Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Home for Thanksgiving

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

White Blank Page

A White Blank Page and its Swelling with Rage
You did not think when you Sent me to the Brink
You desired my Attention but denied my Affection

Monday, November 25, 2013

Throne of Lies

Just as a Side Note, I would like the World to Know I cannot watch Elf now without Crying due to Him.  And I LIKE Elf.  To He Who Must Not Be Named: You Sit On a Throne of Lies!

Holidays and Hurting

I'm home for the Holiday, and, I'll admit, being surrounded by Family and Friends is keeping me distracted from the idea of Him, so much so, that I wish that Thanksgiving lasted longer.  There's last minute Grocery Shopping, Recipe Planning, Movies to Rent and Go See (more specifically, Catching Fire and Thor), and Black Friday Shopping.  I'm mailing off one Christmas present to Paris and hand delivering a few others this week.  I couldn't ask for more distraction.  Yet, amidst the business and fun, I still feel a twinge around my Heart.  I still hurt.  I still want Him to Care.  And I wonder: "When will this finally wear off?"  Then I remind myself: I don't fall for men often, but when I do, its an ordeal.  This too shall pass.  At least I'm not aching to wish Him a Happy Thanksgiving this year.  Nope.  That man is running a budge surplus when it comes to me, compliments, and basic civility.  I don't feel the need to say a single fucking word.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Melting Down and the Meaning of Ladylike

I am officially having some sort of meltdown.  Every-fucking-time I play Christmas music I promptly burst into tears mourning,  I suppose, whatever is left of my existence. But here's the thing, Guys, I have got to gain control over my little waterworks display, pronto!  I cannot walk around like a psycho.  No one will get it.  Thus, in hopes of feeling better, I got up this morning, dressed like a person, deftly applied some makeup to hide the puffy spots around my eyes, and headed out into the world.  Now, I'm attempting to write a blog post.  

I thought about posting my Top Ten Meanest Thoughts About Him EVER...but that seemed unladylike, not to mention cruel.  Also, as a short diversion: To all you bitches throwing a fit over the word "ladylike" right now, get the fuck over yourself.  You like the men in your life to be something of a "Gentleman" right?  I'm not talking paternalism and you goddamn know it.  But you'd like them to give a fuck, don't you?  Well, apply the rule to yourself and get over your teenage angst.  Anyway, writing petty things seemed like a bad idea so I just outlined my day in rambling form.  What do you think?...  Well, I didn't like writing it so I don't know why you're surprised you didn't enjoy reading it!  Go Fuck Yourself!

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Mood Tracker 101

So a friend of mine suggested I keep a journal to track my mood and, as an appeasement to her, the following is my effort to do so.  Tonight, I am somewhere between this two gifs.  That's right.  In terms of outlook, I am swinging bipolar style between hollering an angry, semi-suicidal threat in his general direction (not really gonna do that because I do have a little bit of self respect left.  Let's be honest, if and when I kill myself there will be note so it all comes out in the wash, really) and simply drinking myself under the table.  Four Roses anyone?

Raggedy Edge

"She's torn up plenty, but she'll fly true."  I need to run away, into the black.  I can feel it in my bones.  Running is my MO, Guys.  When life becomes unbearable, I tear out in the night.  Because, here's the deal, I can't, no matter how hard I try, fix the things that hurt, and, right now, that hurt is threatening to consume me.  And you know what's stupid?  Everyday, I still wait for an email from Him.  I dunno why.  But somewhere in the back of my mind and the recesses of my heart, I want that to happen.  I want him to care.  That's the irrational part of me.  The part of me that still believes in rainbows and happy endings.  The part needs to die.  There are no fucking rainbows and no happy endings, and he doesn't give a shit about me.  All I ever was to him was extra attention.  That hurts to say because I adored him...and probably still do on a lot of levels, but its the truth.  "So here's us, on the raggedy edge.  Don't push me and I won't push you."

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Horrible Isn't It?

Have you ever been in love?  Horrible isn't it?  It makes you so vulnerable.  It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.  You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life.... You give them a piece of you.  They didn't ask for it.  They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.  Love takes hostages.  It gets inside you.  It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.  It hurts.  Not just in the imagination.  Not just in the mind.  It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.  I hate love.  ~Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones: (I still hurt, Guys...this is Holiday Season number 3 and I still hurt.  Life's not fair.)

