(no subject)

My life lately is a string of nervous breakdowns, punctuated with moments of sheer joy.

This bipolar existence is maddening, and I hate it.

One moment, I'm rock-bottom miserable and simmering with disgust at the whole situation, so frustrated and unhappy that I'm fighting back tears, struggling to, as Joe says, "maintain a professional veneer." (He's joking when he says it, though -- it's funny then.)

But then, the next day or a few days later, I'll be able to grab a few hours or days of indescribable bliss, and the misery seems so far away, as I cling tightly to the warmth that gives me happy sighs and the good kind of crying, tears of joy, of disbelief at my good fortune and happiness with where fate has led me.

And then, it's back to wishing someone would just stab me in the head.