My Belle is a Thimble


I am the placeholder in my own life.

Tragically, circling the bastard love child of Monopoly and The Game of Life.

I walked the line before and after my surgery. I shuffled and wobbled. Would I fly though the air or land on my head? Carefully inching forward, I teetered into a four. I edged on a six. But, I always am able to keep one foot steady on that five we all strive for.

I am in between. I have a difficult time believing this is what stable is. This is some kind of limbo. It’s an indefinite layover on the way to who-knows-where. Or, perhaps, Lulu has already skipped town and left Em behind. Maybe the shell of someone, something. My existence is nameless at the moment.

I decided something important throughout the last five months. Lulu is not the alter ego. Em is. Em, the woman, who walks through the streets of Pittsburgh, with a stone face. Em, the woman limited by her physical existence and what it represents. She is the one who dashes on half-truths and skims denial. She created Lulu to free herself from that cage.

Lulu is the Belle. Em is the Thimble. What’s the difference? Think hard.

Honestly, I don’t feel like either. In limbo, some kind of dimensional fold, a crease in the fabric of time. It’s almost as if someone put my real life on pause and created a film loop of a typical week in my life. As if there is such a thing.

I’m not that girl. Who am I? What does it all mean? Why…? What if…?” *STOMP* Been there, done that, named it after me, then got the T-shirt. Puh-leaze.

How can I possibly ramble for 500 more words and still keep your attention?

Pin the tail on the donkey. Who can tell me what psychological term fits the scenario? No sarcasm, I’d like some opinions. This might be my strangest mood ever.

I’m almost fluidic, but my emotions are dampened. My mind wants to be let off it’s leash. It wants to roam freely, but report nothing. I have plenty of kindle and not enough spark. I am easily swayed along shallow emotions, enthusiasm, hostility, endearment… It should be excitement, rage, and love. I don’t feel, I experience.

I could describe it as apathy, but it’s even less shallow than that. I am almost detached, but holding by frayed, semi-conductive thread. I care enough to want to go to work, care for my son, and engage in my everyday life. I am interested. But, I am incredibly deficient in motivation.

I am distracted by nothing. Literally. I cannot focus. I am not motivated enough to want to. It is taking every last ounce of discipline to –

What was I saying?

Scavenger hunt. Today, I was photographed to be a poster girl for Luden’s Cough Drops. It will be up on the website. Correctly identify me, and you win. Win what? I guess my extreme surprise at your attention to detail. Ruby is automatically disqualified to keep this fair.

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6 thoughts on “My Belle is a Thimble

  1. That detachment you speak of, the functional detachment, describes the last 11 months of my life. It’s better with the meds, but outside a good mental health day, sometimes I am on auto pilot and hovering between a three and four. My motivation wavers as the panic sets in and devours my self confidence,then I shrivel up.
    But I see you battling all this stuff, and you give me hope that I can keep doing this and come out ahead. It helps to know that none of us get there without a bumpy ride because honestly, I was starting to believe I struggled so much because I just had a weak character.
    And now I am craving Luden’s cough drops. I have a cough. Really. It has nothing to do with them being tasty.

    • I’ve managed to be a functional couple of things in my life. Take functional alcoholic for example. (Hence, I don’t drink anymore). I would live my life based around alcohol. Wake up, sober up, go to work, get off of work, get trashed – and the cycle began again. Every social function I attended involved alcohol. I typically brought my own bottle; yes, it got to that point.

      The point I’m trying to make about that is that although I was going to work, I wasn’t really functional. There was nothing functional about that. I was really living in that time period because I wasn’t full conscious of it.

      That’s a similar problem I’m encountering here. I’m not really living my life. See, alcohol dampened a lot of things by depressing my CNS. There is no reason for my CNS to be dampened now, other than the fact that I’ve been cut off from all of my supplements until I’m clearned to take them again (some are a bleed risk). It’s not depression, because I know what that feels like. I have considered dysthymia, but I’m still interested enough in most things I enjoy. Some people would call it laziness. It just feels like I don’t have enough energy to properly live in the more difficult tasks in my daily life.

      I’ll tell you this. Despite everything I’ve been through, and I’m going through, I can honestly say that these are the best of times. I have solid control of my position in life and I am wanting to live it as fully as possible.

      You don’t struggle so much because you have a weak character. Everyone has a struggle, just in different ways. The problem with social media is that a person can choose to represent themselves in whatever fashion they want. Mostly, people aren’t pouring their hearts out about their personal struggle. They’ve set it up to look like they have this wonderful life. It’s actually not like that. And there is research to prove it.

      I’m glad I can pour my heart out and reach other people. It’s theraputic for me, and (hopefully) helpful to others. That’s the ultimate goal. To say to the world, “Here I am. You are not alone. Don’t suffer in silence.”

    • You already know what I look like. I don’t mind if others just happen to stumble upon a photo of me. But, I don’t want to leave a “paper trail” of my connection between Em and Lulu. To protect Lulu and everyone who trusts and has an affinity for her.

  2. Who can tell me what psychological term fits the scenario? No sarcasm, I’d like some opinions.
    I don’t think one needs to use diagnostic terms, unless that’s what you’re really looking for. A diagnostic label. Let the shrinks do the work they really need to do, of course. “I” think you need to continue to describe your experience TO YOUR “SELF”, make rules ‘for’ your ‘self’ to live by, your rules, your goals, …. See what works and doesn’t. Share with others you trust.
    We’re all on a quest towards something. Be you’re own best answerer. That’s all anyone can ever do.

    • Eh, diagnostic labels are only important to me in a few respects. The devil you don’t know is often worse than the devil you do. If I can shed some light, it’s a lot less frightening. Also, diagnostic criteria lends an eye into the future. What can I expect? I would have probably been a frenzied, isolated, delusional mess if all of this existed in me before the internet. Wait, it did. And I was.

      In this scenario, it was kind of like “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”. I was trying to convey that emotions and experiences happen outside of the diagnositc criteria of “Bipolar II”, but are still related to the cause and effect of such. There has been a lot of talk lately about Bipolar II being the less of the two evils. I’m sorry, unless I have some serious alphabet soup (thank Ruby for that phrase), then I would beg to differ.

      I will never stop describing the experience in the way that I feel and perceive it in my reality at the moment. Because that’s all I really have is the reality of the moment. It’s constantly shifting. No, I do not have psychosis. I just realize that one of the facets of having Bipolar Disorder is having your world colored by whatever colored glasses adorn your eyes at the time. I won’t deny that it is hardly an objective experience, unless it is viewed in hindsight. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20.

      And I trust my audience. I especially trust the audience that participates in my life with me. Because this isn’t just the internet. This carries over into the real world with me. You are all very real to me, no matter how near or far.

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