Feeding The Fire: Hooked

Ready. Set. Sail!

(Warning: contains strong sexual content and language)

So here I am.

Lost and afraid. Broken compass again.

Honestly, I’m not doing well at all. There are so many things going on in my head that I need to address. But I can’t seem to grab at anything. Or think clearly.

The truth is I’ve given in. I’ve surrendered. And that’s what is making me ill. There hasn’t been any kind of relief for me at all in any sense of the word. I’m so Goddamn tired. My body is physically exhausted. It’s gotten to the point where I only have a few short hours in the day where I can stay awake. I try to sleep but my mind won’t let me rest. I keep thinking about all that I’m doing and how disappointed in myself I’ve become that I just can’t stay asleep. I’ve been getting no more than an hour or so worth of sleep in one sitting throughout the night. My mind is racing at 1000mph all night long. I’m restless. Tossing and turning. I can’t shut the thoughts off. When I do sleep I have nightmares. When I am awake I’m just horny and itching for release.

I was able to get a hold of my pdoc last week and she got me off the Wellbutrin finally! I see her on Tuesday. I feel like I hit it too high though. I pushed myself to a place I haven’t been before and I regret it. The orgasmic rush is too intense. It zaps me of my energy right after the release. But then I need more. At one point, I came so many times I thought my brain was going to explode. I had horrible shortness of breath and heart palpitations. Mindful meditation helped me calm down and then I took a Klonopin and passed out for a couple hours.

And yeah, the open marriage thing is still going. The worst part about this is I can’t seem to figure out how to stop this. I can tell my husband is in hell. He panics whenever my phone goes off. He is constantly wondering if I’m talking to Mark. Which, for the record, I still am. But it hasn’t been anything other than video games and Star Wars as of late. So there. Nothing juicy.

And for those of you who commented last time, I’m being very mindful of the power of heat on baked goods.

The Snake tried to get me to talk to him the other night but I just wasn’t in the mood. And by “talk” I mean phone sex. I can’t do that kind of stuff anymore. I won’t do this to my “sweet and soft” husband. I refuse. But yet my mind keeps begging me to give in. I know I have permission but that doesn’t change my character. I DON’T want to get used to it. I want it to end. I want the urge to die.

I keep trying to reach for the phone and block everything but it’s like my body won’t let me. It can’t handle not having the possibility of having one last round with Mark. To be honest, I just want it over. I feel compelled to contact him and I get excited whenever he messages me. It’s despicable.

And you wanna know something? I feel like I deserve it. I don’t get this kind of constant attention from a guy. Not ever.

Grabbing my arm trying to find the vein. Wrapping it tight in a rag to slow the blood flow. I reach across the table to the syringe and place the tip of the needle right at the bulging point. Pressing slowly into my body, the needle tears into my skin and I plunge down the poison into my system. Letting go of the rag I let the liquid travel all throughout my system and ignite every part of my body ablaze. It’s so sweet. Such a tender perfect thing. My eyes roll back and I take in every morsel of ecstasy. Higher and higher I climb until my body jerks back and I let it all go.

Then the feeling slowly fades and I’m left with the desire for another hit.

Oh I’m sorry what that too much for you? You want to hear about Depression right? That’s an easier topic to swallow. I’m sorry that most people can go into detail about the dark depressive side and not the high addictive side.

You’re on my blog. We are all adults here.

Deal with it.

Bipolar isn’t just Depression. It isn’t just about feeling lifeless, empty, and devoid of all will to live. It’s also the opposite. The intense urge to satisfy yourself with worldly pleasures like overspending and hypersexuality.

The difference comes from the desire to not want to be in pain anymore. That hole I climbed out of is so far below me right now that I’ll do anything I can to prevent myself from falling in. So I feed the Mania if by no other choice than because I’m afraid of the inevitable fall. I’m scared. I’m terrified. That’s it. And it’s hard to fight something that is no longer forbidden. I’m not sure but my plan to stop it when I cool off a little is to get rid of the opportunity. I know exactly what to say to piss this kid off to never talk to me ever again. With that, I’ll finally be able to refocus my energy on something safer like a porn marathon.

