So you’ll be pleased to hear that I had my psychiatrist’s appointment this week. It went as well as it usually does. I met my new doctor. They change every 6 months because they get moved from one trust to another, I guess it’s done so that they pick up as much experience as they can get. I’m sure this is good for the doctors but I’m not so sure it’s always good for the patients. Personally I feel like I never know what I’m going to get when they change. Some are nice, some can’t make a decision to save their life (or mine) and some are just plain dismissive.
I went in to my appointment wearing jeans and a smart top plus my usual make up and jewellery which was my first mistake. I look far too stable when I do that. The key to getting good NHS care is to act as nutty as you feel. Some of the people I met (and had to step over) in the waiting room had this down to a fine art. They shook, they shouted, they drank red bull after red bull to get their energy levels to peak performance. One guy read my ‘Wellbeing’ magazine over my shoulder, which was fine, personal bubble not excluding, until he started to dribble. Luckily I’m relatively fit because I found the only way to get away from him was to straddle the coffee table and edge myself down the room.
When Dr G called my name he seemed genuinely ok. I shook his hand and he offered me a seat. Polite, friendly smile, this is all going well so far, I think. He started our meeting by asking me how I’ve been. I told him about my new job, how I’d experienced a hypo-manic episode during the first six weeks and how I was now feeling quite depressed most days and was thinking about taking a handful of pills next Friday (to be specific). He wrote these things down as if he was writing a shopping list. Carrots, chicken nuggets, suicidal tendencies.
Then he used the word that no person who DOESN’T have to live with bipolar should EVER be allowed to use on someone who is afflicted with it. He told me that ‘This is all quite NORMAL for bipolar.’ Normal. NOR-MAL. What the f**k does he know about normal and bipolar?! How can that word even apply to the life I lead? NORMAL!!!!! *Starts shrieking at the laptop as she types furiously*
*Deep breaths.*
*Licks an M&M all over like a long desired lover.*
And calm.
Then he asks me if I’ve heard any voices or seen anything strange.
‘Yes, I say,’ thinking back to the last time I heard from Janice. ‘In February.’
‘No,’ he snaps. ‘I mean in the last week.’
Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that when it comes to hearing voices in your head there is a time when it really does become passé for everyone else around you to keep hearing about it! Next time I’ll keep my delusional behaviour current or I’ll keep it to myself.
It’s at this point that I dare to ask whether there is anything the NHS can do to help me through this difficult time. Do they, for example, provide some sort of counselling service for people who are feeling so low they wonder how much vodka they will need to drink before their liver finally gives out? He looks me in the eye and states that the NHS doesn’t offer anything as basic as counselling. The best he could offer was CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) but why don’t we wait until I have my next blood test for lithium levels? I think this must have been the point at which I snapped because I just remember there being a lot of snot and tears from then on. I’m not quite sure how a blood test will help him decide that I’m actually sick enough to warrant some attention here but his next suggestion just floors me.
He states that I seem to get worse when I’m feeling lonely so the other option he can suggest is that he hospitalises me. But he then tells me that I’ll only be even lonelier in a hospital. As if this is supposed to make me feel cared for in some way.
As I try desperately to calm down through the sobs I notice that my right eye has begun to twitch. The way a serial killer’s might.
So my options are, do nothing, let nature and my paring knife find their own way or go into hospital and be strapped to a bed where I’ll suffer endless loneliness and never be allowed out because my condition only ever seems to deteriorate. Brilliant. Psychiatry at its best.
Anyway, I just had to get all that off my chest. Please feel free to let me know your experiences, NHS based or otherwise. Personally I’m starting to understand why so many turn to drink and drugs.
Showing posts with label chemical imbalance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chemical imbalance. Show all posts
Saturday, 13 September 2014
Saturday, 6 September 2014
30. Pretending To Be Me
More and more lately I’ve been feeling the effects of depression in between the moments of feeling nothing at all. I’m acting a little bit like a pregnant woman right now. I can go from nought to snot inducing crying phase in sixty seconds. And in those moments that’s when the world turns into a dark place. All my fears come rising to the surface, all my pain comes to call and my mind throws things at me which make me feel entirely worthless.
It’s at times like these that I wonder whether I can keep going with all this bipolar nonsense. It’s not as if having an understanding of this condition makes it any easier to live with. It’s not as if talking provides a cure. I’ve come to the realisation lately that there has never been a true moment of clarity in my entire life where I’ve known that the decisions I’m making are mine and mine alone and that I’ll stick with them. I’ve never been happy because from one week to the next something inside me keeps changing the rules. It’s like playing a game that you’re never going to win. And not a cool game like Super Mario or, during the speedier times, Sonic. No, it’s like playing Monopoly over and over again. Or as my husband calls it, Monotony. There is no winning. There’s just hard choices and times when you’re functional and have money and property then times when you can’t function and find you’ve lost everything. But just like the pieces on that board, you’re pretty much alone the whole time.
And the loneliness. Oh how I love that feeling. Not being able to connect to others because you can’t even bring yourself to like what you are. Well thanks for that one, Universe! And what’s the alternative? A ten minute session once every 3-6 months with a trainee psychiatrist, carrying on as best you can, pretending that you are the person you present to everyone, or giving in to it and becoming the insane, vibrating, paranoid, debilitated by OCD fruitcake who needs around the clock care that you know lives just a centimetre or so beneath your skin. There have been so many times in my life when I’ve thought about giving in to that but I’m not sure that giving up would be any better. It seems to me it would take less work to give up than to keep going and from what I understand there are drugs like Diazepam on tap in hospital, which is an incentive, but I’m not sure there’s any coming back from that state. No coming back and no way out.
So I live the lie. The one in which I work to the best of my ability, the one in which I embrace my fate, take my pills every day, wonder quietly about whether I will ever actually make a decision I can live with forever and tell people that I wish there was a cure for bipolar. But even that’s a lie. I don’t wish there was a cure. I wish there was a way to balance the chemicals in my brain so that I was always productive, creative, full of energy and able to do everything in life with ease. I want to be in a permanent state of hypo-mania. Sometimes I wonder whether my constant desire to have the things I can’t reach is born of those times when I’m in a hypo-manic state.
I’m reminded of Tennyson’s poem, ‘In Memoriam A.H.H.’ in which he states ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’. And in contrast, Hunter S. Thompson’s quote ‘You can’t miss what you never had.’ That is my life all over, it seems. The polarity of these two statements mirrors the polarity of my entire existence.
Let me explain.
Tis better to have loved and lost. Tis better to have experienced a period of hypomanic behaviour during which you were productive, creative, happy, wild and carefree than never to have experienced one at all. Then, when you lose that feeling, despite feeling as if your wings have been clipped and the ensuing depression which takes over and the reminder that you once had a hell of a lot more control over your life, this is still a better state to be in, than to NEVER have experienced this state.
You can’t miss what you never had. You never experience hypo-mania, you never know that there is any other way of feeling than the normal range of emotions you go through. Your life is generally calm and collected with no dire need for excitement, no possibility of hallucinations and no desire to leave your life as it is and start a new one in a commune in LA.
