I Wanna Talk About It Some More

Since I’ve got this monstrous debilitating disease that I utterly refuse to disclose to strangers (is that so crazy?) yet simultaneously I possess a sweet demeanor that obviously suggests that I must have a fantastic gene pool to pass on, I am a target for the kind of crap that I discussed below. This amazes me somewhat, or perhaps a lot, because people are usually judged for what they do, their job, their business usually for men and maybe even sometimes for who they are.

But it turns out, at least in Middle America, you are significantly judged by if you have children or not, and if so, how many, how many grandkids that’s produced for you, etc. And if you don’t have kids, is it because you hate kids? (which I guarantee you will lower your amount of party invitations), or if you are unable to have children (oh, poor you), just never had the chance, or whatever is floating through your querers mind, whether they give the list or just start suggesting it. Admitting to not particularly caring for children is akin to being a Nazi or someone who would probably eat their young, so it is reassuring after all that you haven’t produced. But no one wants a Nazi at their party or in their social group.

Not that I have ever responded to any of these queries in a negative way. No, despite the fact that extreme prying is in fact extremely offensive, I try to give answers that reassure and make everyone feel better. Never mind that I’m offended cause I’m more of a medical or research subject than a person, mind you, and certainly my issues are as anathema to these kind of people (and sadly this is quite rampant) that I don’t matter anyway. Certainly, I should be able to understand how important it is for them to discern the answers to these important underlying factors.

Case in point, same party on Sunday. As Husband and I walked into Host’s house he immediately said something to the effect of, “Oh yeah, you guys don’t have kids.” Which is true. So we kind of nodded. Then he says, “Do you want to have kids?” apparently testing for those Nazi tendencies. So, I was not about to be sour immediately upon entering party and I played the game. “Well, I certainly haven’t ruled out having them.” And I kid you not, I actually gestured to the lower half of my torso, where my girl parts do reside, and pretty much said something like “I think they still work.”

This must have satisfactorily proven that we were worthy to enter, to mingle with others, that we were not going to be offended by the existence of children at the party (which we, uh, already knew) and were not going to take anyone’s kid home for a snack.

This is not fiction. This really did happen.

It’s known around the office that Husband and I are childless, however, I would die a thousand deaths if Husband tried to explain to everyone I am Bipolar and that I am doing a really good job of taking care of myself and our animals. I am sure that any discussion or trying to make my life look good to others or even explain it would be met with dazed stares, lack of comprehension and probably some sympathy for Husband for having married such a weird, problem filled, incomprehensibly burdened individual. It’s why we both just avoid it. I’m just not one of those brave, boisterous, idiotic people that puts my problems on a plate for everyone to see and says “See, that’s why.” I will have to work on that in my next life.

Instead, I have a lovely demeanor, oooh especially when I’m ‘on’ and it maketh no sense why I don’t see the sense of having more little me’s to nosy strangers whose its not any business of anyway. It’s not like I treat normies as cruelly as I am treated, quite the opposite, hence why I’ve said many times on this very blog that it takes monster patience to deal with them. It should be no secret why I am presently self-sequestering myself as much as I possibly can, I’ve taken a lot of abuse, in the workplace and face to face. It’s a case of you’ve gotta be the better person and by God that takes so much energy, and I just haven’t mustered it back yet.

Hey, it’s my blog, you get to hear me bitch. It’s my life and I’m telling it to you straight.

But seriously though, men don’t have this problem, not nearly in the same way. It’s just a rotten society and I’m tired of it’s ‘standards’ being shoved on me.

You are now blessed with an additional 'rant.' Enjoy:

I can’t help saying that so many illness are brought on by people themselves. You shove enough sugar into your body, you’ll probably be diabetic. I saw this first hand in my own family. You eat enough crap and watch TV or sit all day, you’ll probably get heart disease or a lovely form of cancer. You don’t deal with your problems, neurologists are waiting to diagnose you. The list is endless of the fact that many people bring their own probs right onto themselves, whether they want to admit it or not, and I certainly don’t think they set out to or even mean to.

I was born with this. Officially diagnosed at 16, I could easily look back and see the bipolar behavior personally from as young as 5 and I bet my Mom could take it farther back then that. So what is all this about? I’ve have this forever, I did not bring it upon myself, it's hereditary, and it is debilitating (even the Federal Government thinks so). I’ve been breaking my back to pretend to be normie all my life – and yet still I must be subjected to discussion of everyone’s ills as though they were a badge of honor, whether in the line at the grocery store and at some party, yet never discuss my own because that would just be too much for most people. Am I cranky and pissed and tired of it all? Yeah, and I have every right to be.