Bipolar Disorder, Uncategorized

The Wiggly Butt and a Clown

s-l500What is a Wiggly Butt you may be asking, or do you already know?  I tried to look up the word Wiggly Butt, and outside of a quite interesting definition found on the urban dictionary there was not a valid definition provided, many pictures of dogs with wagging tails, but no real definitions.  I will now pull a definition out of my magician’s hat, a definition that I have come up with.  A wiggly butt is a person who cannot sit still, is always moving about, always doing something.  The white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland (my most favorite book ever!) is an example of a wiggly butt, always late, always rushing from one thing to another, always go go going!  And ladies and gentlemen, I am sure that this is a surprise, but I am a wiggly butt!

It was brought to my attention this week that I may, in fact, be doing just a tad too much.  Although I was unable to see my face when this was said, I am sure I made that face.  You know the face that you make when you smell a stinky fart, that’s the face.  The one when you scrunch up your nose and move your mouth over to one side.  It’s honestly a face that I make quite often, signature Bella face.

I have been told this (the whole, “you are doing too much, slow down!) in the past, by my parents, my spouse, co-workers, my doctors and friends.  However, I just shrug it off and accept that everyone has their opinions and are certainly allowed to think what they want to think.  But for some reason, this new person in my life, what she had to say, affected me more deeply.  She made me think.  She made me evaluate.  She made me ponder, “Am I actually doing too much?”

Her concern was that I continue to have one health issue pop up after quenching another issue and this has been going on for years.  Most recently, I have the Bipolar under control and now the Endometriosis is causing an issue (and my sad little ugly big toe that I had surgery on 6 months ago, well it’s having issues again as well).  So, she said that she thought that my body was trying to tell me to slow the fuck down (my words, not hers)… to take the reigns of my life and calm it all down.  That perhaps I am stressed and am not realizing it and that if I perhaps reduced my activities my physical and mental issues would subside.

So, I sat there, and I stared at her.  Inside my body, I was throwing a hissy fit.  I was thinking, “what do you mean by slow down, do you not understand that I have things to do and people to see and goals to accomplish and this whole slowing down thing will make me lazy and I am not a lazy person and I must keep going, why? because that is what I do! (please note that inside my head there is very little punctuation and run on sentences are extremely common).  And finally, I thought, “if I slow down I will be the “B” word, no not a bitch, but bored!! And I just can’t be bored, that’s not an option.  I can’t just come home and have nothing to do, I will explode into a million little Bella pieces!”

With all this going on in my head, I say, “you don’t say?”  And she proceeds to tell me about her ideas about reducing things and how she is not an advocate of me taking on a full-time student schedule and feels like I should take a break post Bachelor’s degree and prior to pursuing my Master’s degree to pay down my debt (yup, that dirty word, debt, where I have been a pretty stellar individual when it comes to succeeding at the game of debt).

Well, since Thursday, I have made only minor changes.  I dropped the second class that I was planning to take (History of Sexual behavior, I mean an amazing class right there, heartbroken is what I am) the second part of this Spring 2018 semester.  I also sat down and read a novel I started months ago last night, and accomplished reading about three chapters, which was enjoyable, and the time passed quickly and believe it or not, I did not die of boredom.

It is unclear exactly what I will do or how I can make changes in my life to decrease this hidden stress that could be attacking me from the inside and holding me hostage.  I live to juggle balls.  I am like a well-dressed, cowboy boot wearing, sarcastic, smart mouthed clown who wears only a little bit of makeup and has no big red nose.  What would happen to me if I stopped my act?  What happens if I cut down from juggling 8-10 balls and only juggled three.  Would that still be entertaining?

Me and this wiggly butt of mine will try and sit and ponder what this girl should do.  Whose advice should I take, what should I do, what should I not do… it will be a journey.  I almost feel like I need to create a scrapbook to commemorate this adventure, but would that be me self-sabotaging and adding another “thing” onto my plate?  Le sigh…

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