My sister-in-law is a drama queen. She’s one of those people who can’t understand why the world doesn’t stop and cater to her when she’s upset. (She is always upset. The day she stops being upset will be the day she dies.) She and I don’t get along, so I’m usually spared her never-ending theatrics. But me and my big blunt mouth had to make a (true!) statement in passing that set her off. She has been blowing up my phone for two days. It’s interesting to watch someone have a one-way argument all by themselves.
Her foolishness got me thinking about people taking their lives for granted and the duplicity of being bipolar. On the one hand, my head is a swirling jumbled mess of irrational emotions. On the other hand, I’m fairly chill about most life things. Currently I’m looking at the world through a depressed filter, making it a sad, lonely place to be. Yet, when I take a mental step back I have to admit that my life is pretty darn good. I’m sitting in a warm, dry house. In about eight minutes I’ll have gooey brownies fresh from the oven. No one I love has died today. It’s a good day.
It fascinates me that life can feel both awful and okay at the same time. I’m not content, yet I can’t really think of anything else I need/want (apart from a better functioning brain and maybe a job that makes me happy). Something in my head is telling me that I’m dreadfully sad, but my life doesn’t in any way warrant the sadness. I know this is a tidbit we’re all familiar with, but sometimes I’m just stricken by how bizarre the whole thing is.