The worst part about knowing all of this is not being able to stop myself. It’s true I need to stop and find help. I’ve just become so used to the high that I can’t seem to get myself to stop. And why should I when I don’t have to?

What I want is to find a nice mellow constant high and not feel dependent on some college guy for self-medication. I have an idea on how to get him to stop contacting me but I’ve offset the plan due to the holidays. I can’t crush him now it’s not in my nature. But I’ll find a way to piss him off and then have friends help me patch up the loose ends. Hopefully this time I’ll be able to stop myself before I get the urge to contact him again.

I apologize if this post isn’t as eloquent or uplifting as my other posts but my brain is somewhere else lately and it’s difficult to focus on just one thing at a time. But I don’t want this state I’m in to hide the truth. I’m being honest and that hurts because I don’t want you to see me like this: desperate and pathetic. I want to be the hero that makes a difference not the loser that gave in.

You may not believe me right now because you can only assume based on what you read but I’m fighting every moment of every day not to go crawling back to that Snake. You only see the failures and not my successes. Every moment I say no to him is my own personal success and I’m happy that I haven’t seen him since Monday. That’s hard enough on its own.

Oh and if anyone has God’s number let me know. I keep asking for help and he hasn’t returned any of my calls. Just FYI.

Feel free to comment. I welcome all opinions whether I agree with them or not.


14 thoughts on “Feeding The Fire: Hooked

  1. I can only imagine what you are going through.

    As a husband to someone that is bi-polar, I have to admit hyper-sexuality as a possibility during a manic episode was tough (and still is tough) for me to process.

    To give you my perspective, my wife and I have talked about it and I am of the mindset that, while I understand it may happen, that is not to be misconstrued that I condone it or that my wife will not have to deal with the consequences of those actions.

    Again being bi-polar may explain behavior but it does not excuse actions.

    I know you are working with a pdoc, what about a therapist?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. First off I really appreciate you commenting Vic. My husband has read some of your posts where you deal with your own challenges being married to a bipolar wife. That being said I need to hear from a husband’s perspective because I obviously can’t grasp what my actions are doing to him. Maybe something you or someone says will be helpful.

      I am seeing a therapist. Have been for several months. Been taking all my meds. Fucking tired of doing everything right and NOT seeing results. Off topic again. Um. Yeah I don’t know what do.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That is always a possibility, doing everything “right” and still having to deal with your depressive and manic cycles. One of the tougher aspects of the illness.

        While I am not a “prude” when it comes to sexuality, I think it is dangerous having an ‘open’ marriage when you are bi-polar. In my mind it is like you want a pass for your behavior but not the consequences that also are a part of that behavior.

        Part of the (my) issue is that with most ‘open’ marriages there are defined limits of behavior by both partners. You cannot guarantee that while in a manic episode (don’t kid yourself otherwise).

        Who knows what unsafe practices or situations you may put yourself in while in the midst of you mania?! Do you drink? If so it has been proven that alcohol (or drugs) will enhance and prolong manic episodes.

        Now the final piece of the puzzle, imagine your husband home and not knowing what you are doing, where you are or what your mental state is.

        I am not trying to be harsh but trying to give you some perspective. Marriage can work but it takes a ton of work, ton of communication and a ton of understanding (through communication). First and foremost – talk to your hubby, about everything.

