Heartburn With My Heartache
Isn’t That Fabulous?
My Heart Hurts.
And I don’t know how to fix it. Losing a parent is immensely painful all by itself, so I expect heartache is a given for awhile. But how much pain is too much pain? I wrestle with the question every day —
When does my normal grief reaction get tagged out by my bipolar depression? When does regular sad become scary sad?
Well, it’s 3:17 A.M.
Usually, if I’m up at 3:17 A.M., normal sadness has left the building. I ate too much, or didn’t eat enough, and I’m trying to sleep sitting straight up because on top of the black hole that’s swallowing me, I have indigestion so bad I can’t lie down. This is usually because when I’m depressed, opening child-proof prescription bottles is exhausting so I just skip my medication altogether.
I’m SO Tired.
I want to travel back in time and take my reflux meds so I can lie down and pass the fuck out.
Why do I do this?
I know what the consequences will be when I take (or don’t take) certain actions. I know I will really dislike those consequences. It doesn’t make any difference.
I guess that is how I know. When I know I’m screwing up tomorrow but can’t muster enough motivation to NOT (because it’s usually something REALLY simple that fixes the whole shebang), I’ve passed by normal and landed in the muck.
Sitting straight up in bed at 3 a.m. on a work night, with heartburn so bad I want to scream,
and a broken fucking heart.