32. Could You Hold This Box Of Hopes & Dreams While I Go To Work, Please?

I’ve promised myself that I’m going to be more positive in this blog. It’s not good to keep ranting and raving and going on because I’m miserable. I’m going to focus on the positives in life and I’m going to use Tony Robbins to do it! Only because I can get free videos on YouTube and his talks usually last as long as my journey home. Bonus. See how positive I am?!

I was reading an interview with Executive Producer and Writer, Bob Lowry. He stated that he had been in therapy a lot over the years and that one therapist once said to him ‘Most people don’t wake up until they know they’re going to die.’ Ok, so this isn’t taking the cheery turn I had hoped for but I’m going to try hard to save this blog. Bear with me. Well what Tony says is similar to that way of thinking but he applies a little more to it. He states that not taking the opportunity to make the right choices for you can lead to depression and people wanting to end it all, because they’re miserable.

I think both of these statements are true. In one statement the results of impending doom can lead to a more positive outlook. In the other, positive changes early on can help to avoid a negative outcome. I expect most of us sleepwalk through life. I know I do and I put that down to the fact I wasn’t medicated for bipolar until 2 years ago. I have achieved a lot in those 2 years now that I have some clarity in my head but I know that I could have achieved more if things had gone differently. For others illness isn’t a factor but normal, everyday things can be. How many of you are putting off living your dreams while you raise your children, which could potentially take 20 years away from you while you wait. How many of us go to work every day and dream of being something else? Have you signed up to a course so you can start that degree or is money holding you back? Let’s face it, none of us ever have enough time or money and we use these obstacles as a reason for not moving forward with our dreams and desires.

Since I started this blog I’ve been reliving my dreams from my teen years of becoming a professional writer. The fact that I don’t know where to start, how to approach newspapers, can’t finish a novel to save my life, struggle with storylines in scripts and have major problems with tenses (you’ve probably noticed) isn’t going to stop me! I have a plan. I’m going to research tense and really try hard to perfect that as it affects every aspect of my writing. Then I’m going to send any articles and blog links to various appropriate papers, magazines and forums for review. It’s not a glamorous start but it’s a realistic one. And on top of it all it gives me a goal to work towards and a positive outlook on my future, which has helped with my depression a little.

https://www.facebook.com/myfamilyandjanice?ref=hl#!/AForayIntoPsychology/photos/a.252429588193012.38575.178422632260375/436848546417781/?type=1&theater

As Tony says, the key to starting to resolve issues in your life and feeling as if you’re taking some control is to take a problem and keep it realistic. We are all capable of dramatizing and catastrophising which blows our problems out of all proportions. An example of this, say you’re overweight. You may feel there’s nothing you can do about this. You justify that by saying ‘I’m big boned.’ Think about this reasoning for remaining unhappy with your weight. You’ve basically said there is nothing you can do about your situation. You can’t change your bone structure, size or weight, so you’re NEVER going to be happy about it. A better way of looking at your situation is to be realistic. You eat badly, but you don’t’ know how to change that. That’s understandable. I had no education in nutrition and a bad upbringing which left me with anxiety about hoarding food and overeating. I know changing these aspects of your life is not easy. But making a doctor’s appointment is easy. Speaking to the doctor and admitting that you just don’t know what to do to change this and would like some dietary advice is a small step in the right direction, and suddenly you’ve taken some control. This is a basic example but it does show how we over-think things and put obstacles in our own way at times.

Please let me know your thoughts.

31. Desperately Seeking Normal

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.

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!

23. The Bi-POscars!

Excellent films which, in my opinion, are about bipolar people:

1. Labyrinth – There’s no doubt that the goblin king has a strange sense of fashion which can only be born of individualism, however, he’s obsessive and goes out of his way to get what he wants, despite the consequences to those around him. Plus, delusional. Hello! In the final scene where Sarah runs to the door of the castle you can clearly see 2 bottles of milk on the doorstep. Now either all those ickle goblins are lactose intolerant or he has severely underestimate the porridge needs of an army. Not even a hazelnut yogurt in sight. And I’m pretty sure he’s prone to mood swings. You can’t tell me that the day after Sarah rejected him he wasn’t slumped in his throne surrounded by empty cartons of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

2. Groundhog Day – Focusing a lot more on the depressive side of bipolar, groundhog day is almost a parody of depression. The same things happen day after day with the monotony of life leading inevitably to bad thoughts about your own existence. It’s only when we change our behaviour, learn from our mistakes and take a positive outlook on life… or a Citalopram… that we can begin to make things better and get ourselves out of the Groundhog Day of our own lives. Did that sound good? Did it?