So you can see which statement I feel more of an affinity with. Because let’s face it, it really IS worse to have experienced something amazing and then have it taken away from you, despite the fact that state also comes with hallucinations and other such novelties.
So will I ever be happy? Will I ever be content with my lot in life? It would appear this is something I should put to the latest trainee psychiatrist and see what they think. I’m sure they’ll have the answer I seek!
It’s at times like these that I wonder whether I can keep going with all this bipolar nonsense. It’s not as if having an understanding of this condition makes it any easier to live with. It’s not as if talking provides a cure. I’ve come to the realisation lately that there has never been a true moment of clarity in my entire life where I’ve known that the decisions I’m making are mine and mine alone and that I’ll stick with them. I’ve never been happy because from one week to the next something inside me keeps changing the rules. It’s like playing a game that you’re never going to win. And not a cool game like Super Mario or, during the speedier times, Sonic. No, it’s like playing Monopoly over and over again. Or as my husband calls it, Monotony. There is no winning. There’s just hard choices and times when you’re functional and have money and property then times when you can’t function and find you’ve lost everything. But just like the pieces on that board, you’re pretty much alone the whole time.
And the loneliness. Oh how I love that feeling. Not being able to connect to others because you can’t even bring yourself to like what you are. Well thanks for that one, Universe! And what’s the alternative? A ten minute session once every 3-6 months with a trainee psychiatrist, carrying on as best you can, pretending that you are the person you present to everyone, or giving in to it and becoming the insane, vibrating, paranoid, debilitated by OCD fruitcake who needs around the clock care that you know lives just a centimetre or so beneath your skin. There have been so many times in my life when I’ve thought about giving in to that but I’m not sure that giving up would be any better. It seems to me it would take less work to give up than to keep going and from what I understand there are drugs like Diazepam on tap in hospital, which is an incentive, but I’m not sure there’s any coming back from that state. No coming back and no way out.
So I live the lie. The one in which I work to the best of my ability, the one in which I embrace my fate, take my pills every day, wonder quietly about whether I will ever actually make a decision I can live with forever and tell people that I wish there was a cure for bipolar. But even that’s a lie. I don’t wish there was a cure. I wish there was a way to balance the chemicals in my brain so that I was always productive, creative, full of energy and able to do everything in life with ease. I want to be in a permanent state of hypo-mania. Sometimes I wonder whether my constant desire to have the things I can’t reach is born of those times when I’m in a hypo-manic state.
I’m reminded of Tennyson’s poem, ‘In Memoriam A.H.H.’ in which he states ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’. And in contrast, Hunter S. Thompson’s quote ‘You can’t miss what you never had.’ That is my life all over, it seems. The polarity of these two statements mirrors the polarity of my entire existence.
Let me explain.
Tis better to have loved and lost. Tis better to have experienced a period of hypomanic behaviour during which you were productive, creative, happy, wild and carefree than never to have experienced one at all. Then, when you lose that feeling, despite feeling as if your wings have been clipped and the ensuing depression which takes over and the reminder that you once had a hell of a lot more control over your life, this is still a better state to be in, than to NEVER have experienced this state.
You can’t miss what you never had. You never experience hypo-mania, you never know that there is any other way of feeling than the normal range of emotions you go through. Your life is generally calm and collected with no dire need for excitement, no possibility of hallucinations and no desire to leave your life as it is and start a new one in a commune in LA.
So you can see which statement I feel more of an affinity with. Because let’s face it, it really IS worse to have experienced something amazing and then have it taken away from you, despite the fact that state also comes with hallucinations and other such novelties.
So will I ever be happy? Will I ever be content with my lot in life? It would appear this is something I should put to the latest trainee psychiatrist and see what they think. I’m sure they’ll have the answer I seek!
Saturday, 30 August 2014
29. Would You Like Salt With Your Salt?
Today I’m feeling vaguely victorious and vaguely petrified in equal measure. I told you about my diet, right? The one 0where I have to cut out everything but air, acorns and, if I’ve been really good, I might get to sniff the fridge? Well, when I said that diet and exercise wasn’t good for you, I wasn’t kidding. It turns out that the type of diet I’m on is low in salt as well as low sugar, low fat and low flavour.
Now, I started on lithium 2 years ago. I read the little pamphlet that came with it stating what to do with the little white tablets, when to take them, how many to take and what to do if I accidentally start snorting them like cocaine. But after that I kind of forgot about the little pamphlet and got on with my life. So when I started this diet it didn’t occur to me that the odd symptoms I started getting about 2 weeks in were anything more than dietary pains or the effects of a lifetime of living on sugar.
Last week my lips went numb. Just once and just for about ten minutes and I didn’t really think much of it other than ‘that’s odd and I hope that doesn’t happen again’. But it did happen again. And I was tired all the time. Exhausted to my core kind of tired. And then my right hand went numb which, to my dismay, didn’t stop me being able to go to work and type (I mean, what is the POINT of being poisoned slowly if you can’t get a day off out of it?). And my concentration has been awful. All these things I’ve put down to other issues but it turns out that a low salt diet can really affect your lithium levels, raising them to the point where they become toxic. Yet again I ask you, if you suddenly turned radioactive, you’d want a day off work, right?!
Apparently, what happens is your kidneys process both sodium chloride (common table salt) and lithium chloride (not to be confused with table salt. Doesn’t taste nice on your chips… apparently) in the same way. Ie, if you’re dehydrated or don’t have enough salt in your system your kidneys will hold onto what it has got, and invariably that will mean holding on to the lithium too. Your body doesn’t flush these things away in your urine like it normally would and you end up building up a little store. One thing is relatively harmless although again, wouldn’t recommend you put it on your chips after extraction from said kidneys, while the other thing starts to build up to toxic levels. You notice it most when you get the shakes, numb bits of your body, your concentration goes, etc etc. (there’s a much better explanation here: http://bipolarworld.net/Phelps/ph_2005/ph1350.htm).
You’re supposed to speak to your GP before you go on a diet of any kind when taking lithium but this is where things fell down for me. Neither myself, nor the GP or nurse put two and two together and that’s how I’ve ended up with lips like Mick Jagger and no feeling down my right side. Ok, I exaggerate, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.
For those of you in the same position as me (not walking around like one of the undead, just considering dieting is what I mean by that) you might like to read the following guidelines from the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center:
These diet guidelines will help you keep your lithium blood level stable:
• Drink 8 to 10 glasses of water or other liquids every day.
Drinking plenty of fluids is important while you are taking lithium. Not drinking enough liquids may cause lithium levels to rise. You may need even more liquids during hot weather and during exercise when you sweat heavily. To avoid weight gain, select water and other non-caloric beverages.
• Keep your salt intake about the same.
Do not begin a low salt diet without first talking with your doctor or pharmacist. Do not suddenly increase the salt in your diet either. Less salt may cause your lithium level to rise. More salt may cause your lithium level to fall.