Monday, November 18, 2013

Orgams and Paula Deen

I'm still sad. Take yesterday's upset, double it, and you have today.  Ho Hum.  Double Ho.  Double Hum.  In an effort to distract myself, I've been watching Food Network and listening to Christmas music, well The Nightmare Before Christmas to be more precise.  However something important happened while watching the former. Wait for it...Tonight's Realization: I want BE Paula Dean minus the Racism.  Yes, Guys, she's a terrible racist and I cannot abide that, BUT (Woah!! Back off.  Give the lady some space and...Hear...Me...Out!) everything else about Paula is fabulous.  Her big hair.  Dramatic Makeup.  Southern Manners (again minus the racism)  Thanksgiving Dishes Full of Sugar and Butter.  The fact that she has an orgasm each and every time she tastes her own food.  Paula makes me want to wear false eyelashes (which is horrifying by the way because no part of your face should peel off, but then again, I'm pretty Dean does and she can get away it, or she could until recently) and have food orgasms.  You know how some people ask why all the great guys are gay?  (Obviously, that is not my issue at the moment. He just doesn't give a shit).  My question: Why are so many of the Great Southern Ladies so damn racist?

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Small Pink Pills

I was looking for a pic to go along with my night and ran across this.  Something about all those tiny pills of Xanax scares me.  I can't really explain it, except to say, sometimes it feels like I have no control over my life.  Its as though my existence has dwindled down to taking small pink pills to dull the pain.  And I it worth it anymore?

Boardgame Geek and Fish in the Sea

Okay, its just a bad day.  That's it.  Its not like I snuck online, looked at his BoardGame Geeks Site, read a couple of his comments, and burst into tears...  Okay, I did.   My best friend keeps reminding me there are plenty of other Nerdy Fish in the sea.  But, despite the hurt, I still want MY Nerdy Fish.  The one I picked out all on my own.  Everything Hurts.   And why does He still seem like the best Fish?  Why can reading a couple of his comments reduce me to tears?  I hate I'm going to do the dishes.  Though he once told me doing the dishes is relaxing...esp. if you listen to music.  Sob.  Gasp.  This has to be a mood swing.

Miss Him, Dammit!

I want to email Him.  I dunno why.  <Stop asking me to be reasonable when I can't.  God, do you know how hard it is for me to be moderately stable?>  To make matters worse, I cannot get a hold of anyone who will tell me "NO!" in a loud, firm voice that will make me put my computer away.  I don't even know what I want to say.  Nothing earth shattering.  The truth: I still miss hearing from him.  Even now.  Months later.  I almost sent him a blank email. No, I've no clue what that would accomplish.  I think its the cyber equivalent of calling and hanging up.  I miss him today, dammit. 

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Christmas: A Nonnegotiable Social Contract

I love Christmas.  I know.  I know.  Its not Thanksgiving yet, but my Christmas shopping is already well under way.  And its so much fun this year! Much better now that I'm no longer sick.  At first, I thought, "Oh, I might be sad because I cannot shop for Him Who Must Not Be Named," but then I realized I'm not.  He'd just say "Thanks" and not reciprocate like any normal friend would so why should I bother? (Yes, it stung.  Do you know how LONG it takes to knit a scarf?  Not to mention, the financial investment. Yet, he didn't even send a thank you note.  I got an email.  An email, MAN!)  I have plenty of good friends plus family to buy for and they care about me enough to get me something in return.  Its not that I need things but that's just what people do.  As Sheldon would say, its a nonnegotiable social contract.  And the truth is I LOVE shopping for my family and friends.  Thinking about each one's likes and dislikes.  Finding that perfect gift.  I hate to toot my own horn, but I am a fabulous gift giver.  Always have been.  Its the thrill of the chase.  Finding just the right Disney Princess activity books for my goddaughters, the Under Armour hat for my godson, anime for my brother, a graphic novel (on sale!) for his fiancee.  Then there's my best friend who I shop for year round and pick up whatever catches my eye.  So what is the point of my post?  Well, listen, Guys don't be like He Who Shall Not Be Named.  Christmas is a Nonnegotiable Social Contract, whether you enjoy shopping or not, so step up to the plate and spread some cheer.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Out of How Many?: Baccano!

Despite what you might think, that lost blog post took it out of me.  In fact, I cried after I wrote it.  Maybe because it was true.  Maybe because I still hurt.  I dunno.  Why belabor the point more than I already have?  Anyway, after I dried my tears and updated my HuluPlus account I realized Baccano! is now available.  Baccano! <sigh> with its humor and violence will help heal my wounded heart even as I imagine Him reading my post and saying dismissively, like the Vice President: Three Hundred Nineteen Points while I whisper crestfallen: "Out of how many?"  And you won't get that reference unless you watch and, no, I'm not explaining it.

