Bibopolar

I'm in charge of everything. I know everything. There's limitless money. I've ordered over 2000 videos on the net and my knowledge is increasing. I'm going on Jeopardy, Who Wants to be a Millionare​ and other game shows. I've ordered all the designer clothes on the net and I know I can afford them. I start typing my novel which I know'll be a best seller. I've got my own TV show lined up and everyone knows who I am and I have movie offers left and right. I have 5000 views on Tiktok, Youtube, and other social media. Life is great and it keeps getting better. I'm planning my celebrity wedding which will easily have over 5,000 people and I look online for where we'll have it. I haven't met him yet but I know when I do he'll be perfect and want to marry me and I want to have everything prepared.  I'm a celebrity. I'm also a model. I've modeled famous dresses, jewelry, lanjera, and other items. Everyone, everywhere knows who I am and is constantly asking for my signature. All the people on planes when I travel (which is all the time) tell me how much they love me and can't wait to see what I do next. I'm a spokeswoman. I'm a star. I'm the one everyone looks to in envy when they see me come home from work. I've met the President and First Lady who said I can visit any time I'd like since I'm so important. Ford, Ferrari, Dodge, and several other companies offer to give me their vehicles and gasoline for free if I just endorse their product which I'll take advantage of once I decide which car I want. Life is great. Of course, I can take a vacation on my private island when the spotlight gets too much for me. I just call up my agent and say I need personal time and he takes care of everything. He's such a sweetheart, but he's married. I'm telling you, I might still convince him to divorce her and marry me instead. I'm a better fit for him. The world is my oyster and I'm the pearl. Everything always goes my way. Like I could run in front of a truck and it would run out of gas a stop before it hit me. I'm invincible. I'm beautiful. Playboy calls me every day to make offers to take nude pictures of me. The fashion magazines do too. I'm so important. Everybody loves me and forgives me on the rare occasion I screw up. Life is great.

*

           Reality check. I'm MPD and bipolar which is a match made in hell. See, one of my personalities goes with my mania (you just met her) and she's irresponsible. Now, I have to figure out what she did and try to reverse it. This is depressing. Call up the credit card companies and ask for each transaction then go to the website and/or check our e-mail to cancel the orders and get a refund. It's the worst when she goes to physical stores and loses receipts. I have at least three MPDs: the me your seeing now, the me on page one, and the me that doesn't give a shit anymore. I want to try to get refunds before I change back or get manic in this personality of manic with either of the other personalities. 

           “Thank you for calling Visa, one of our trained associates will be with you shortly”. Then, she answers and asks how she can help and I have to tell her what my problem is and try to reverse it before the monthly statement comes. It's a PITA. Once she opened up a new credit card in my name but Life Lock caught it. Thank God. I'm pretending to be me and Life Lock caught it. It's been two weeks since I've been in the looney bin. I look down at my shoes and good news, I'm wearing shoelaces. I keep retracing payments and making sure she didn't sign up for payment plans again. 

           Then, I hear a strange noise like jingle, jingle, jingle in my bedroom and I'm in the home office. So, I sigh and walk to the bedroom. Maybe she bought a male whore on the internet: idiot. But, I go to the bedroom and other then a small lump underneath the covers (too small to be human), there's nothing there. Then, I see the blob move and hear, jingle, jingle, jingle. I sigh again and strip the bed where I discover a brown puppy. Looks like a chihuaha, pomeranian, corgi mix. Maybe. But, who cares? What am I going to do with a dog? Who'll pay for the vet, the food, the meds, etc.? Idiot. I look over the dog to see if there's a receipt, but there isn't. I check the bank and the credit card: no pet stores. What? She took in a stray? Idiot. Then, though, it wags it's tail and tries to play with me, so I pet it and wonder what his name is. I look on his collar and his name is SOB. What kind of an idiot would name a dog sob? SOB means son-of-a-bitch, not a good dog name. I look around and find a leash on the nightstand. There's a receipt for the leash. Where's the receipt for the dog? Damn it? Where? So, I walk the dog after picking up an empty grocery bag for the dog's shit. And we walk and he goes and he tugs me along. Then, I feel the transition. Shit. Will it be the lethergic or the manic?

*

           A dog. Why did we get a dog. I just want to let it free so I don't have to deal with it anymore. I'm done. I don't want to see the crazy credit card statements with things like you charged a million dollars then returned the million dollars worth of items, got your money back, and bought and returned like this forty-eight times. Why? Why keep going like this? We may as well just kill ourselves. Damn it, with all this shit that the manic me buys, why can't she ever buy me a gun so I can stop being the go between. Bought, bought, returned, returned. Then, I feel a soft tingling throughout my body.

*

This isn't someone we've had before. Maybe the dog did it. I feel masochistic like shaving my head, hitting myself all over my body until I bleed, shitting backwards in a toilet to make the other ones hate me and have to clean it up. I wonder if there are cliffs around here or anywhere I can buy a hose and duct tape. I'm tired of going through all this shit. Then, I yawn and realize it's time to take a nap, so I do. But, I shift personalities and go both manic and depressive during m nap. Never a dull moment. Then, I go to the local gun store and look at the .22s and I buy one and bullets and think the other one will kill me. And then, I go back to sleep. Poor dog.