Try to keep your intake of these salty foods about the same from day to day: luncheon meats, ham, sausage; canned or processed meats and fish; packaged mixes; most frozen entrees and meals; soups and broths; processed cheeses like American; salted snack foods; soy sauce; smoked foods; olives, pickles; tomato juice; most fast foods; salt, salt containing seasonings and condiments like ketchup and meat sauces.
• Keep your caffeine intake about the same.
Keep amounts of coffee, tea, cola, and other soft drinks with caffeine about the same from day to day. Less caffeine can cause your lithium level to increase; more caffeine can cause your lithium level to decrease.
• Avoid alcoholic beverages.
Check with your doctor or pharmacist about this issue and any questions you have.
• Take lithium with food or milk.
This will reduce possible digestive side effects like nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain.
Now, I started on lithium 2 years ago. I read the little pamphlet that came with it stating what to do with the little white tablets, when to take them, how many to take and what to do if I accidentally start snorting them like cocaine. But after that I kind of forgot about the little pamphlet and got on with my life. So when I started this diet it didn’t occur to me that the odd symptoms I started getting about 2 weeks in were anything more than dietary pains or the effects of a lifetime of living on sugar.
Last week my lips went numb. Just once and just for about ten minutes and I didn’t really think much of it other than ‘that’s odd and I hope that doesn’t happen again’. But it did happen again. And I was tired all the time. Exhausted to my core kind of tired. And then my right hand went numb which, to my dismay, didn’t stop me being able to go to work and type (I mean, what is the POINT of being poisoned slowly if you can’t get a day off out of it?). And my concentration has been awful. All these things I’ve put down to other issues but it turns out that a low salt diet can really affect your lithium levels, raising them to the point where they become toxic. Yet again I ask you, if you suddenly turned radioactive, you’d want a day off work, right?!
Apparently, what happens is your kidneys process both sodium chloride (common table salt) and lithium chloride (not to be confused with table salt. Doesn’t taste nice on your chips… apparently) in the same way. Ie, if you’re dehydrated or don’t have enough salt in your system your kidneys will hold onto what it has got, and invariably that will mean holding on to the lithium too. Your body doesn’t flush these things away in your urine like it normally would and you end up building up a little store. One thing is relatively harmless although again, wouldn’t recommend you put it on your chips after extraction from said kidneys, while the other thing starts to build up to toxic levels. You notice it most when you get the shakes, numb bits of your body, your concentration goes, etc etc. (there’s a much better explanation here: http://bipolarworld.net/Phelps/ph_2005/ph1350.htm).
You’re supposed to speak to your GP before you go on a diet of any kind when taking lithium but this is where things fell down for me. Neither myself, nor the GP or nurse put two and two together and that’s how I’ve ended up with lips like Mick Jagger and no feeling down my right side. Ok, I exaggerate, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.
For those of you in the same position as me (not walking around like one of the undead, just considering dieting is what I mean by that) you might like to read the following guidelines from the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center:
These diet guidelines will help you keep your lithium blood level stable:
• Drink 8 to 10 glasses of water or other liquids every day.
Drinking plenty of fluids is important while you are taking lithium. Not drinking enough liquids may cause lithium levels to rise. You may need even more liquids during hot weather and during exercise when you sweat heavily. To avoid weight gain, select water and other non-caloric beverages.
• Keep your salt intake about the same.
Do not begin a low salt diet without first talking with your doctor or pharmacist. Do not suddenly increase the salt in your diet either. Less salt may cause your lithium level to rise. More salt may cause your lithium level to fall.
Try to keep your intake of these salty foods about the same from day to day: luncheon meats, ham, sausage; canned or processed meats and fish; packaged mixes; most frozen entrees and meals; soups and broths; processed cheeses like American; salted snack foods; soy sauce; smoked foods; olives, pickles; tomato juice; most fast foods; salt, salt containing seasonings and condiments like ketchup and meat sauces.
• Keep your caffeine intake about the same.
Keep amounts of coffee, tea, cola, and other soft drinks with caffeine about the same from day to day. Less caffeine can cause your lithium level to increase; more caffeine can cause your lithium level to decrease.
• Avoid alcoholic beverages.
Check with your doctor or pharmacist about this issue and any questions you have.
• Take lithium with food or milk.
This will reduce possible digestive side effects like nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain.
Saturday, 23 August 2014
28. From One Extreme to Another
This week I’m a lot more up and down than I expected to be. This is obviously not one of those periods of remission that I’ve read about! In this week’s blog I’m going to talk to you about some upsetting things so be warned. If you’re not feeling up to it, skip this blog and either come back to it another time or just pretend it never existed. I won’t be offended.
Last Friday I worked from home (that’s not the upsetting bit. Hold your horses!) and as I’ve explained to you previously, I don’t do well with being on my own for long periods. Even half an hour can be a bit of a stretch if I’m in one of those moods. Anyway, I noticed that as the day went on my thoughts became more and more dark and irrational. At the time they didn’t seem irrational, they seemed like valid worries that might affect the rest of my life, but looking back on them now, I can see that if I’d been able to anchor them just a little bit more in reality it’s possible I might not have got in such a state.
What I mean is, I was thinking about my marriage. Often when I’m down everything that I don’t have in life, everything I want but can’t reach and every reason for not being able to progress with my life falls to restrictions caused by my marriage. I don’t know why this is particularly or even whether there is any validity in it at all, but that’s how I feel when I’m down.
For example, I want to earn a bit more so we can go on holiday and travel. My hubby wants to give up work and start a business which I know we’ll struggle with. It will be stressful and there will be no money for years, if ever. We very rarely want the same things in life. So I think about what life would be like if we weren’t together. I think about moving out. How would I cope? I’d be exhausted, life wouldn’t be good, but then life’s not good now. The more I think about it the more depressed I become. So what’s the alternative? And that’s usually when I think to myself that there is no alternative and I may as well end it all now. You see. Not a very rational argument seeing as lots of people have split or got divorced and they manage somehow. But this is the thinking of someone for whom logic isn’t high on the agenda right now.
You know what scares me most about a suicide attempt? The thought of surviving.
I don’t want to have to go through years more counselling, justifying to everyone why life was just too tiring and altogether too much in that moment and probably always will be. I don’t want to have to explain to anyone I love why they weren’t enough to keep me here when in reality nothing could keep me here. For some of us suicide is an option only in as far as when it will happen, not if it will happen. And I think that’s because for some of us the disorder we carry around in our heads is priming us to self-destruct.
I don’t mean all this to be doom and gloom. It’s hard to discuss this subject without upsetting someone in some way. I‘m just telling you how I see things for me. You may agree, you may not.
Then yesterday I was listening to a lesson run by a life coach. She was very inspiring and I always feel uplifted after such talks. But she said something which made me think about my stance on suicide. She was talking about people’s pasts, saying that your past should not hold you back or stop you from trying again and making a success of things in the future. She then said that you have to align your frequency to the plan the universe has set out for you. Now this bit does sound a bit Star Trek but nevertheless her point was valid.
