I am sitting here going over that thought in my head. It seems like certain things are happening in my life, that has caused me to pause a bit, and go “hmmm, now that’s damn interesting.” Has that ever happened to you? I mean most of my life I have just run around like a crazy person trying to find this elusive thing called “happiness,” and I tend to forget all the little things that happen in between that I should stop and pay attention to.
Things are well with the Captain, and things with my best friend have never been better. Is it wrong that I bought them both the same Valentine’s Day presents? Hey they both have beards, (and God do I love that), and it’s a nice little kit for a person with a beard so no harm right? I got them different cards at least, so don’t judge me dammit, okay? (Yes, I am fully aware I am feeling guilty for not being more original in my present ideas).
Anyway, with all that in place, I have a nagging feeling in the back of mind. I was trolled in my old hangout by the Quiet Man last night, and it made me wonder, is there an age limit for when a guy can be completely petty or just a childish prick? I was annoyed by it, but more disappointed than anything. I am aware that I ghosted him (bad me, I bitch and complain about ghosters and there, I had went and did it), but honestly, he fuckin’ deserved it, especially after his behavior last night. It reminded me of how Carrie Bradshaw felt when she got dumped over a Post-It, (equivalent to a text today by the way). Her wise words were, “I’m sorry too, that relationship was a complete waste of time.” Although her idea of calling him up saying, “Hey, it’s me, you’re a dick,” did cross my mind and even made me chuckle a little. But, I am not going to dignify myself with a response to his 3rd grade behavior. I think being by himself for the rest of his life will be punishment enough. Karma bitches! The nagging feeling I got though was, why now? What is this lesson I am supposed to learn? Hmmmmm.
Next up, The Irish Gentleman, ex-boyfriend number, (God knows what, I lost track), pops up out of nowhere and tells me that his health is getting worse and worse every day, and that he probably won’t make it for my 40th birthday to fly out and see me. Is it wrong that I completely forgot that we had made that pact, and for that matter, what the hell was I going to do if he showed up here? Fuck me man. Anyway, I am on the fence about this one, deciding if this was some sort of guilt trip song, (he sang that same song already, and it made me shut down my last blog and change my all my social media, AND change my cell phone number of nearly 15 years because of his harassment). BUT, I am a complete pushover for hard luck cases, so I left a dummy Skype account out there where I could be reached on. Yeah, bad, stupid me again. Anyway, I don’t know what to do with him. It does seem heartless to brush him under the rug again. Ugh, am I too nice or what? I don’t want to go down this road again of him hanging desperately on my leg and telling me that he will kill himself. I got my bipolar hell to torment me enough, I don’t need him whipping me senseless with his shit again too.
And finally, I woke up very late again today, (staying up to watch that Hercules episode where Xena made her first appearance probably wasn’t too helpful), and I missed helping my Dad out at the new house again. I REALLY need to get my shit together and help the man. He is so much older now, and trying to renovate an ENTIRE house by himself is such a big job, and I don’t need anything to happen to him because I couldn’t get my ass up at a decent hour.
Anyway, it gave me an opportunity to call up a friend of mine I haven’t seen since before my last hospitalization over two years ago. Meeting her was the REAL eye-opener out of all of these events, because of what she has become. She is an empty shell of the woman she once was; medicated to the point where she has no drive, no motivation, no joy, just nothing. I asked her when was the last time she cried, her literal response was, “years.” I think I almost cried myself when I heard that. There we were, two women who met in a psych ward 11 years ago, with complete absence of our mania, talking about how we both felt that we lost a big part of ourselves and the women we used to be. It was so goddamn depressing to sit and listen to her story, especially since I could be the one telling the same exact story. EXCEPT……..I am not as bad as she is, or as far gone.
I have lost the ability to experience the charismatic and euphoric bliss of my mania, but I haven’t lost the ability to feel, well at least not as much as my friend has. I have sat here for months, years even, complaining that I have lost my spiritual connection to God, or any joy in my life because I have been so numbed by medication. That may be true to a certain extent, BUT when I watched “The Shack” over the weekend with the Captain, I felt a connection and joy that I had been longing for, and I WAS so moved, I was literally bawling with tears. Sure it was just a movie, but damn, at least I FELT something.
These incidents have been random, and non-related, but somehow I feel a connection between all of them as I am sitting here writing this now. I have overcome so much, especially in the past few months, and I think the lesson here literally is: “Don’t Look Back.” It seems so simple, but I think that is the key here. The Quiet Man couldn’t let go and move on the way I have, so let him fester and rot and don’t look back. The Irish Gentleman has his own challenges and crosses to bear and I can no longer help him, so don’t look back. My friend isn’t who she was when I knew her, but that’s in the past, so don’t look back. I should embrace her now as she is, and love her and be there as best as I can now, so she doesn’t feel so lonely and trapped in the numbness of all the medication.
So, Don’t Look Back. No matter what happens in your life. Even if you feel if you have lost so much, there is no point in wondering about what “was,” when the lesson is to focus on is what “is.”
All I ask is that you pay it forward.