entries about Zoe were positive ones until she actively began rejecting me from her life (about a month and a half into our relationship, more on this later).  I worship women, even in my total disgust with Zoe I still love her.  I still find her valuable in a small way.  Despite the fact that she is utterly useless as a mate to anyone and completely self interested to a detriment to her children I still think that she is beautiful.  Even though I think that she is actively doing harm psychologically to both of her children (more on this later) I think that she still deserves to be mother to her children.

At the end of it all really the only thing about this blog that matters in the grand scheme is:  It’s anonymous.  Made up names and places, no ties to any reality at all whatsoever, so unless I told you about it personally you have no way of knowing who is involved or what all of this is about.  I did however tell Zoe.  So this pretty much assures to me that she is personally involved in the attempt to sabotage my character and my current ongoing… I’ll say relationship for lack of a better word as we haven’t defined it, nor do I think we intend to.  So happy birthday Zoe, I hope you are reading intently because I am about to ruin your day.  I would like to remind you that the pseudonym I chose for you came from a prostitute.  Because let’s be honest the best aspect of you was your body and I would say your ability in the sack but that was 80% me.  You were a sex puppet.  Thanks for showing up though, you do have a nice body, as always if you ever get bored look me up.  Hate sex is better than love sex in my opinion.

I want to begin by saying two things: First the only reason that you stick in my mind is not because of who you are, but what you represented, the potential that you had and utterly failed to live up to.  Second, all humans are fallible and I will accept that my assessment below might be a bit biased and not necessarily accurate being entirely from my perspective.  I am going to do my absolute best to remain as objective as possible because I want this to read with purity.  I want it to be understood why I was over you as a person right away yet I cannot shake the idea of you like a supercharged case of chlamydia.

You were

Things started rough between you and I because you put no effort into anything and your excuse is: “It shouldn’t take effort.”  Actually, if you ask any successful couple anywhere they talk, they argue, they compromise, essentially they are constantly expending effort on making their relationship work.  You had no intention of doing this from day one.  Which is why anything that you have ever complained about with regards to us has been squarely on you.  From very early on you would go to your friends places and bitch about me.  You would fill their heads with all kinds of strange ideas about how I was a terrible guy but then return to me and carry on as though everything was okay.  When I first met all of your friends they liked me.  They liked me a lot.  Then you went to them and cried wolf.  You painted some horrible monster image and they believed it.  In reality it was all just you clucking about growing pains and there really wasn’t anything there except for a loving guy who brought you flowers, cooked you fine meals, rubbed your feet every night, gave you 7 or 8 orgasms to his 1 (or none) and was bipolar and having a tough time adjusting to a small child.  In short, a really good guy trying his very best for you and being repaid in betrayal by a self-centered, entitled cunt.  You refuse to talk about your relationship issues.  Flat out.  This is the stupidest thing I have ever fucking heard I think if you asked any of your friends they would tell you that you should talk over your problems with your significant other.  In fact, rather than do this you went and cried to your friends, whom you’ve known for around 20 years, who are going to agree with and reinforce everything that you tell them.  You did this rather than take it up with me, your boyfriend.  If you had a problem with me, the only fucking person you should have spoken to about those issues was me.  Your friends are only going to commiserate.  They aren’t going to tell you that you are wrong.  They aren’t going to challenge your crazy even though they clearly know that you are crazy.  I’m not shaming you for your obvious psychological illnesses, I have disorders too.  The difference being that I track mine, I take pills, I see a therapist.  While you on the other hand are just running around free to be as batshit cuckoo as you see fit with no checks nor balances.  Your friends are doing nothing to save you from yourself.  Why?  You might ask, because they know that the moment they try to intervene you will go vesuvius.  Your temper is beyond all comprehension.  When I’m dysphoric I am problematic, your regular anger defies logic.