She continued to say that each of us is made happier when we align our actions with our desires, ie, if you want to become a vet, you don’t go to accountancy classes. If you do you’ll be miserable because you’ll be ignoring your inner desire and never allow yourself to work towards that goal. However, if you make the decision to follow the path that has been set out for you, ie, enhance your own abilities in areas you are naturally drawn towards, it will lead to you contributing something worthwhile to the world. If you align your frequency to the path the universe has assigned you, you will be happier.
Then she said that in essence everything is dictated by the universe. None of us would be here if the universe hadn’t allowed it, if life hadn’t been breathed into you. I know this is all a little hairy-fairy but it made me think that perhaps suicide is not my decision to make after all. I’ve been given this life by something else out there. For some that might be god, for others the universe. I have always assumed it is my life force to take and do with as I please, but she made me wonder whether I really have a right to fling it back at the universe when I’m done with it?
I know from my own experiences and how debilitating depression can be that there are those people out there who really can’t hold on any longer. For whom life is just too painful. I also know from a lot of years’ experience that if you hold on for just a bit longer you can often find something worth holding on for. My psychiatrist told me once that these desperate thoughts and feelings are a symptom of bipolar disorder and I will always get better if I give it time. As a symptom of an illness it’s pretty extreme, but he’s right. You get a cold, you’re going to experience the symptoms, that doesn’t mean the cold has to define your actual thoughts and feelings about life. If you’re going through a similar state to the one I’ve described then have faith that in another day or two you will have come through the worst of it.
This is one of those subjects I didn’t really know whether to broach in a blog. I certainly don’t want anyone thinking I advocate the idea, despite me saying I don’t judge those who must be in so much pain they feel they have no choice in the matter. However, it is a subject that, as bipolar sufferers, I suspect we’ve all faced in the past and possibly will do again. I hope that knowing there is someone out there who knows what you’re going through will help at least, and I’d like you to know that having you guys to share with helps me too.
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/14/us/suicide-prevention-sheds-a-longstanding-taboo-talking-about-attempts.html?smid=fb-nytimes&WT.z_sma=US_SPS_20140414&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1388552400000&bicmet=1420088400000&_r=3
Last Friday I worked from home (that’s not the upsetting bit. Hold your horses!) and as I’ve explained to you previously, I don’t do well with being on my own for long periods. Even half an hour can be a bit of a stretch if I’m in one of those moods. Anyway, I noticed that as the day went on my thoughts became more and more dark and irrational. At the time they didn’t seem irrational, they seemed like valid worries that might affect the rest of my life, but looking back on them now, I can see that if I’d been able to anchor them just a little bit more in reality it’s possible I might not have got in such a state.
What I mean is, I was thinking about my marriage. Often when I’m down everything that I don’t have in life, everything I want but can’t reach and every reason for not being able to progress with my life falls to restrictions caused by my marriage. I don’t know why this is particularly or even whether there is any validity in it at all, but that’s how I feel when I’m down.
For example, I want to earn a bit more so we can go on holiday and travel. My hubby wants to give up work and start a business which I know we’ll struggle with. It will be stressful and there will be no money for years, if ever. We very rarely want the same things in life. So I think about what life would be like if we weren’t together. I think about moving out. How would I cope? I’d be exhausted, life wouldn’t be good, but then life’s not good now. The more I think about it the more depressed I become. So what’s the alternative? And that’s usually when I think to myself that there is no alternative and I may as well end it all now. You see. Not a very rational argument seeing as lots of people have split or got divorced and they manage somehow. But this is the thinking of someone for whom logic isn’t high on the agenda right now.
You know what scares me most about a suicide attempt? The thought of surviving.
I don’t want to have to go through years more counselling, justifying to everyone why life was just too tiring and altogether too much in that moment and probably always will be. I don’t want to have to explain to anyone I love why they weren’t enough to keep me here when in reality nothing could keep me here. For some of us suicide is an option only in as far as when it will happen, not if it will happen. And I think that’s because for some of us the disorder we carry around in our heads is priming us to self-destruct.
I don’t mean all this to be doom and gloom. It’s hard to discuss this subject without upsetting someone in some way. I‘m just telling you how I see things for me. You may agree, you may not.
Then yesterday I was listening to a lesson run by a life coach. She was very inspiring and I always feel uplifted after such talks. But she said something which made me think about my stance on suicide. She was talking about people’s pasts, saying that your past should not hold you back or stop you from trying again and making a success of things in the future. She then said that you have to align your frequency to the plan the universe has set out for you. Now this bit does sound a bit Star Trek but nevertheless her point was valid.
She continued to say that each of us is made happier when we align our actions with our desires, ie, if you want to become a vet, you don’t go to accountancy classes. If you do you’ll be miserable because you’ll be ignoring your inner desire and never allow yourself to work towards that goal. However, if you make the decision to follow the path that has been set out for you, ie, enhance your own abilities in areas you are naturally drawn towards, it will lead to you contributing something worthwhile to the world. If you align your frequency to the path the universe has assigned you, you will be happier.
Then she said that in essence everything is dictated by the universe. None of us would be here if the universe hadn’t allowed it, if life hadn’t been breathed into you. I know this is all a little hairy-fairy but it made me think that perhaps suicide is not my decision to make after all. I’ve been given this life by something else out there. For some that might be god, for others the universe. I have always assumed it is my life force to take and do with as I please, but she made me wonder whether I really have a right to fling it back at the universe when I’m done with it?
I know from my own experiences and how debilitating depression can be that there are those people out there who really can’t hold on any longer. For whom life is just too painful. I also know from a lot of years’ experience that if you hold on for just a bit longer you can often find something worth holding on for. My psychiatrist told me once that these desperate thoughts and feelings are a symptom of bipolar disorder and I will always get better if I give it time. As a symptom of an illness it’s pretty extreme, but he’s right. You get a cold, you’re going to experience the symptoms, that doesn’t mean the cold has to define your actual thoughts and feelings about life. If you’re going through a similar state to the one I’ve described then have faith that in another day or two you will have come through the worst of it.
This is one of those subjects I didn’t really know whether to broach in a blog. I certainly don’t want anyone thinking I advocate the idea, despite me saying I don’t judge those who must be in so much pain they feel they have no choice in the matter. However, it is a subject that, as bipolar sufferers, I suspect we’ve all faced in the past and possibly will do again. I hope that knowing there is someone out there who knows what you’re going through will help at least, and I’d like you to know that having you guys to share with helps me too.
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/14/us/suicide-prevention-sheds-a-longstanding-taboo-talking-about-attempts.html?smid=fb-nytimes&WT.z_sma=US_SPS_20140414&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1388552400000&bicmet=1420088400000&_r=3
Saturday, 9 August 2014
26. It's ALL about ME!
I’ve been feeling sorry for myself the last few days, I can tell you. It’s partly to do with this story I’m writing and all the stuff it’s kicking up from my past and partly because I’m still feeling very shaky about things in my personal life and relationship. I’m one of those people who is always looking for the next thing that will make me happy. And that next thing never turns out to be enough. I blame my childhood.
