Some Days Suck

I can’t lie.  Some days suck. I’d like to say every day sober is wonderful. That my bi-polar is amazingly managed through meds, therapy and meditation. But life is life, and some days bite your ass like a rabid badly-trained pitbull. This past 24 hours has absolutely sucked.

My son lives with his father an hour and a half away. It sucks. I usually can look on the bright side but he is miserable in his current school. I spoke with him on the phone yesterday after which I wanted to swoop in on my invisible jet and Wonder Woman whisk him away. But I can’t.

Instead I started bawling on the phone and had to cut our conversation short. See, my pharmacy majorly fucked up and I was without three of my medications from Wednesday until today. My emotional fuse is very, very short. I bawled for hours last night feeling entirely powerless in solving my fifteen-year-old’s problems.

And then there was today. I go to my place of mental health care, to see my social worker, then therapist, and yell at the pharmacy peeps, and I walk in to see my ex. This is the troll I lived with for three years, until he hawked my flat-screen T.V., Iphone, my beloved purple Kitchen-Aide Mixer, and every thing else I had of value while I was in treatment. Somehow I kept my fuse from igniting.

I now have all my meds, and a new 24 hours begins. Some days suck. I breathe deep, breath out, and remember I’m blessed to be alive. And if that doesn’t work I imagine myself seeing the ex, then Wonder Woman scissor kicking him simultaneously in the face and balls with those big red boots. That image usually makes me feel better as well.