So we can see that you had self sabotaging habits very early on in our relationship.  You didn’t want it to work.  You would say things like that you wanted us to be together for the next 60 years, but then bitch to your friends at work.  While you were perpetually keeping me one foot out the door.  I would talk about ways I would improve your place, at first you seemed kind of part way lightly interested in the ideas.  Ultimately you were never even a little bit interested in the reality, because it involved a future with me.  You wanted to keep a pretty man on the other side of the phone who was good in bed to show up and sexually satisfy you at a whimsy.  Eventually this got old and you began flirting with other men.  You tried to keep this private but it was fairly plain to see.  Where once you would use your phone any old way and lay it down face up you had started using it 3 inches from your nose and setting it face down.  I’m not an idiot.  I eventually called you out on this but you denied it.  Sure, I have no proof but I don’t need any, everything about your behaviour and demeanor during this period was suspicious.  Maybe you weren’t sleeping with him/them, but you were flirting with other men.  I mean fuck, I even saw messages to you from other men.  Men who don’t feel as though they will get a response do not just randomly message women flirtily uninitiated.  Hell, maybe whatever you were sending their way was innocuous, but you hadn’t made that very clear to them obviously.  You had also removed me from your facebook half way through our relationship.  Completely shady.  There was nothing about you that was trustworthy behaviour as a person.   You spoke poorly about me behind my back, you dealt favorably with other men behind my back.  All in all you were a shitty person and a shitty partner.

It would end there except that you are having massive negative impact on your whole family.  All of them.  I really like both of your children and your mother and aunt were very sweet until you turned them against me.  Your self-centered behaviour is spoiling the children’s relationship with their grandmother at times.  You are really needlessly hard on your daughter and yeah I know that you think that you are being helpful or playful or trying to get through to her or whatever the fuck you think that is, but I think it deeply affects her more than she lets on.  You cycle men through your life every few months.  I offered you a long-term stable alternative and you injected it with rot and plague.  The men that you choose other than myself thus far that I am aware of are not what I would call positive examples for your children.  Even myself, you fucked with me so much that you made me a nightmare to them as well… I would have been just fine had you not been perpetually turning me away, casting me aside, treating me like shit and frankly frustrating me to the point of dysphoric fits.  Yes, I yelled on a few occasions.  After you had made my life with you so fucking miserable, been as shady, backstabbing and disrespectful as you could potentially be.  Fuck, even the food I made for you, you made a habit of throwing it back in my face and making statements like: “We don’t eat anything fancy.” or “We just eat normal food.”  I made normal food, you are white trash.  I was trying to elevate you to regular blue collar plus status.

So your daughter is a wonderful girl and intelligent, I hope that when the time comes she is smart enough to see what is wrong with you and just accept you for you and carry on with her life.  Your son however… I have spoken to my parent friends.  None of their kids are afraid of the dark nor piss the bed at 4.  You know why?  Because they don’t mollycoddle them.  They weaned them off of those things, got rid of the night lights.  Your son is a sweet boy.  He has a very mild and kind disposition.  I do actually miss him a great deal sometimes.  I reach for kinder eggs when I am out shopping and observe that I have no reason to buy them,  realize what I have done and I get a little teary.  Everytime I’m in the dollar store I think about getting finger lights and again… same thing.  I’m actually crying as I type this right now.  You daily accused me of hating him.  That little bastard has a spot in my heart and you dared to say that.  Every fucking day.  The only reason we ever had conflict over him was because I cared.  I cared in the outcome.  So I’m sorry if I offended your perfect parenting sensibilities but being a helicopter mother who is creating a mothers boy the likes of Norman Bates frightens the shit out of me.