In fact, the more I look back at my past the more I realise just how often I was having episodes which could be attributed to bipolar (although mild, I think they were definitely there, and my husband agrees). I wonder now whether I always had it. This is a big deal for me. I was only diagnosed in my thirties and was happier thinking that it was brought on by my nervous breakdown than I was thinking that I was always a bit defective.
I was a very sensitive child. I could over-empathise to the point of driving myself into a worse state that the person I was empathising with. The thought of global warming turned me into a nervous wreck from the age of 8 onward. I even had suicidal thoughts then. What was the point of carrying on, it seemed, if we were all going to drown, freeze to death or perish under a fireball from the sun?
I had terrible OCDs. I couldn’t fill an ice cube tray with water and put it in the freezer if I’d been thinking about anyone I loved because it would mean their essence would be frozen and they’d be in pain because of me! I was terrified throughout most of my childhood of all the man-made issues in the world, not to mention the issues of abandonment I was dealing with when my parents divorced, the loss of people and things that meant a lot to me, a lack of love from my mother, no guidance of any kind from adults in my life and an inability to talk about my problems when there was no one there to listen anyway. Is it any wonder I turned into a little bag of nuts?
http://www.inforum.com/event/article/id/430212/group/Life/ - Half of all lifetime cases of mental illness begin by 14.
My husband says that my need to be adored and desire to be the centre of attention is due to the bipolar but I’m not so sure. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. Not in the way you’re thinking. Yes, I want to be successful and happy, but in an understated way. I want my talent and what I can do to be recognised.
I think all that stems from being a little girl with no one to give her what she needed. I’ve spent my entire adult life, and continue to spend it, fixing the problems that that life installed in me. I think what he actually means is, it’s very easy to fall into the trap of becoming a little self-absorbed when every day you have to be very aware of your own feelings, thoughts, rationale, and logic in order to assess how well you are.
This is why, when I see others suffering, I feel bad that I am this self-absorbed person, always asking that my needs be met no matter how illogical or outlandish they might be at times. I came into work this morning and my colleague is in a bad way. He seems very stressed and exhausted. Because he’s a work colleague I don’t know him well enough to probe so in a roundabout way of cheering him up I asked him to help me with the new software licensing acronyms that we’re going to add to our asset management system. I’m pleased to announce that we came up with the following, and a job well done I might add:
Ass.LicK - Assigned License Keys
U.Ass.LicK – Unassigned License Keys
SNot.LicK – Secure Notes License Keys
In fact, the more I look back at my past the more I realise just how often I was having episodes which could be attributed to bipolar (although mild, I think they were definitely there, and my husband agrees). I wonder now whether I always had it. This is a big deal for me. I was only diagnosed in my thirties and was happier thinking that it was brought on by my nervous breakdown than I was thinking that I was always a bit defective.
I was a very sensitive child. I could over-empathise to the point of driving myself into a worse state that the person I was empathising with. The thought of global warming turned me into a nervous wreck from the age of 8 onward. I even had suicidal thoughts then. What was the point of carrying on, it seemed, if we were all going to drown, freeze to death or perish under a fireball from the sun?
I had terrible OCDs. I couldn’t fill an ice cube tray with water and put it in the freezer if I’d been thinking about anyone I loved because it would mean their essence would be frozen and they’d be in pain because of me! I was terrified throughout most of my childhood of all the man-made issues in the world, not to mention the issues of abandonment I was dealing with when my parents divorced, the loss of people and things that meant a lot to me, a lack of love from my mother, no guidance of any kind from adults in my life and an inability to talk about my problems when there was no one there to listen anyway. Is it any wonder I turned into a little bag of nuts?
http://www.inforum.com/event/article/id/430212/group/Life/ - Half of all lifetime cases of mental illness begin by 14.
My husband says that my need to be adored and desire to be the centre of attention is due to the bipolar but I’m not so sure. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. Not in the way you’re thinking. Yes, I want to be successful and happy, but in an understated way. I want my talent and what I can do to be recognised.
I think all that stems from being a little girl with no one to give her what she needed. I’ve spent my entire adult life, and continue to spend it, fixing the problems that that life installed in me. I think what he actually means is, it’s very easy to fall into the trap of becoming a little self-absorbed when every day you have to be very aware of your own feelings, thoughts, rationale, and logic in order to assess how well you are.
This is why, when I see others suffering, I feel bad that I am this self-absorbed person, always asking that my needs be met no matter how illogical or outlandish they might be at times. I came into work this morning and my colleague is in a bad way. He seems very stressed and exhausted. Because he’s a work colleague I don’t know him well enough to probe so in a roundabout way of cheering him up I asked him to help me with the new software licensing acronyms that we’re going to add to our asset management system. I’m pleased to announce that we came up with the following, and a job well done I might add:
Ass.LicK - Assigned License Keys
U.Ass.LicK – Unassigned License Keys
SNot.LicK – Secure Notes License Keys
Saturday, 2 August 2014
25. What’s Wrong With Wiping Your Nose On A Nun?
A few people have mentioned to me now how lithium has affected their weight and that they find it harder to lose that weight once it’s on. I don’t know if this is because the medication affects metabolism or perhaps makes you crave certain foods. I know I have recently been told my entire diet revolves around eating sugar. It’s in everything I drink, eat, snort… just kidding. You can’t snort Smarties. I’ve tried. And the doctor has put me on a really strict diet to help reduce my risk of diabetes and other nasty symptoms.
Oh believe me, I fought it. I argued that I get enough exercise jigging about during my manic episodes and that I suffer from rapid cycling, which sounds far too close to a form of exercise for me to want to take part voluntarily.
But I lost that argument. So I’m sitting here typing next to a bowl of something green (that can’t be natural, surely) and the prospect of a dinner of aromatic lentils which even the cat wouldn’t go near the last time I prepared them. I’ll let you know if I actually lose any weight. I’ve been on the diet for nearly 2 weeks now and I complained to my colleague yesterday that I’m sick of eating tasteless salads. He told me that dieting is a journey of discovery. That I should look at it as a way of enhancing my self-discipline (how can you enhance something you never had in the first place?). As far as a journey of discovery goes, I’m quite looking forward to discovering just how many chins nature intended for me to have.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2602630/I-pooped-like-freaking-clockwork-What-happened-one-family-went-sugar-free-diet-one-year.html - Check out this article on how one family managed to get through a year on a sugar-free diet.
I’ve also started writing a bit more lately, which is nice. I think. I’ve actually found that when I try to write from the heart I usually end up writing about childhood. I had a rough time as a kid, as do a lot of people. But it would seem that if I start to dig deep it’s always that time that pops up and grabs the pen.
It’s been emotional writing about events I had hoped I’d put behind me but in some ways the fact that I’m an emotional wreck (crying on the train, in the supermarket, on that nun, etc) is good because this time I have a reason for it. You know what it’s like, right? Being down, crying for no reason, feeling like life is just too hard sometimes. And usually that’s all down to the chemicals in your brain. So when you have a REASON for reacting that way, it’s almost comforting! I’ll let you know how it goes. It may be my big break into writing and this time next year I’ll be collecting my BAFTA (I’ve already written my speech. Hey, writer’s write).