        Take care!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. *SIGH*

    I know the feeling…I really do. Smoking weed is the only substance I want, other than sex – and I can’t even find decent role-playing partners for ‘safe,’ online, in-game sex…
    It sucks.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hey Jess. Sweet, caught me at the end of my work day, about to feed my snoring pugs. Read your post, nothing shocking at all. You’re all good. Take a step back, Say: I’m human, bitchez! Honestly, on only 75mg of Wellbutrin, I was a vastly over-heated engine driving cross country for the New Life. Ha. It was spring. Would have happened anyway. But I get you. Possibly…you are over-stimulated medically. Or…you are more like Z and I. BP ultradian 1. Honestly, unless I’m hungover to catatonia, I NEVER spend a day in bed depressed. Sure, I have gray days, slothful days, Seattle without coffee days, churning suicidal days, screaming days, fuck you cosmos days. But “depression” for me is ALWAYS dysphoric mania. That’s why I think the older term is more appropriate for folks like us: actual “manic depression.” Tangent: the DSM is brain dead in so many ways, they may have to recruit we mentally ill morons just to straighten out their orthodox inanities. As far as fucking and marriage goes, I will not merely tread lightly: I will not tread at all. That’s your life. Hope it works out for the best. For myself, I believe I’m caught ambivalently and ambiguously in a maybe/maybe not impossible/possible situation. Ha. That’s “bipolar” talk right there. Life? Yes! Tragic! Insoluble! Partnership and sex and the rest? That’s hugely individual and for real it would be impudent and aggrandizing to proffer even the slightest speculation. So. Where does that leave my comment? Only this: tribe life is hard. Intermittently glorious. The worst of effin fates. Sheer hard dark stark tragedy. All of it always together. Of course. I don’t know anything else. It’s just how I talk about life in my head with my head. I will, though, say this: you have MANY lives ahead of you. You’re still quite young, Jess. Prob have a great deal of suffering, searching, failing, flailing, finding, losing, searching, finding, flailing, searching, finding again. Losing. Finding. Etc etc. But YOUNG is my point. Keep blogging, keep raising your voice. You’re just alive. We were not handed road maps at birth, unless I got uniquely unlucky. We find our own roads. In my experience, as a long time hiker in the Rockies, the greatest discoveries happen off trail. The problem? Who knows what the trail is? Changes second to second. As it did in the Old Way. Nothing but love for you. You’re in survival land. Jettison the self hate talk and “I’m failing” talk. I get it, I been there, but you got a twisty road ahead, and you’ll make more “mistakes”, and it’s just not worth it to hate yourself or blame yourself: would you feel that way toward a friend suffering all this agony of conscience and lust of the flesh? Fuck, you’re closer to pounding a nail into your own wrist than any “normie” cheater I’ve known. Anybody who has read a word you’ve written knows you write out of conviction. Which changes second to second. Which means you are us. Tribe. A hard life. BUT. I disagree with Z and Blah and everyone else about this. In my opinion, it’s not a mental illness. Just a survival of the Old Way. Which is hard enough, as a fate, for sure, to qualify, in OUR world, as a “mental illness.” As in: Certainly I’m not surprised by our fatality rates, nor our prison tribe, nor our street tribe. It is what it is. Most important thing, Jess? you have No Fate right now. It is unknown. It’s got nothing to do with you being a good or bad person. If it helps, repeat what I constantly repeat to myself (in optimistic moods), courtesy of Frost. “I have miles to go before I sleep.” Or this marvel of grave ambiguity, courtesy of Eliot. “Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind/ Cannot bear very much reality.” Best of all when you want to ASPIRE, late Frost: “Here are your waters and your watering-place/ Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.” I mean, that’s the best I got. Just the dream or idea of it. Being whole again beyond confusion. Best of luck. In the meantime, after a long day at work: kick it the best: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6ChR-oqrA0

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Finally catching up here – I know things have changed (by a glance at your more recent post) and I just want to commend you for your honesty; not many people could own up to the truth the way you do. And you got a chuckle out of me with the line ” if anyone has God’s number let me know” – wish I had it for the two of us! Xo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for keeping up with me, commenting, and liking my posts Dyane! This post was one of the most difficult ones to write. I don’t know if people can see that. I want to be honest because otherwise neither you nor I will learn anything from these circumstances. I shake when writing stuff like this and it always takes me so long because I doubt myself and whether I want people to know how dark things get with me. Hopefully this raises awareness of the struggles spouses have when going through a situation like this without downplaying the severity of it all.

      And yeah I’ve been pretty mad at God lately. Praying to be the person I want to be doesn’t seem to be working.


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