3. The Incredible Hulk – A seemingly ordinary, intelligent man most days, he tries his best to integrate himself into society by keeping a low profile. He doesn’t advertise his flaws. But oh brother, what flaws! Mood swings, irrational behaviour, destructive tendencies, an inability to communicate feelings effectively. Classic case! Classic. I think I once mentioned in this blog that when I’m down I can’t write. However, never has my vocabulary diminished to the point where ‘Hulk, smash’ was my only outlet. Hey, I guess some have it a lot worse than me.

In fact, proof that if you dig deep enough you can probably make a case for ALL Marvel superheroes showing bipolar tendencies.

Lithium Links
Silver Surfer
The Silver Surfer has got to have something to do with lithium and my guess is he was originally going to call himself ‘Lithium Ion Man’ but Iron Man beat him to it. Grrr!

Irrational Behaviour
Wolverine
We’ve all had days when we feel like ripping someone’s face off for saying the wrong thing and you try to get me to shave my legs on those days… there’s a definite Wolverine element to bipolar is what I’m saying.

Delusional
Superman
Underpants on the OUTSIDE aside. How delusional are you if you think I’m doing YOUR laundry, dude?

So the next time you see one of these films on the shelf and you’re having a shakey day, you just ask yourself ‘Am I supposed to be the nutter here?’ and move on with your head held high, my friend.

If you can think of a fitting film or character for the Bi-POscars Category please comment below but remember to give your reasons. We all want to know! ;0)

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.

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.

19. Hanging On By Ones Fingertips

Today I was reminded just how easy it is to feel as if your whole world is falling apart. Yes, another one of the many fun and fabulous side effects of bipolar Type 2.

Last night my husband and I had a row. Not a big one. Nothing was thrown, ripped or left in a shape different to the one it had before the row started. You know you’ve thrown one too many hissy fits when you lob something across the room in a rage and not even the cat flinches. One thing that did happen was, my husband mentioned he thought I was going to leave him. And the thought of that scenario didn’t scare me. Which scared me.

I spent the whole following morning in a bit of a flap. Did I want to stay? Could I move out? Where would I go? What about my job? I looked at flats briefly on the internet, not sure what I’d be able to afford. Then the panic seeped out onto Facebook and I started showing a few manic signs. My posts became a little strange rather than the funny I was going for. The thought of finding another husband who would put up with the sort of things mine does seemed impossible which led me to feel even more desperate. Was it really worth carrying on at all, I wondered.

I was so concerned with sorting myself out a new life plan that I didn’t notice my phone ringing at lunchtime. When I finally picked it up it was my hubby calling to tell me he’d booked us a weekend away. And it dawned on me that I was leaving, but I wasn’t leaving without him. And suddenly life calmed down again. The bubbling stress that clouded my vision slowly dissipated and everything began to return to normal.

The moral of the story? When you’re arguing with someone with bipolar don’t deviate from the current reality. If you do you may find you come home from work one day to find your wife has moved out and taken ALL the cutlery, except the spoons!

18. Just Who’s In Charge Here?!

Apart from finding myself in situations where I’ve given in to my irrational feelings and behaviours, I also find it very difficult to figure out who, or what, is making the decisions in my life sometimes.

The most recent example I can think of is my last contract. The one at the IT company came to an end recently. That was the one where I dared to call 2 of my team mates old women when the workload got a bit frantic and they started flapping about one week. I politely advised them to join the Women’s Institute, and was never able to live it down with the rest of the team. From then on, every time I received an email request for software it would usually be accompanied by an order for raspberry jam. Anyway, before my contract actually ended they offered me a job... and a scone.

All the while they were talking about the job I was very excited and determined I was going to take it when they made the offer official. My hubby kept telling me to consider my options and think about the benefits of contracting and how much I like the freedom of it, but I told him this was a great IT company and it would stand me in good stead for the rest of my career if I took the job.

Then they actually offered it to me and I suddenly felt bored by the whole thing. I couldn’t be bothered to read the spec, stopped trying too hard, lost my motivation and eventually decided I really didn’t want the job at all. By which time my hubby was trying to convince me to take it because a week ago I’d been extoling the virtues of a career with a steady pay cheque. Poor guy doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.

It’s this massive swing in opinion, desire, direction, call it what you want, that drives him a little potty. He never knows which me is talking or when the scenery might change. Can you imagine decorating a room with me? You’d start in pink only to find me crying on the stairs because ‘when I said pink I wanted yellow.’ How does anyone stand a chance?