Oh believe me, I fought it. I argued that I get enough exercise jigging about during my manic episodes and that I suffer from rapid cycling, which sounds far too close to a form of exercise for me to want to take part voluntarily.
But I lost that argument. So I’m sitting here typing next to a bowl of something green (that can’t be natural, surely) and the prospect of a dinner of aromatic lentils which even the cat wouldn’t go near the last time I prepared them. I’ll let you know if I actually lose any weight. I’ve been on the diet for nearly 2 weeks now and I complained to my colleague yesterday that I’m sick of eating tasteless salads. He told me that dieting is a journey of discovery. That I should look at it as a way of enhancing my self-discipline (how can you enhance something you never had in the first place?). As far as a journey of discovery goes, I’m quite looking forward to discovering just how many chins nature intended for me to have.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2602630/I-pooped-like-freaking-clockwork-What-happened-one-family-went-sugar-free-diet-one-year.html - Check out this article on how one family managed to get through a year on a sugar-free diet.
I’ve also started writing a bit more lately, which is nice. I think. I’ve actually found that when I try to write from the heart I usually end up writing about childhood. I had a rough time as a kid, as do a lot of people. But it would seem that if I start to dig deep it’s always that time that pops up and grabs the pen.
It’s been emotional writing about events I had hoped I’d put behind me but in some ways the fact that I’m an emotional wreck (crying on the train, in the supermarket, on that nun, etc) is good because this time I have a reason for it. You know what it’s like, right? Being down, crying for no reason, feeling like life is just too hard sometimes. And usually that’s all down to the chemicals in your brain. So when you have a REASON for reacting that way, it’s almost comforting! I’ll let you know how it goes. It may be my big break into writing and this time next year I’ll be collecting my BAFTA (I’ve already written my speech. Hey, writer’s write).
Saturday, 5 July 2014
21. Over The Bills And Dales
Wandering into Lynmouth the next day we were still smarting a little from the bill we’d received from the art gallery trying desperately to justify it by reminding ourselves that we haven’t had a holiday or weekend off in over a year.
On our way down the hill from our hotel we noticed a sign for another hotel, tucked away in the woods like a little fairy-tale cottage. It looked lovely so I suggested we walk down the long, winding, tree-lined road to the hotel and check it out for our next visit. Half way down the lane it turned cold under the shadow of the leafy trees and it started to feel as though we’d walked out of our own space and time and into a creepy fairy tale. To get to the cottage you had to follow a path which descended into the woods and the closer you got to the building the more it loomed above you. It was looking less like a cottage and more like a small castle by the time we reached it. Turrets strutted out from its rooftops and inside we could see grandly decorated veneered fireplaces surrounded by plush high backed chairs and shelves of old books.
We wandered to the front of the building where a balcony overlooked the hillside down to the sea and that’s when it happened. The large door to the castle opened slowly and with a loud and ominous creek. Both my hubby and I turned to see someone peering at us through the dark crack in the door.
‘You rang?’
I swear to God that’s what he said!
‘I’m sorry?’ I asked.
‘You rang for cream teas?’
‘Oh. No, we’re just looking around,’ I said and we both stood in silence as the large door creaked to a close again.
My husband turned to me and said ‘Welcoming.’
We practically ran back up the road to civilisation, all the way joking that the man’s mother would have asked him to invite the nice people in and put them up in the guest wing but that she’d turn out to be just a voice in his head because she’d actually died 50 years ago. And not like the nice voices in my head that encourage me to buy ice creams and giggle when people trip. She’d be the kind that makes him feel bad about standing over your bed at night watching you sleep, as he tries to hold himself back from touching you!
When we made it back to our own century we eventually happened across a small combined pottery studio and artists workshop. We went inside, weary from our short walk down a bit of a hill (what? We’re on holiday). And inside were some more beautiful things! Paintings of spitfires, boats, landscapes, animals. A whole variety all in different styles and then I realised that a picture of a hare with the most amazing expression on its face was one I recognised from the gallery we’d been in the day before. In fact it was probably the ONLY picture I didn’t buy, even though I wanted to.
The name of the artist was Dale Bowen and looking over at the artist at the workbench I said ‘I love this guy. We just bought some of his work in Linton.’
The artist mumbled something I didn’t really hear and so I carried on, as I do.
‘I like his pictures of rams in spaceships.’ What? I do! Art is subjective, people.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he mumbled a bit more clearly this time.
‘Say what now?’
‘That’s me. I’m Dale.’
… silence… awe… shock…
And then it was like meeting three people all in one body. He was Billy Connelly, mixed with some bloke from Stoke on Trent mixed with Michael MacIntyre. He wasn’t just A character, he was several characters. All of whom were very nice guys.
He showed us his work from when he was working for Wedgewood and when we told him we have family in Portsmouth he proceeded to tell us about the time he was asked to make and decorate a plaque for the Battle of Trafalgar 200 years celebrations at Portsmouth Naval Museum. The plaque was to be presented to her Majesty The Queen onboard HMS Victory. He was allowed to bring the plaque in and set it but was then escorted off the base by two burly sailors. The rest of the story mostly involved being in the pub while he waited for his train and being bought pints by all the nice people he met there.
Once my hubby told him he’d owned a bike shop they were both happy as Larry comparing bikes and stories of riding trips. It was, all in all, a very pleasant afternoon and I was sad to leave. Of course I did buy the hare picture and Dale kindly signed a card for me which had his ‘Through The Treetops’ picture on the front. He even drew a pom pom fuzzy creature on it for me. I was chuffed.
Meeting Dale made my entire weekend. I know, it was a close call between him and Mr No Pants, but I think Dale just inched it… euw, I think I’m going to rethink that line.
On our way down the hill from our hotel we noticed a sign for another hotel, tucked away in the woods like a little fairy-tale cottage. It looked lovely so I suggested we walk down the long, winding, tree-lined road to the hotel and check it out for our next visit. Half way down the lane it turned cold under the shadow of the leafy trees and it started to feel as though we’d walked out of our own space and time and into a creepy fairy tale. To get to the cottage you had to follow a path which descended into the woods and the closer you got to the building the more it loomed above you. It was looking less like a cottage and more like a small castle by the time we reached it. Turrets strutted out from its rooftops and inside we could see grandly decorated veneered fireplaces surrounded by plush high backed chairs and shelves of old books.
We wandered to the front of the building where a balcony overlooked the hillside down to the sea and that’s when it happened. The large door to the castle opened slowly and with a loud and ominous creek. Both my hubby and I turned to see someone peering at us through the dark crack in the door.
‘You rang?’
I swear to God that’s what he said!
‘I’m sorry?’ I asked.
‘You rang for cream teas?’
‘Oh. No, we’re just looking around,’ I said and we both stood in silence as the large door creaked to a close again.
My husband turned to me and said ‘Welcoming.’
