Sunday, November 13, 2005


Tour de Stampy

I have mood swings. And not the gentle kind like a playground ride which whisks you back and forth gently in the breeze. Mine are more like what happens when you reach the end of a bungee jump. There is a momentary pause when you think everything has finally stopped. Then – WHOOSH – suddenly you’re flying back in the other direction completely out of control but wishing someone would grab you on the way back by. These things tend to cycle, and lately I have been cycling fast enough to be drafting Lance Armstrong.

There is no explanation, or at least not a complete one. I have a good life, great friends, and a dog who does not fart nearly as much as he could. My childhood was a happy one, my parents are still happily married, and my relationships (while ill fated) have been non-violent and non-destructive. Despite my best efforts to drive my liver to an early retirement, a recent physical shows that I am disgustingly healthy. Yet for some reason, I am completely overwhelmed and want to hide out under a down comforter and cry myself to sleep. Getting out of bed each morning is akin to sitting down for a root canal without the novacaine (Of which I have also had the pleasure).

The slightest wrongs become magnified. Everyone hates me. World disasters are somehow my fault – if I’d only studied harder in college I would have found a way to stop genocide by now. Yes, I realize that not everyone is out to get me, that I am not the center of everyone’s worlds, nor do I have the power to individually right every wrong. There is something very egocentric in all of this I am sure – that doesn’t stop me from hating myself. It just adds self-centered to the long list of things that are wrong with Stampy.

I’ve tried so many things to slow down the ride – medications, meditation, yoga, more alcohol, less alcohol, no alcohol, psychiatrists, bubble baths before bed, Ambien for a good night sleep, more sleep, less sleep, less sugar, more chocolate, aromatherapy (stop laughing), and zinc (don’t ask)…I still can’t do that damn pigeon pose in yoga, the money for the psychiatrist was better spent on massages, and the dog smells like lavender.

Yet still, I am so sad.

Sorry for the downer. Just needed to complain a little bit and didn’t know who else to call.

Call me.
you flannel pj's with just drawstrings..TARGET

that is all
cheer up we like you--and a dog tht does not fart a whole lot..that is almost as good as winning the lottery. seriously we all have these self-loathing times-seriously
When i'm feeling down in the dumps, i start eating like a madwoman. And not just eating, but eating CRAP. I go on these three week benders where I inevitably feel WORSE b/c my skin breaks out like a prepubscent teenager and I start getting junk food hangovers every day.

Have you read Men Are From Mars? They say men need to "go into their cave", well i think women do too... it's just that our cave smells nicer.
I sorry sweetpea. I don't know what to say except don't give up on finding a solution. I had to try numerous several different types and dosages of meds before I found the right one. I still have bad days from time to time. :)
All I can say is...Roger that. I feel ya. It blows.
(In response to Tour de Stampy, 11/13/05)

Personally? I just think it can really suck to be super smart. All of my super-smart friends struggle with the "I'm miserable/but I'm being so silly/but dammit I'm really miserable" cycle of self-hatred. I've always thought I was about 20 IQ points away from being disastrously unhappy, but some of my smarter friends just didn't get so lucky. And sometimes I do fall into that nasty cycle--just enough to get a sobering glimpse of what you must go through sometimes.

I know this is old; I hope things are better for you now.
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?