The idea of you was that of a readymade family.  A woman with a comparable lifestyle and income with a home and the intention of improving her life.  You have no interest in improving anything.  You have your myopic Zoe-land where you will continue to go out dancing at the same shitty small town club with your bimbo 25 year old friend because it keeps you feeling young and desirable.  The same 25 year old bimbo who stole a boyfriend from you no less.  The same 25 year old bimbo who is doing her best to sleep with everyone but her boyfriend, that didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, you are the company you keep.  Yet, you never do get approached there.  You have all of your high school friends, which should tell you something about yourself.  You never did really move past the high school stage of your life and they will take everything that you say as gospel.  You will never grow, nor change.  Yet you are probably happy with this because you will have a never ending supply of fresh horny dudes who want to use your body poorly to gratify themselves.  And you had a champion.  I’d pity you but anyone who throws away as much as you have without a concern is too stupid to pity.  If you were an animal you would be so pathetic nobody would even take the time to put you out of your misery.

I’m sure there are loads more things I could say but this is all I could think to type up in a minute or two and I really don’t want to waste anymore time on you.  I only did this because these things have been rattling around in my head and needed a way out.  I have a life to live and other better women in vastly better places to explore.  FYI: I won’t live in this region for long so if you can manage to shut your pie-hole about me that would be just fucking peachy sweetheart.  I’m no longer any of your business, so if you could kindly refrain from spreading manure and lies around about me that would be swell.  The offer still stands though, if you want to get together for a cheap thrill in a motel 6 my number hasn’t changed, I promise not to call the cops if you call me.  Unless it’s for anything else.


Lycanthropia Vernal

Spring isn’t here yet. I know this because I’m not a werewolf. I don’t mean this literally but I don’t exactly mean this figuratively either. I mean that I haven’t broken free from the oppressive weight that winter binds me with. The seasonal affective disorder that makes me a prisoner of my own thoughts and feelings, robbing me of my faculties and willpower. Stealing my supernatural powers. Do I really believe that I have super powers? You might ask. Well, it had been observed since my youth by many a teacher, counselor and professional of various description that I was in several ways gifted. Though because of this I would tune out, go into my own mind and lose focus on that which was asked of me. I was fortunate to avoid an ADD diagnosis. I never lacked the capability for attention, I simply elected not to award it to things I deemed trivial. Adults were never considered authoritative on the subject of what was important in my mind.

My gifted mind educated itself in a rather round about, trial and error process. I’ve learned alarmingly little from schools. I would say that I actually absorbed about the first four grades worth of education. Then grade seven science, grades ten and eleven advanced English, also grade ten science and math. After these I felt as though I was finished with school. Until I decided to go to college for art.

Not long before college I began noticing certain things about women at certain times. Specifically in the spring and summer I had begun to notice quite keenly a smell. It was subtle and raw. A musky, heady olfactory flourish. I likened it to the combination of hunger and sexual desire. Later because of a girlfriend and her roommate I determined that it was a woman’s cycle I was smelling. After I’d determined this it made certain situations awkward. I only seemed to have the capability in spring and summer. For a time I thought because of all the extra clothes, however even indoors it wasn’t functional. With many years of smoking it has been dampened dramatically yet in the spring I still experience it slightly.

When puberty finally reached the top few gears and Jack arrived a plethora of unusual talents came with him. I could memorize songs almost instantly, take untold amounts of drugs, charm girls with relative ease and function on little or no sleep. I wrote poetry. Perhaps I’m biased but I found it to be evocative and powerful. I did this until I was fairly convinced that poetry was a dead art form. However, in the daytime my energy was shot. I thrived between noon to six in the morning, roughly. In the city I became a rooftop dweller, I knew how to gain access to the tops of all the downtown buildings. I never engaged in what you’d call free running though I was quite agile.

In my nocturnal adventures to keep myself entertained and make money I became a jack of all trades criminal. I’m not particularly proud of this now and it was rather foolish and childish. Amongst my proletariat group of friends theft was constant. We live in an age where if something isn’t locked or bolted down even the honest man is likely to rob you. We were the enforcers of this rule.  If you consumed drugs that meant you sold drugs. Everyone was a connection.