We practically ran back up the road to civilisation, all the way joking that the man’s mother would have asked him to invite the nice people in and put them up in the guest wing but that she’d turn out to be just a voice in his head because she’d actually died 50 years ago. And not like the nice voices in my head that encourage me to buy ice creams and giggle when people trip. She’d be the kind that makes him feel bad about standing over your bed at night watching you sleep, as he tries to hold himself back from touching you!
When we made it back to our own century we eventually happened across a small combined pottery studio and artists workshop. We went inside, weary from our short walk down a bit of a hill (what? We’re on holiday). And inside were some more beautiful things! Paintings of spitfires, boats, landscapes, animals. A whole variety all in different styles and then I realised that a picture of a hare with the most amazing expression on its face was one I recognised from the gallery we’d been in the day before. In fact it was probably the ONLY picture I didn’t buy, even though I wanted to.
The name of the artist was Dale Bowen and looking over at the artist at the workbench I said ‘I love this guy. We just bought some of his work in Linton.’
The artist mumbled something I didn’t really hear and so I carried on, as I do.
‘I like his pictures of rams in spaceships.’ What? I do! Art is subjective, people.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he mumbled a bit more clearly this time.
‘Say what now?’
‘That’s me. I’m Dale.’
… silence… awe… shock…
And then it was like meeting three people all in one body. He was Billy Connelly, mixed with some bloke from Stoke on Trent mixed with Michael MacIntyre. He wasn’t just A character, he was several characters. All of whom were very nice guys.
He showed us his work from when he was working for Wedgewood and when we told him we have family in Portsmouth he proceeded to tell us about the time he was asked to make and decorate a plaque for the Battle of Trafalgar 200 years celebrations at Portsmouth Naval Museum. The plaque was to be presented to her Majesty The Queen onboard HMS Victory. He was allowed to bring the plaque in and set it but was then escorted off the base by two burly sailors. The rest of the story mostly involved being in the pub while he waited for his train and being bought pints by all the nice people he met there.
Once my hubby told him he’d owned a bike shop they were both happy as Larry comparing bikes and stories of riding trips. It was, all in all, a very pleasant afternoon and I was sad to leave. Of course I did buy the hare picture and Dale kindly signed a card for me which had his ‘Through The Treetops’ picture on the front. He even drew a pom pom fuzzy creature on it for me. I was chuffed.
Meeting Dale made my entire weekend. I know, it was a close call between him and Mr No Pants, but I think Dale just inched it… euw, I think I’m going to rethink that line.
Saturday, 28 June 2014
20. Mr Starey And The Case Of The Missing Pants
My hubby has decided that we need a break (a holiday break, not an ‘I’m leaving and I’m taking the hamster’ break) and so he has booked a weekend away for us in Devon. Now I’m quite geographically challenged so if the place I describe sounds more like Weymouth, don’t be surprised.
We decided that Linton was the place for us. We’ve been before, about twelve years ago and loved it, partly because it’s sleepy and relaxing out of season and partly because it has a fantastic art gallery which very kindly takes lots of money off of us in exchange for beautiful things which would be pointless in a flood. Not sure why that’s relevant but my thinking is that sometimes you have to have beautiful things in your life, even if using them for kindling in an apocalyptic situation might break your heart. I guess it’s them or the cat and I’m not sure the cat would make good kindling. If you ate a cat would it taste like Whiskas? Just a thought.
Anyway, Linton is a great place. It’s a secret St Ives in my opinion. Years ago St Ives was a place artistic types could go to be inspired by the sea, make pottery and remain drunk or stoned throughout high season with everyone else being far too busy to notice. I’d say that between 50-75% of the business owners, artists and residents that we met in Linton fell within the category ‘child of the sixties’. I’m not sure I had an entirely sensible conversation with a single one of them.
The hotel played awful fifties music at breakfast which was, thankfully, the only time we were there to endure it. I honestly believe that songs with the words ‘Gee’ and ‘Whizz’ should probably be reclassified as offensive and never played again except by old people, in their own kitchens, at home. If grandkids call round there must be a strong cease and desist policy lest they be charged with child abuse and if the neighbours can hear it because the oldies have their back door ajar, a complaint should be sent to the council and the couple considered for immediate eviction.
It was worse than when we went to Bulgaria around 10 years ago. There they played Eminem morning noon and night. Eminem at breakfast. Eminem at dinner. Eminem in the lifts. Eminem in the public loo. I’m not sure if he was paying them or they were paying him but there was some sort of underhanded deal going on.
We quickly found the gallery we love and decided, as you do, that we were only going to look this time and if we bought something it would be one picture at a sensible price. Two hours later we found ourselves shoe-horning 4 extremely large pictures into my Toyota Aygo which has a boot the size of a postage stamp. We considered we may have to leave the suitcases behind but I can buy clothes anywhere. This is ART!
The first evening there we booked into a Spanish restaurant which had about 7 tables squeezed into it. The buzz of the place was nice but when you’re sitting elbow to elbow with people you’ve got to hope they’ll be nice, normal folks.
To my left I had a man who wouldn’t stop staring at me the entire night. I don’t think he was looking at anything in particular, he just seemed to want to peer into my soul and choke it to death with his cold, dead eyes - that’s all.
To my right was a man wearing flesh coloured trousers and a red jumper, which was equally as disturbing as Mr Starey simply because whenever I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, it looked as if he was wearing nothing BUT a red jumper. I kept wanting him to get up so I could wipe the seat down.
As the night went on Mr Starey proceeded to develop a cold or perhaps an allergy to sanity and sneezed loudly into his own hand on several occasions. This wasn’t so bad because it did mean he had to take his eyes off me while he wiped said hand on his khakis. Relief from one awful habit was followed only by the taste of my own sick as another revealed itself.
The food was actually very nice. We had a selection of tapas. Meatballs, lemon prawns, crostini, pork skewers and olives. All of which were lovely. The lemon prawns in particular reminded me of those wipes you used to get in a small metallic wrapper. You take them out, wipe your hands and invariably somehow get the taste of lemon soap in your mouth. Yes, very reminiscent of flights to Amsterdam.
End of day one.
Saturday, 7 June 2014
17. Irrational? Me?! Screw you... Nan!!
They say that both bipolar type 1 and 2 are synonymous with irrational behaviour and feelings. I know the most common feeling I experience which is highly irrational is loneliness. I can be on a crowded train, surrounded by people and feeling happy one minute. The next minute I’ll feel I have to reach out to somebody right now or I might die of the desperate feeling that’s just slammed into me. The loneliness feels as if it’s eating me from the inside out and I know it’s irrational even when it’s happening, even when I’m desperately checking Facebook for the ten thousandth time for a comment or a sign that someone is online to talk to.
Most recently I’ve been chatting via text to a friend of mine every day. We discuss creative things we both like, writing, photography, websites, films etc. This week he told me he was going away for 2 days. He was taking his phone, he could still text but he wasn’t going to be in the place that I always imagine him when he usually texts me, he was going to be miles away. We’ve gone long periods without talking before but once I knew he was going away up North I suddenly felt extremely lonely, when in reality nothing was going to be any different.