Brave: A Confession

 You can be the outcast or the backlash of somebody's lack of love.  Or you can start speaking up" ~Sara Bareilles  You know what, Guys, I'm not sure I ever said to Him what I wanted to say so here it goes:

I tried so hard to be whatever it was that I thought you wanted, the Ultimate Cool Chick, the Geek Girl, to somehow prove I was good enough for you.  Smart Enough.  Pretty Enough.  Enough of Something. I fell for you when you didn't notice me.  I liked the way you talked to me early on.  When you thought I wasn't paying attention.  You said funny things and got eager and goofy over little stuff.  You said we'd go to Woodford Reserve together.  You lied.  I knew you were insecure and I suspected from your Twitter feed and Facebook you had been very lonely and deeply hurt.  I promised myself I wouldn't cause damage to you if you let me in.  I never thought you'd hurt me the way you did.  Even that very first time when I confessed my feelings you responded in a flippant manner.  "Fair enough," you wrote.  Like I didn't mean anything.  That was the night I broke wide open.  Drove in tears to find my brother, sobbed through pancakes at the Runcible Spoon, and turned up the radio as loud as it would go in hopes of drowning out my thoughts and the pain.  It was my first dissociative episode.  I was so numb.  I fell fast and hard.  And you didn't care.  I dreamed you would.  That you'd find me and make it okay.  I thought, "God, can't he see how hurt I am?"  I think you did see.  It just didn't matter to you.  I let you back in because I was ill and I thought somehow you'd care.  That you'd see that everything fell apart the night you broke me.  But what I learned was that you would never see and never care.  I can speculate as to why, but I'll probably never have those answers.  So tonight I'm being brave and saying: I wanted you more than anyone I have ever known and You hurt me more than anyone ever has.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Owls and Tornadoes

"I'm an owl on your window sill in the evening," sings Neko Case in "This Tornado Loves You." 

I have waited with a glacier's patience
Smashed every transformer with every trailer
'til nothing was standing
65 miles wide
Still you are nowhere
Still you are nowhere
Nowhere in sight 

Still you are nowhere.  I waited, Guys.  Longer than I should have for Him.  Hoping, praying even, he'd care about me the way I cared about him.  Maybe that's why can't I go home at night.  I'm still crestfallen during those supposedly restful hours.  I night I have time.  Time to think about Him.  Time too mourn.   Time to cry. My days are so full lately, you'd think I'd be tired when night falls but I'm not.  I don't want to go home.  I don't want to sleep.  I'm a Tornado or maybe I an owl, or maybe both at the same time.  Sometimes the owl, sometimes the tornado.  Either way always whirling about.  I don't want to think about him.  It hurts.  I hurt.  The frustrating part is that on a very basic, rational level, I should be fine.  I shouldn't have to avoid the city He resides in.  I shouldn't hurt anymore.  But I've never been that way.  "Its never easy come easy go with owls you know."

Me and the GRE

For the first time in my life, I am studying for the GRE.  Yes, actually, I did take it about six years ago, but I thought it was some sort of aptitude test and, apparently, Notre Dame just didn't get a shit about my scores.  Now, an older and wiser Jenni Nicole realizes she has to study.  The verbal section isn't the problem.  Its math that's a bitch, Folks.  Why would any sane person need to know the shaded in area of a circle inscribed in a square?  What the fuck?   In my defense, I've learned to figure probability problems again, find the volume of a cube, and solve geometric sequence problems.  Really, I've come a long way from the random guesses I was making last week. All I know is until I take this damned test, I hate the GRE and all who support its evil ways.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Why Bother?

Every night, I go home, and I think about ending myself.  You're not suppose to say that but its true and I'm so tired of pretending I'm okay.  During the day, I can keep busy.  Study for the GRE.  Fill out applications.  Write personal statements.  Pretend I believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  But, I think, I've given up on lights.  Depression and His Total and Utter rejection stamped it out of me.  I am so dangerously close to wanting nothing now.  Its not about the tears and hysteria.  That passed long ago.  Now, its methodical, rational even.  Why bother?


Facebook is stalking me.  No seriously, due to my painful attachment to Him, I haven't been on Facebook in nearly two years.  Yet, twice a week, every week for two years now, Facebook has sent me emails notifying me of impending updates.  I Goddamn hate you, Facebook.  LEAVE ME ALONE!