All of these things changed for me rather rapidly when I went honest. I’ve always been a hard worker. I have always had access to labour jobs due to my honest, blue collar father. Shortly after starting one such job I was visiting friends, doing drugs when a guy who was there threatened me with a knife. At this point in time I was all raw wiry muscle so I told him as a clear fact that I would take the knife from him if he tried and then I would use it on him.  He realized I wasn’t kidding and relented, putting the knife away. My friend Calvin and I went to the club for about two hours then returned. When I got back with him he went to his room and returned a minute later and sent me home in a cab. I was perplexed. By the next weekend it came out that while we were out at the club that same guy and his friend in that same apartment as guests of Calvin’s roommates had beat to death our friend Stanley with a baseball bat.

After this I began to shut down. Not because of grief nor the close call. Not because of the shock at the realization of mortality. No I had always been quite comfortable with death. This was because I had realized that it didn’t matter. It was him and that hadn’t bothered me. It could have just as easily been me and that also wouldn’t have mattered.  I felt a little bit guilty that I didn’t care.  On the surface I cared, I understood that people were shocked and grieving though it didn’t bother me personally.  This triggered a serious downswing for me and I became slightly more depressed than usual.  It held long enough for me to lose my job due to inaction.  I simply stopped going.  I tried sleeping around in the vain attempt to snap myself out of it to no avail.   That’s when I received a letter from Trixie.  She was living in the big city and having a great time and wanted to know what was so important that I couldn’t come and visit?  A visit turned into a roughly six and a half year excursion that included attending one of the nations premiere art schools.  For one year.

The big city was a cornucopia of debauchery and delights for Jack.  Meanwhile, old Dysphorian had to pick up the tab and tow the line.  I had very excellent times and I suffered some of my very worst bouts of depression here.  You have to understand that I didn’t even know that I was depressed, I thought all people felt the same as me.  I truly believed that others were simply better at coping or managing their downs and that I was just not getting it.  I thought that Jack was my true personality when I wasn’t feeling glum.  That when I did the random, over-the-top, crazy, exciting things that Jack did, I was finally expressing myself and letting my hair down.

What it comes down to is the truth lies somewhere in between.  That a more balanced me, a medicated me isn’t relying on a manic push to deal with long periods of crushing depression.  That with effort and medication I can become a regular, boring mortal just like everyone else.  Except I’m keeping my spring werewolf for life.  You won’t take that from me.  I’ll also never fear death, we’ve been in love for far too long and I know all of her erogenous zones and weak points.


So it ended yesterday. I won’t get into the why or how. I am only writing this for posterity. To lay out my feelings on the matter. It had come to a head last Friday and we had a blow up. After which we actually came to terms and things were nice. Our relationship was back to normal since then. I had missed it so much and I was very happy and looking forward to Christmas. I was very excited, giddy in fact. It was this state of capriciousness that lead ultimately to our downfall but I refuse to rake through the embers of that conflagration.

It ended yesterday and now I am left with nothing. No family. No Christmas. Nobody to share with. I will be alone throughout the holidays and in the back of my mind I will have vague plans of going places and doing things but I know that I won’t. I will sit here and play video games to distract myself and nobody will call me. Because nobody cares. You will think that I am being dramatic here but I assure you that this is the truth. I might get a text or two, but no offers of company, no genuine concern nor humanity. Just the bare minimum offerings of standard empty greetings that people hand out mindlessly. The freebies. They are hollow and meaningless.

It hurts. It hurts me worse than anything. To have been lifted so high only to be dropped. Discarded. Forgotten. Just two days ago I was going to have a warm, loving, caring Christmas with people who like me. Now I literally have less than nothing. I had a woman that loved me, with children who liked me. Now I have an empty room and medication. I don’t even have fellow gamers to socialize with. I haven’t even managed that.

