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"In my last post I talked about not wanting to be woken up for sex. I have to admit I was shocked to not get blasted in the comments section for not providing my man with pleasure whenever he felt like it. In fact, one person went so far to ask me if I am always this self-degrading or if I do it for the sake of the readers. Sadly, I am always that hard on myself. But not so sadly, I have just realized this about my personality. I&amp;#039;m a perfectionist! If things are going well, they are SUPER! If they are going poorly, life is IN THE CAN! I don&amp;#039;t tend to live life in a lot of gray areas. This goes for my hair, my toilets and my walls. In fact, just to prove this even more, I actually went to the doctor last week for fear of having a mood disorder. My father was bipolar, so it&amp;#039;s crossed my mind more than once (okay, like a million times) that maybe I have a smaller version of what he has, called BiPolar 2. That&amp;#039;s kind of like Diet Coke with 50% less caffeine. You still buzz and crash, but instead of staying up until 2am and crashing until 10, you&amp;#039;re up until midnight and groggy by 9. The highs and lows aren&amp;#039;t so pronounced, but sometimes, like Diet Coke, you lose weight! The mental illness diet - hooray for the fit and crazies! My doctor looked at me like I was insane (well, I write a sex column and thrift store shop like a junkie, so I&amp;#039;m not entirely normal) and basically said that I could read an interesting book called The Imp of the Mind. It&amp;#039;s about intrusive thoughts (great for writing, not so much for marriage and motherhood) how we blow up emotions out of control and get all freaky with our thoughts when, in reality, they are just thoughts - not the truth. He didn&amp;#039;t say I wasn&amp;#039;t bipolar II (after all, I was late for the appointment and there&amp;#039;s only so much you can diagnose in fifteen minutes) but he certainly didn&amp;#039;t seem convinced there was anything wrong with me that a little talk therapy and time to myself couldn&amp;#039;t fix. After leaving the shrink&amp;#039;s office, I sat down at a deli with my mother and inhaled a Danish the size of Detroit and a cup of coffee that could drown a ferret. I hadn&amp;#039;t had much caffeine and carbs in over a week because, well, I&amp;#039;m EXTREME! God forbid I just back off a bit. Oh, no... it&amp;#039;s about 3 bagels and a six pack of soda or none at all. (And of course lack of my beloved bubbly could not possibly have added to my feelings of fatigue and depression, right?) Behold, after only a half hour of life outside of my motherhood/wifely roles (which I place on myself) I felt alive again! I&amp;#039;m not bipolar - I&amp;#039;m STRESSED. Who&amp;#039;d a thunk? I was so flooded with relief. And I instantly felt happy. Not high, crazy, let&amp;#039;s over sex and spend bipolar happy... just... peaceful. That night, I was more sexually charged than I&amp;#039;ve felt in a long time. Because it&amp;#039;s not about fulfilling everyone&amp;#039;s expectations all the time - including my own (which are the most demanding of all.) It&amp;#039;s about being okay with being who I am - warts and all. (But not vaginal warts. Because that&amp;#039;s not good.) My goal this week? Start journaling and read Imp of the Mind. I will try not to laugh, given the title is named after a dwarf and I&amp;#039;m six foot one. Anyone else out there battling their own perfectionist demons while raising kids and being a wife/partner/office worker/circus clown? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a2967/bipolar-exhausted-and-horny/>