How can you ever be sure that your decision isn’t based on a dip in mood or the fact you forgot to take your pills yesterday or even a bad night’s sleep? And if I can’t answer that, being the one who experiences these swings, how can I expect anyone else to? My counsellor (yes I’m lucky enough to have access to one) told me that when I’m going through an episode of any sort I need to use my feelings to direct me, but not in the actual decision making process. What she was explaining was that it’s useful to analyse your feelings and moods, decide whether you feel you’re in a rational or clear frame of mind based on those feelings and then decide whether now is even the right time for you to be making any large decisions. If you feel you’re capable of making one you won’t regret then you should include logical thought and facts in the decision making process and not let your emotions lead you entirely.

I should think that a lot of us will find it hard to fight the impulses that bipolar sends to our brains but what she is also advising is that we slow down and take our time over decisions. This is good advice I feel. Whether I can do it or not is down to me and the discipline I will need to muster.

My manager once said to me that when dealing with a bully you have to stay calm and outwit them. Bullies work on emotion. Their arguments are based on it and therefore logic doesn’t come into their thinking. This struck a chord with me. Not that I class myself as a bully, but the thought that irrational and aggressive behaviour is born of emotion makes total sense. Emotion has no tether after all, no desire other than to be calmed and the only way to do that is to reason with it.

So there you go. Reason with emotion.

Good luck with THAT!

16. Review of Mood Diary Apps

Ok, I know I work in IT but it would seem I just can't make this post work. I hang my head in shame!

Here's a link to the same article on Wordpress. Don't judge me! I hope you enjoy it either way.

Elle, x

http://myfamilyandjanice.wordpress.com/2014/05/31/16-review-of-m…ps-for-android/ ‎

15. Alcohol And Take Aways...Mmm

As a continuation of last week’s blog here are some things I’ve found which have helped me to create a little bit of calm in my BPD teacup since diagnosis.

I’m not putting these things down on paper to try to guilt anyone else into doing something that doesn’t sit well with them. I’m just trying to let you know that these things work for me and therefore they might work for you if you fancy trying them.

My first line ‘Follow a bit of a routine’ might horrify some of you. The thought of it horrifies me. I’m a free spirit. Wild and young(ish) and I don’t want to be bogged down by routines and boring schedules. But I have discovered you can have a ‘bit’ of a routine which satisfies the disorders needs but still gives you freedom to live your life the way you want to. So bear that in mind before you storm out of my blog having decided I must have a stick up my bottom. I can assure, you that’s something I save for the weekends.

Follow a bit of a routine – It doesn’t have to be set in stone but it does help. Go to bed at a set time and plan to get 8 hours of sleep a night. A routine involving bath and bed, aromatherapy, or something relaxing and pampering like moisturising will help you feel as if you’re doing something for you, rather than getting an early night just so work comes around quicker!

Avoid alcohol as often as possible – Obviously you don’t want to offend by not toasting the bride but equally going on a vodka-laced bender over the weekend isn’t likely to make you feel on top of the world afterward.

Caffeine – I’ve found I’m surprisingly sensitive to caffeine and if I drink it after midday I won’t sleep and quite often feel anxious all day. If you get jittery periods try limiting your caffeine intake to the mornings for a week and see if it makes any difference.

Diet – Take a look at what you eat. We’re all guilty of eating fast food, packet meals, ready-made goodies and sweets for energy but you may find that all the hidden additives and sugars are playing havoc with your mood and ability to relax. Plus you really don’t know what it’s doing to your physical health. I once had a cold for two and a half months! It would NOT go away. I changed my diet and hey presto… well, it turned into a chest infection. But after THAT, I was good.

Exercise – This doesn’t have to be blood pounding, run a marathon, Kung Fu kick your way out of a drug fuelled district of LA with Jackie Chan behind you, style exercise. Yoga can be incredibly relaxing while toning and tightening the muscles. Most yoga classes will tag on a period of meditation to the end too, which is great for the soul. And it’s funny to hear people snoring when they drop off. I’ve seen young and old do yoga and I’d say the hardest thing about it is stopping yourself from giggling when someone accidently lets one rip.

http://authentichappiness4live.wordpress.com/2014/03/11/does-exercising-make-us-happier/

Doctors – Keep your appointments and, if you can, keep a mood diary. I’m not great at taking my own advice here but it is a great way for a doctor, who may only see you for 10 minutes every 3 to 6 months to know what’s been going on with you. Only you know how you feel and if you feel the doc is downplaying something, push a bit harder to get a response that satisfies or take someone with you who will push for you when you’re just not feeling up to it.

