Fell off the wagon?

Can this phrase be used for a nut job with bipolar? Are there crazy wagons? I wonder. So here I am unraveling, quicker with each passing day. If I am being honest, I saw this coming. Smoking too much weed, not handling the finances properly, increased sex drive....these are MY indicators. That's a pretty shitty hand I think. Couldn't I get stuck with drooling and banging my head against a wall? These would certainly attract attention; possibly saving me some time and craziness. Not too mention, I have never heard of anyone calling a person a whore because she was banging her head into a wall while drooling. As you might imagine, my indicators are bitches. They do me no good what so ever, completely self-destructive. It makes no sense, I am an intelligent woman. I know better. I work in an accounting department for Pete's sake, and I can't handle my own finances. I am raising a daughter whom I pray will hold herself to the highest level and not give away what she only can give once. Meanwhile, I will allow myself to be used and abused repeatedly. I let the worst of the worst have their way with me, while I struggle to raise my son to be a good man because there are far too few good men in the world. My life is an oxymoron!

Shit, I think that will the title to my book when I write it. I figure people who read the entire story (and it may come in volumes or series) will find it so incredibly unbelievable that it will be a best-seller for sure.

Look at me right now! I am 34, twice divorced (in 6 years!), have two children by two different men, neither of whom ever wanted my kids nor have ever done anything for my kids, and now my newest ex-husband-to-be does not want a single thing to do with my son who he raised from 5 mos. to now. My son just turned 4. What the hell went wrong? I did some stupid shit in my life, I will openly admit that; however, I only hurt myself along the way. So, why do I feel sometimes like I am being punished? Am I being punished for hurting myself? Really? Probably. I should be good to me. Or at least to my children's mother. They deserve that much.

As bad as feel, I am not on the edge, or hanging by my last thread or any of the thousand cliches for this...but I am getting close. Time to face the truth again, do the therapy, change some meds...the same old shit.

I'll tell you what though, this sucks. This sucks big, stinky, sweaty, hairy balls! Monkey balls at that. Sorry to be so graphic, but that is truly how I feel about it. Don't get me wrong, I know damn well that someone who has a fatal disease would trade places with me in a heartbeat. For some reason, that doesn't help me accept this. I hate being sick, mental, crazy, whatever you want to call it. I hate not being in control of my emotions and reactions and thoughts. I hate the demon for gaining strength when I am not paying attention. I hate that I have a wonderful, blessed life that I struggle to be happy in. How dare I be so hopeless, and feel so helpless when I have been blessed countless times in my life? It could be so much worse, this I know. I watch and read about people's lives that are so unfair and unjust so that I can be reminded how fortunate I am.

Absurd. I pity myself. I am ashamed of that. I feel sorry for myself sometimes and I want people to feel sorry for me sometimes. Just typing that statement makes me nauseous. I am a horrible person. I talk a big game and I can put on a big act...but at the end of the day, I still really wish someone would take all the burden away. I just want to feel happy, truly happy.