So, I was talking to a guy from high school and we were getting close when we had a couple of arguments, which ended in him breaking things off. Later, he messaged me and said it was my fault since I have so many issues I won’t face, but that he got a message from another gal (DD boobs…he included that information to make me feel bad about my own physique which isn’t quite as big as this 😐), who is also bipolar (what’s the chance since only about 2.8% of the population has the actual diagnosis as determined by a professional), and miraculously issue free and ‘normal’. Okey dokey. Good to know that a well endowed woman with a serious mental illness is fine and dandy. Kudos to her. 😳
Now, are you fucking kidding me? I DON’T face my issues? Don’t fess up that I have things going on because of being bipolar as well as experiences I have had? Then what, in hells name, am I writing about? OMG (please say that in a Valley Girl voice). I fess up to everything, including a lot of things that aren’t even my fault, per se. My goodness… I’ve taken blame for the whole shebang of anything that’s ever happened to me in this world. Yeesh. (Note, I don’t take blame for this pandemic and I had nothing to do with the quarantine. I’m an extrovert…quarantines are very difficult for us. Just sayin’).
Anyhoot, these last 8 months of being partner free has shown me there are actually a lot of advantages to being single, and I have come to realize that being alone and healthy is so much better than being with someone and unhealthy. I wish I would have had this epiphany earlier in life.
Let me tell you, even the little advantages living single has are pretty peachy: like putting something down and having it there waiting for me in the same place when I need it again. Unless of course, I put something down and forget where the damn thing is because my memory sucks balls.
I LOVE filling my fridge with what I want! I get to go down the aisles of the grocery store (Aldi’s…it rocks) and toss in anything and everything that sounds good to me. Then, when I get home and unload, with Dottie and Eddie looking on expectantly for more goodies, no one is there to say “Why are you buying so much of this? Why in the heck did you get that stuff again?” “We’re having chicken again this week?” (Yes, we are having chicken ‘again’ because it’s the only thing I know how to make half way decently). I get any food I want, and then eat what I feel like while watching bad auditions on America’s Got Talent, without worrying if I have a piece of spinach caught in my front teeth (which is common…my teeth are magnets for globs)…it’s bliss.
Showering is a biggie too: my shampoos and conditioners and face washes and body gels and shaving cream, etc. are all organized in my caddy and they stay that way. Plus, when I pick up my favorite conditioner and squeeze, it’s not empty. And my razor? The blade is how I left it…it’s not been used on a scratchy beard and neck which causes it to be dull and therefore shreds my already old lady legs. That, my dear peeps, is absolutely wonderful.
If I want to start a load of laundry at midnight…OK. If I want to stack up my dishes until after I finish my macrame project (I’m on a macrame kick…my entire house is being decorated with cotton cording and no one is rolling their eyes), I will. If I want to wash my windows, again, OK…no one is bitching about how I already did it 3 years ago and therefore, they don’t want to help. If I want to vacuum and admire the blob of hair, fur, dust, yarn bits, and beads while emptying my shark, I will without someone saying how gross that is. If I set my mower blade too low and cut my grass to within an inch of it’s life so I don’t have my pooches dragging in so much, by golly, I’ll be naughty and do it. The yard is all mine….muahahaha. If I want the dogs on the couch and cuddled up next to me, there’s no one looking at them jealously and telling me dogs belong on the floor (well Mister, you belong out the door, so there). If I want to skip the deodorant, not wash my hair everyday, postpone the shaving for another week, and wear a blue nightie with red Crocs at night, I can. And hells bells, if I want to watch 90 Day Fiance’ and yell advice to the screen (because we all know what a relationship expert I am 🙄), I’ll do it. Like the song says, little things mean a lot, peeps.
In terms of biggies, I think one of the best things I’m experiencing, which is a very different feeling for me, is that I’m no longer walking on eggs. Look, it’s no secret in the study of marriage and family (which my M.S. is in…shutty the mouthy) that men tend to set the emotional tone in a relationship, good or bad (there are exceptions of course, but overall this holds true). Think about it: a dad has a bad day at work and mama says: “Kids…keep it down tonight, your dad has had a bad day at work.” But when mama has a bad day, who the fuck cares just so dinner is on the table, the laundry is done, and bills have been paid (P.S. I had to take a quick break…I forgot to make my Jeep payment 🙄).
I’ve walked on eggs for most of my life. R, the asswipe that abused my mom for so many years, made anyone and everyone in my mom’s life step lightly and carefully. The consequence of not doing so was mom getting hurt which was a far too great of risk to take. If he got upset that person was yelled at, but my mom was ultimately the physical scapegoat for his anger. I couldn’t bear to let that happen, so I learned fairly early on to smile, nod, agree, and tread as softly as I could. With Hubby 1 and 2? Not quite as bad, but still felt I was often balancing on a tightrope, and one slip could mean the end of things. Then, with Hubby 3 (shutty…one of these days I’ll make y’all a freaking chart) and J? Eggs were all over the place. Actually, landmines might be a more accurate description. The nerves this wrought showed themselves physically (I aged a LOT in 13 years…more than probably necessary and thank you Lady Clairol for your help now) as well as psychosomatically: tummy aches, tension headaches, backaches, tightness in neck and shoulders, etc. And the mind? Feeling that I couldn’t express myself…speak assertively for myself…actually be myself. And now? None of that. I never knew how much those freaking eggs affected me, until I was on firm ground again.
And talk about people pleasing. No matter how much I tried to please my exes, it was never enough. Never. I always felt like I should be giving more, doing more, and expecting less. But I now have someone else to put that energy into pleasing (besides Eddie and Dottie), and that’s me. And goodness gracious, I’m very appreciative of the spoiling 😍.
Finally, I am so relieved of not always being scrutinized in terms of having bipolar. Look, if I’m experiencing a bad day, you don’t have to bring up the fact that I’m mentally ill…I tend to remember I am. If I’m angry, sad, elated, hyper, depressed, whatever yes, I know I have bipolar; please don’t ask me if I took my meds 😬 and then tell me life would be easier if I just put more effort into it (heh? I’ll work on changing my brain physiology asap). You know, when I was married to O’s dad and was in a bad mood (hard to believe, huh?), here’s what he would say: “So, ya got PMS…right?” Wrong, buddy. Sometimes women can be in bad moods because of things other than Aunt Flow visiting. Like, for example, you missing a dinner it took me an hour to make because you were working on a car and forgot there was a phone 3 feet from your face (just pulled that out of my ass 🙄). Yes, bipolar has lots of fun symptoms, but I’m not ‘just’ bipolar. I’m actually so much more than that, and not having it thrown in my face at convenient times (like, when someone doesn’t want to take responsibility for their own actions), is relieving. Truly.
You know, I used to be anxious about ‘being’ single because of a divorce/break-up, but over the last few months I’ve learned how freeing it really is. I’m now making a conscious choice to stay single for a time (or forever knowing the prospects out there) because I’m finally living life on my terms….in my own way. I’m discovering more and more about myself everyday, and am liking what I see. I’m happy. Strong. Capable. Content. Proud. And grasshoppers, if that’s not an advantage to living alone, I don’t know what is.