I think this is a throw-back to the days when I was constantly depressed. I suffered due to the feeling of loneliness then too. I remember once being at a cocktail party (it wasn’t a posh one, it was one where everyone ended up showing their knickers at the end of the night). At one point I looked around and I wondered if everyone there was pretending too, if the happiness and the smiles were all plastered on, just like mine. And I felt incredibly lonely in that room full of friends.
I think what bothers me is that when I get two seconds of peace from my ever churning and changing emotions I realise that there’s no way I want to be like this. Those moments of peace are like waking from a bad dream in which all irrational feelings and odd behaviours have seemed entirely normal. It’s only upon waking from it that you realise they are far from normal, but by then you’ve probably lost a friend or two or become obsessive to the point you’ve driven someone away.
I wouldn’t mind if the doctors could tell you what’s going on in your own brain. Why it’s backfiring and conspiring against you to make you unsociable and odd to the extreme. But they can’t. They tell me it’s a chemical imbalance but they don’t even know which chemicals are playing see-saw in my brain.
So if pumping 1 in every 100 people full of battery components does the trick most of the time I guess we have to go along with it. I love the lithium and the effect it has on my tired yet busy brain. But just like the symptoms it aims to control, I find I’m totally at its mercy.
I often find I become more than a little fixated on things. I look to Facebook one hundred times a day for someone to reach out to and when I’m met with the standard ‘Like’ in response to my posts I find myself feeling even more desperate and alone.
What I want to write:
“Do you ever hate your life so much you can feel it crushing your chest? Have you ever felt so lonely you think you’re going to drown in sadness? Do you feel as if your insides are empty of everything except liquid pain sloshing about in the gaps between your ribs? No. Me neither (except I do really).”
What I actually write:
(Post a picture of me looking happy with my family).
“You can tell we’re related by the genetic uni-brow.”
I usually try to make the posts I write funny, but at times they hide what I’m really trying to say which is ‘I’m drowning here. I need someone to reach out and save me.’ The funnier the posts, the more frequent, the more I’ll find I’m flailing and the more dependent I become on nothing more than a networking site to quell my loneliness. And so today I wrote this note to Facebook as a way of trying to break my dependency.
“You know what, Facebook? We’ve had some great times together. No, some AMAZING times. Remember the time you posted a picture of a seagull dive-bombing me on the beach in Spain and me and my friends all laughed and laughed? Ahh, good times.
“The trouble is that just lately I keep feeling like our relationship is taking a lot of effort. And I feel as though I’m the one putting in all the work, if I’m honest.
“I hate to tell you this, but I’ve started using Blogger. I’m sorry, I can see the pain on your face… book. The thing is, it just feels so easy. No short, stunted sentences or awkward jokes. I don’t have to hide behind the laughs and I don’t have to check in monotonously. Blogger just lets me talk and talk and be myself and when we’re done I just walk away. Sometimes for days.
“So I guess what I’m trying to say is… I think we need some space. I need to get my head straight. Stop looking so hurt. I know you see other people. The evidence is there for all to see, so don’t bother denying it.
“It’s over, ok? I’m sorry, but we’re done. At least until Friday when I’ll undoubtedly weaken after a glass of wine and pine for the length of your timeline like I always do.
“Just know that no matter what happens from here on in, I’ll always love you.”
Most recently I’ve been chatting via text to a friend of mine every day. We discuss creative things we both like, writing, photography, websites, films etc. This week he told me he was going away for 2 days. He was taking his phone, he could still text but he wasn’t going to be in the place that I always imagine him when he usually texts me, he was going to be miles away. We’ve gone long periods without talking before but once I knew he was going away up North I suddenly felt extremely lonely, when in reality nothing was going to be any different.
I think this is a throw-back to the days when I was constantly depressed. I suffered due to the feeling of loneliness then too. I remember once being at a cocktail party (it wasn’t a posh one, it was one where everyone ended up showing their knickers at the end of the night). At one point I looked around and I wondered if everyone there was pretending too, if the happiness and the smiles were all plastered on, just like mine. And I felt incredibly lonely in that room full of friends.
I think what bothers me is that when I get two seconds of peace from my ever churning and changing emotions I realise that there’s no way I want to be like this. Those moments of peace are like waking from a bad dream in which all irrational feelings and odd behaviours have seemed entirely normal. It’s only upon waking from it that you realise they are far from normal, but by then you’ve probably lost a friend or two or become obsessive to the point you’ve driven someone away.
I wouldn’t mind if the doctors could tell you what’s going on in your own brain. Why it’s backfiring and conspiring against you to make you unsociable and odd to the extreme. But they can’t. They tell me it’s a chemical imbalance but they don’t even know which chemicals are playing see-saw in my brain.
So if pumping 1 in every 100 people full of battery components does the trick most of the time I guess we have to go along with it. I love the lithium and the effect it has on my tired yet busy brain. But just like the symptoms it aims to control, I find I’m totally at its mercy.
I often find I become more than a little fixated on things. I look to Facebook one hundred times a day for someone to reach out to and when I’m met with the standard ‘Like’ in response to my posts I find myself feeling even more desperate and alone.
What I want to write:
“Do you ever hate your life so much you can feel it crushing your chest? Have you ever felt so lonely you think you’re going to drown in sadness? Do you feel as if your insides are empty of everything except liquid pain sloshing about in the gaps between your ribs? No. Me neither (except I do really).”
What I actually write:
(Post a picture of me looking happy with my family).
“You can tell we’re related by the genetic uni-brow.”
I usually try to make the posts I write funny, but at times they hide what I’m really trying to say which is ‘I’m drowning here. I need someone to reach out and save me.’ The funnier the posts, the more frequent, the more I’ll find I’m flailing and the more dependent I become on nothing more than a networking site to quell my loneliness. And so today I wrote this note to Facebook as a way of trying to break my dependency.
“You know what, Facebook? We’ve had some great times together. No, some AMAZING times. Remember the time you posted a picture of a seagull dive-bombing me on the beach in Spain and me and my friends all laughed and laughed? Ahh, good times.
“The trouble is that just lately I keep feeling like our relationship is taking a lot of effort. And I feel as though I’m the one putting in all the work, if I’m honest.
“I hate to tell you this, but I’ve started using Blogger. I’m sorry, I can see the pain on your face… book. The thing is, it just feels so easy. No short, stunted sentences or awkward jokes. I don’t have to hide behind the laughs and I don’t have to check in monotonously. Blogger just lets me talk and talk and be myself and when we’re done I just walk away. Sometimes for days.
“So I guess what I’m trying to say is… I think we need some space. I need to get my head straight. Stop looking so hurt. I know you see other people. The evidence is there for all to see, so don’t bother denying it.
“It’s over, ok? I’m sorry, but we’re done. At least until Friday when I’ll undoubtedly weaken after a glass of wine and pine for the length of your timeline like I always do.
“Just know that no matter what happens from here on in, I’ll always love you.”
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