Still terribly, terribly manic

And (somewhat seriously) considering medication.

In the mean time I’m putting conscious effort into some simpler, less drastic methods of coping, such as venting to the anonymous expanses of the 'net. There’s plenty to dump here, frustrations and fears and disappointments, but I’m so scattered I’m not even sure where to start.

My boss is crazy. I know everyone says this, rants about the bad boss, and I’ve certainly had worse, but I’ve just about reached my saturation point with her particular brand of crazy. (A crappy metaphor, I know, doesn’t even really make any sort of sense, let alone hold up to any scrutiny. Whatever.) She forgets little things, unimportant details mostly, but sometimes it turns out to be crucial. I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces, taking care of course not to let on that she’s made any sort of mistake in the first place because she flies off the handle if you ever do anything she can possibly construe as challenging her abilities or insubordination. It was kinda funny at first, kooky lady with her inattention to detail and utter lack of short term memory, and then later it was just a mild irritation, but here lately I find myself constantly cleaning up after her. My job is easier when she’s out for a week and I do both my work and hers, and nothing makes my day like finding out she’s called in sick. And while I still enjoy most of our professors, the ones I see most are the whiners, the prima donnas, the crotchety old men who talk down to me yet expect me to work miracles. It’s not that I’m looking for them to be grateful or even particularly nice, but I do expect a measure of common decency and respect, and I just haven’t been getting it.

So. Work is unpleasant. It’s never anything big, but rather a constant, day-to-day assault on my patience. I plaster on this big, perky smile from 8 to 5, sometimes because I feel it but increasingly because I get paid to, and at the end of the day I feel like my good will is all used up and I just need to go home to my empty apartment so I don’t lash out at someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Quite naturally, this leads to isolation, and we all know what happens when I isolate. Well, I suppose that only applies for particularly small values of “we.” I get depressed. Not sad or mopey, but honest-to-god depressed, with the lethargy and timidity and anger-turned-inward urge to self sabotage and, worse, self harm. Yeah. The good ol’ I’m-bad-so-I-deserve-to-hurt thoughts are back, and boy was I not wanting to have to face that any time again, ever. I slipped yesterday, for the first time in close to two years, and intentionally, consciously hurt myself. Nothing major, no need to stage an intervention, but that loss of control was enough to scare me. This isn’t just a simple bad week; it’s something major, a regression into unhealthy coping mechanisms and, worse, a subtle sense of hopelessness, that it’s not worth working on and that somehow I deserve to feel this way.

Thinking back, my worst low was in February a couple years ago, and early spring tends to be consistently difficult for me. Last year was understandably an exception, but this year isn’t going so well. I just feel terrible right now, sad all the time, short-tempered and aggressive and absolutely terrified to talk about it. These new friends I’ve made have known me as an essentially upbeat person, prone to frustration or disappointment as much as anyone, but certainly not the overwrought, overemotional wreck that I was a few years ago. I’m afraid that if they see all of this they’ll suddenly find my company much less desirable, and I’ll find myself not only lacking real confidants, but with no one even to talk to at all.

David can see all this brewing beneath the surface, senses that something isn’t right, but he can’t tell what it is and it leaves him feeling uncertain of me, distrustful, so he withdraws a bit, and in turn I’m just that much more certain that I have to hide all my unhappiness, that he’ll leave the instant he see a bit of it… You see how this grows? And that becomes more fuel for the fire, something else to be anxious and edgy about so that even after spending a whole day alone I still feel wrung-out and like I’m in no shape to spend any time with people. It's complex and self-perpetuating and I feel like I’m just slowly slipping back into what I worked so hard to escape.

I feel like I need help, but I don’t know how to ask for it, don’t even know what sort of help I need.