I was looking forward to Christmas very much since the last two with my wife were actually rather disappointing. I didn’t really know her family and they were friendly enough but I didn’t know them well enough to get anyone anything. This time I had people to get gifts for. People I liked to get gifts for who reciprocated. My wife did very little for me, such as she was… I was excited to have items under a tree to open! How magical, I haven’t had that feeling since I was a child. Now in one fell swoop it has all been taken away from me. Is this what the good things in life are? Just taunting nightmares designed to make all the evil and darkness around me worse in contrast? I fucking hate my life. I don’t mean that in a passive way. I mean it in a very aggressive way. I loathe existence. Fuck this shitty life. Nothing good is worth the effort I put into it. I try so hard only to find myself worse off than where I was before. Life is a series of ever hotter frying pans. I’m completely sick of it.

I feel so burned out. I love this woman more than anything and I would want her back but also, she has put me here. She has made me feel this. I don’t know anymore. She built me up only rob me of all of the good that I felt. Not that she orchestrated it. Not that she planned it, but it isn’t like she wouldn’t do it again. It isn’t as though she was on my side even a little. I tried desperately to explore every alternative solution to this and they were all equally shot down. So here I am. A bipolar depressed with abandonment issues because of his mother, alone on Christmas eve because of his (ex?)girlfriend.


I say sweet things. I employ my nine years of culinary experience and make nice meals. I text cute messages. I try my hardest to improve my relationship with the toddler and succeed, gradually and find more and more that I really like him.  I massage her feet when she comes home from work. I worship women and she is the altar at which I pray. I’m trying harder and harder, doing my very best. Then I say something obtuse or possibly crass and we argue. The slightest thing and we fight. I don’t want to but in the moment I can’t seem to calm her and I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be calmed. It kills me inside knowing that our relationship hangs by a thin rope and every argument snaps one more thread away from it. Never to be mended. We recover but only by degrees and her mood stays dark and wary for weeks. Nothing I say or do can please her and everything I’ve said or done in the past no longer counts. I am only my negative aspects, none of my positive qualities.

I love her so much. Since I’ve known her I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else. It’s a feeling I’ve never known. I want to be with her all the time. When she smiles I actually feel it in my heart. I adore our stupid and cute little conversations about trivial things. I can’t get enough of being close to her, touching her, cuddling and massaging her feet. Kissing? Forget about it! The best thing in my life. I haven’t wanted anything more in as long as I can remember and I certainly haven’t felt this way toward a woman probably ever. So you can understand why my heart is imploding when I tell you that I can do no right by her. That I just can’t manage to make nor keep her happy. That lately all she has had on her mind has been our separation. That despite my effort, despite my will to do literally anything, legal or not, she seems determined to end it rather than fix it or work on it.

I’ve implored her. This is all I can do. I don’t entirely understand her motivation to end it rather than fix it. I stand before her, attractive, presentable, intelligent, motivated, fit, sexually skilled, culinary trained, loving with a will to do anything and a few arguments and stress is enough to totally overlook it all. We are still in an adjustment period and I admit I may have been a little stunted at the beginning. I just like to believe that if she loves me she would be on my team, that she would work with me on a solution and support me as I’m trying to support her. Yeah, I might be failing miserably but I’m trying. I just want her to want me as much as I want her and maybe that isn’t going to be the case. She says she loves me, I believe her. I think if that’s the case then you try your hardest, you invest in the commitment. Things aren’t always great around her place but even a bipolar depressive like me finds ways to recover and find the good in us. Find the positive in our relationship. I wish I could find a way to entreat her to join me in this effort.

I’ve managed to get her to give me the holidays to show her a difference. By this I mean I won’t have the stress of work in my life and I should be able to alleviate some of the stress of hers. Though I keep thinking about the fact that love is a two way street. That I really need her to put in the effort as well. That I need her to be as devoted to maintaining our relationship as I am and I just don’t think she is. I want more than anything for this to work out but she has to want it too.


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.