Kentucky Bourbon Ale

My new favorite drink.  Just had one on the house at Brothers Bar in South Bend.  Yum!

Hurting Tonight

"I want to be able to look at you, and not feel so hurt by you."  That's what I want, Guys.  I can't fix my life right now, though, I'm doing my darnest to make that happen was well.  But I want to be able to wake up and let him cross my mind without pain tearing through me so deeply I almost gasp.  But I understand the reality.  He will never apologize for hurting me and I'm not about to initiate that conversation so I just gotta drink and wait it out.  And, lets face it, things are getting easier.  I don't cry the way I used to when he and I still talked.  Okay, now who wants to drink with me tonight?

Sleep Be Damned!

I officially have a Xanax hangover.  Its not pretty, Folks, and besides the ugliness of the entire affair, said hangover is frustrating. I have work to do, but all I can think about is sleep.  To add insult upon injury, I've been going to bed early to avoid this problem.  Crawling into beneath my sheets around 9pm, like a seventy year old woman, in hopes of productivity the next day.  The problem is that, lately, I think about sad things all the time.  Hurts I could of mitigated.  Situations I could have handled better.  Hopes that were dashed.  The thoughts become overwhelming so in the evening, at least a couple nights a week, I take my doctor prescribed Xanax so I can turn off and get some much needed rest. But the drug leaves me flat and unproductive...and I'm considering stopping it all together.  Sleep be damned!

Saturday, November 9, 2013

The Nothingness

"Perhaps we find ourselves wanting everything because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing." ~Sylvia Plath Some nights, like tonight, I think I am done with living.  We must exert so much energy to just exist, all the thoughts and feelings that go into one day, one moment.  Its too much.  How can we keep this up?  This constant effort, spinning and toiling and for what?  Is there even a point?  There's Hurt.  Frustration.  Rejection.  But not much in the way of an actual reason for living.  I am so close to wanting nothing now.  And it wasn't a bad day at all.  I'm not hysterical.  In fact, for the most part, it was a lovely time, but when darkness falls, I think of what I want and what I can imagine and the nothingness comes back.


"I have had a manic-depressive illness, also known as a bipolar disorder since I was eighteen years old.  It is an illness that ensures that those who have it will experience a frightening, chaotic, and emotional ride.  It is not a gentle or easy disease." ~Kay Refield Jamison  Discovering, Diagnosing, and Treating my Bipolar Disorder has disrupted every aspect of my life.  As if its not enough that I take four medications every single stinkin' day while attempting to not feel like a "sick" person, I also have to question the legitimacy of my emotions and actions.  Am I feeling confident because I am well or become I am hypomanic?  Do I think of my Him because I still care or am I simply OCD?  Am I scared because my life is falling apart or is the anxiety problems?  I don't know.  I do know I'm terrified that the illness will overshadow who I am..and perhaps afraid the illness is who I've always been.

Vincent Price and Kermit

Friday, November 8, 2013

Isn't Fair

Because being bipolar isn't fair.

Nothing Is the Same: Jamison and Wyatt

He was never going to be the Richard Wyatt to my Kay Redfield Jamison no matter how much I wanted it, and that still hurts, everyday.  His flippant twitter feed and banal blogging serve to remind me that he never cared.  Not even a little.  Certainly not like Kay and Richard.  But who were Wyatt and Jamison, you ask?  Jamison is a renown psychologist known for her work on mood disorders.  Wyatt was an equally brilliant psychiatrist who specialized in schizophrenia and happened to be her husband.  She suffered from an ailment of the mind, bipolar disorder.  He suffered from an ailment of the body, cancer.  Though love, like life, is imperfect, as he told her, theirs was a beautiful union: colleagues, friends, and lovers until Wyatt succumbed to his cancer in 2009.  Now, she writes: Nothing is the same. 

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Right From the Bottle

My day has gone from bad to worse, Folks.  Only one thing left to do: Go home and drink right from the bottle!

Total Mortification!

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Poor on Poor Crime

Dear Criminals,

If you must steal please rob wealthy individuals who own nice things and happen to have renters insurance, like Coach Kelly of Notre Dame.  Case in point, if you're one of the Dudes who cleaned out the Kelly household well, good on ya mate!  But my dear Criminals nothing is more loathsome than robbing the poor.  We members of the poor population:

A.) Don't have nice shit so why are you bothering?

