These past two days I seem to be living the internal life of a bipolar person.
I’m trying to be professional at work (good) and do my helping profession client-centered thing (good) but maybe not taking stock of my own stuff and instead pushing a lot of toxic feelings to the far reaches of my brain (bad) so that I can just get through my day without breaking down or missing a step.
The stuff comes up, I’m just processing it now on my own personal time and being weird and confrontational with my loved ones. I am angry then jealous then sad then indifferent then bitterly doing a bizarre private comedy performance. God forbid I take 5 minutes out of my work day and risk being less productive for 5 seconds. Then I would be failing. I would not be the champion of grieving OR professionalism. Instead I took the 5 minutes to berate/unfriend a racist on Facebook.
Because what the fuck. You have the audacity to be an unapologetic ignorant asshole when people are in misery and suffering. Somewhere all the time someone is experiencing their worst moment and you are going to decry your status as the “real minority.” Of all of the fucking threats to your existence, you choose population statistics. You know what else, EVERY OTHER Facebook friend, I don’t want to hear about you incorrect Dunkins coffee order or your difficulty sleeping last night. Take your first world problems and file them away in a bespoke refinished decoupage antique rolltop desk as inspired by Pinterest, set it on fire, AND THEN GO FUCK YOURSELF.
Tomorrow is Friday. I will get through this and next time have more grace and less emotional confusion.
I’m not myself right now. Ranting, though useless, is somewhat comforting.