Confessionals: Day One

Three things today. Here goes:

1) Buttholes make me giggle. I sometimes do google image searches for "butthole" and surf through the thumbnails, chuckling. I think buttholes are hilarious, especially in conjunction with the word "butthole." I cannot explain this. Maybe I should start my own site, "LoLholes" or something. Dog buttholes, cat buttholes, chicken buttholes, Goatse. It's hilarious to me. They're just as different as faces, but so very not-a-face. What the Foucault? I don't know.

2) I'm bipolar. I was actually diagnosed over a year ago, and have been medicated since then. Not heavily medicated, mind you, but at a high enough dosage that I have some trouble coming, unless I get a lot of build-up (talking dirty especially does it). I have kept this "secret" (not so much a secret to anyone who knows me and sees me cycle over time) because of all of the stigma associated with bipolar disorder and manic-depression. It is even apparent if you sift through my childhood--very textbook stuff, from nature to nurture. Maybe I'll touch on that here.

I don't know what it means to be "bipolar," even though it's something I clearly "am." Maybe it's just emotional immaturity combined with an impulse-control problem and some very irresponsible fiscal habits (formerly sexual, but I've reclaimed a lot of control over that). Maybe it's a spiritual problem. I don't know. It comes and goes in intensity and in manifestation, but I've been under psychiatric supervision for a long time, and I trust these women to know what they're talking about. Not all shrinks, but I have two who communicate (clinical psychologist AND a psychiatrist), and they aren't colleagues or financially connected in any way, but they do agree on the issue of "Allison is bipolar as shit," and that sometimes I'm a danger to myself. Never anyone else (unless they really, really piss me off, and then only exhibited in some very ineffectual, fist-flinging ways), except for emotional or psychic damage caused by exposure to my crazy. Anyway, I'm coming out of the closet, at least in this forum. I've fibbed about it to a lot of people, but it's there in black-and-white on my permanent medical record for everyone to see. Nothing to be ashamed of. The stuff I've done when I'm manic, however, certainly can be. I never wanted to make my "condition" an excuse for the shitty things I do. But this is just an acknowledgment that there's at least a clinical explanation for why I can be either a total emo asshole or a whole lot of fun.

3) I can smell the inside of my nose, which compels me to pick it, because the smell of boogers is very distracting. My sense of smell is incredibly sensitive, and this is just one example of how it's not always a good thing. I hate being able to smell the inside of my nose, especially when it bleeds. I get most of my information from my nose (which sucked when my boyfriend was cheating on me and I couldn't find physical proof, but I knew it long before I "found out" because I could smell other women on him--his hands, his face...you know).

That's it for today. More forthcoming depending on where the mind decides to wander.