B.) Have no renters insurance so you us left truly in need

C.) We don't live well (and neither do you or why would you be a criminal). Don't make our days worse.

I'm not asking you to stop robbing.  I'm just saying steal where it counts.

Case Nightmare Green

Ruined My Life

I ruined my life.  Fell for the Wrong Guy.  Chose the Wrong Career.  Ended up Jobless and in Debt.  On top of all of that, I found out I am Bipolar.  At my sickest, I was going to kill myself, but I failed at that as well.  There is no point to the is post just like there is no real point to my life.  Guess its time to move on to my next goal: Drinking myself to death.

Little Miss Sunshine: "I Failed at that As Well"

Frank: Well, no.  What happened was: the boy I fell in love with fell in love with another man. Larry Sugarman.

Sheryl: Who's Larry Sugarman?

Frank: Larry Sugarman is perhaps the second most highly regarded Proust scholar in the U.S.

Richard: Who's number one?

Frank: That would be me, Rich.

Olive: So... That's when you tried...

Frank: Well, no.  What happened was: I was a bit upset.  I did some things I shouldn't have done.  Subsequently, I was fired, forced to leave my apartment and move into a hotel...

Olive: Oh... So that's when?

Frank: (Hesitates) Well, no.  Actually, all that was okay.  What happened was two days ago the MacArthur Foundation decided to award a "genius" grant to Larry Sugarman.  And that's when...

Grandpa: You tried to check out early

Frank: Yes, and I failed at that as well.

Monday, November 4, 2013


Houston, we have a problem.  My anxiety is so bad today that I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.  We are not okay today.  Nope. nope. nope. nope. nope.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Bottoms Up

I'm going home to start drinking now.

Bah Humbug

We are having a MELTDOWN.  No seriously a Nuclear Explosion is happening right here in South Bend, Indiana.  I hate EVERYONE.  Okay, maybe I don't. I don't know.  I took my GRE practice test, and while my Verbal Score was respectable, my Quantitative Score (and I should admit I gave up started just picking numbers) left more than a little something to be desired.  I worry I'm not smart enough to succeed and earn an living wage.  The girl who flew in the face of reality and won is long gone.  In her place stands someone who has been burned so many times she resembles a piece of blackened toast.  And I hate him tonight.  I dunno why except when Yours Truly is stressed out I fallback on reminding myself what an incredible Douche-Bag he is.  The Douchiest Douche-Bag that EVER lived.  Yes, that's right.  I said it.   Bah Humbug!

Me and Taylor Swift

Its been a rough week, Folks.  It went something like this: One adviser refused to write me a letter of recommendation and suggested that while I am a "nice person" I probably cannot have a career.  I had a minor breakdown.  Then defended my life choices to the rest of my faculty. And after I finally figured out the Letter Debacle of 2013, I rededicated myself to studying for the GRE which isn't quite as easy as I was led to believe.  At the moment, I'm working on the Quantitative Portion of the Test while mustering all the self-restraint I have in hopes of not murdering three moronic eighteen year-old who keeping exclaiming in high pitched voices that they "Don't want to be friends with Taylor Swift."  Guess what, Bitches.  Taylor Swift probably doesn't want to be with friends with you either and neither do I. 

Saturday, November 2, 2013


Its hailing in South Bend.  Woo hoo.  At least the weather echoes my outlook.  In hopes of making matters worse, I had a sushi roll I can't afford (12 dollars) for lunch.  But who cares.  I'm losing it.  I've no idea what is going to happen to me. None at all.  And, you know, its not that I don't believe in Providence...I do, but, lets face it, Providence rarely follows my best laid plans.  In fact, Providence often seems to ignore my plans all together.  I suppose that's the point though.  My identity is in Christ.  I believe that too but I also know I'm worn out.  That my life seems wrecked beyond best friend keeps telling me it only feels that way, and she's probably right.  But, at the moment, I'd give anything to know its gonna  be okay.

Friday, November 1, 2013

End it

I'm not sure I have anyone to write me a letter of recommendation.  My current advisers have been less than moved by me since I got sick.  He Who Cannot Be Named won't offer and I can't here I sit.  I'm pretty sure my life might be over...and I feel ready to end it.

Need a Hug

It's a hard day.  I'm not sure why except that everything is up in the air.  I am finally hypomanic.  Something my psychiatrist has been trying to achieve with my meds for months now.  I still sting over the things that didn't work out: Him, the Degree, My Life.  I need reassurance things are going to be okay.  I need to get out of South Bend.  Or maybe I just need a hug.