Caregivers – When you, as a bipolar sufferer, are feeling well it’s a good idea to turn to your caregiver and make sure they are looking after themself too. Most of us only have 1 person we rely on heavily and that person often has to neglect their own needs to help us with ours, which can be stressful for them. It doesn’t hurt to make sure they know how much you love them for the things they do.

What works for you? Please let us know in the comments section.

Next week I’ll be reviewing mood diary apps.

14. That’s One ‘First Time’ I Could Do Without

The first time I went to the doctor after my nervous breakdown I was in a bit of a state. As you can imagine, nervous breakdowns don’t tend to leave you looking glamorous and at the peak of health. I remember there being a severe need for waterproof mascara and a box of Kleenex for all the snot induced crying fits. Equally, if you know of anyone who found a way to keep their dignity during their nervous breakdown I’d be interested to hear about it. I could use some tips for the inevitable next one.

My husband came with me and explained in no uncertain terms that I was mental, needed to be put into a straight-jacket immediately and asked whether HE could have some pills to help him cope with all this. Thankfully he was joking but I’m not sure my GP really knew how to take him.

I was assured that, given the circumstances and all the snot, I was an emergency case and I could expect to hear from the psychiatrist for an assessment (not treatment) in THREE MONTHS TIME!

An EMERGENCY case. In my book emergency’s don’t usually hang around for 3 months, hence the urgency of an emergency. If I’d been anorexic and my kidneys were shutting down would they have fobbed me off with 3 months? What’s more urgent than an emergency when the symptoms of your problem could kill you?

Anyway, I moan only because I was on the brink of giving up on life. Nothing major. In other ways I can’t fault our NHS and mental health system. Not really. We do always seem to have trainees in psychiatric positions for 6 months at a time, but they tend to be pretty good and my first psychiatrist was the best of the lot. He arranged Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for me, counselling and later on, once I plucked up the courage to tell him about my ‘other’ symptoms reclassified my condition from ‘Severe Depressive Disorder’ to ‘Bipolar Type 2’. He changed my life. He helped me achieve a positive outlook for times when I’m well and a coping strategy for times when I’m not.

I can safely say, looking back to that time and how fragile I was then, that the NHS and its community mental health team has made me strong again. Despite the flaws of never getting to know your psychiatrist because they move from one place to the next and despite the long waiting times between appointments, once you are on their radar they do as much as they can to help – in my experience.

I’ve also found that it’s up to you to take their advice and the education they offer about your condition and work hard to make your own life better. There are things you can do to help yourself and I’ll talk more about those next week.

https://www.facebook.com/myfamilyandjanice?ref=hl#!/photo.php?fbid=690403364335565&set=a.180798161962757.37670.157585027617404&type=1&theater

12. Stress Is Like Rain

The weather in the UK right now is awful. It’s been raining so hard my hair goes frizzy just looking at it.

My poor husband is suffering from stress at the moment. He’s trying to do 2 jobs, deal with troublesome staff, help me, we’ve had things happen which have affected our marriage badly recently and neither of us has had a day off in over a year. Life’s been tough this past year, in many ways, and I think it’s all catching up with us now.

I was walking in the rain this morning and it occurred to me that stress is a bit like rain. It usually starts off as just a drizzle, which you can live with. You quicken your pace in order to try to get out of it faster. But sometimes you don’t make it out of the rain as quickly as you’d hoped and those big fat heavy drops come on. They soak you but you still have to push on. Head down, feet pounding, hoping you’re moving in the right direction. The rain seeps through your coat and onto your clothes, then you feel it against your skin and layer by layer it infiltrates.

Eventually the sun comes out and the rain stops but as with stress, the effects take some time to dissipate. Just because the sun’s come out and the problem has gone away doesn’t mean you’re not still soaked through and feeling uncomfortable.

I wonder if someone will invent a stress poncho one day.

10. Choose Your Chocolates Wisely

I know I recommended to you last week that you should try to tell those around you how you’re feeling in order to survive the tougher times. I’d like to make an addendum to that and say that you might want to be a little bit picky about who you choose to tell.

I am trying to tell my husband a lot more often when things aren’t quite right with me and after the come down I’ve experienced recently I was finding today particularly hard to deal with. I told him this and I suppose that he did his best to help considering he is new to all this too. He tried the classic ‘life is like a box of chocolates,’ line but then he didn’t know when to stop. He proceeded to describe each and every ‘life’ chocolate in great detail, sometimes losing the plot along the way.

Apparently there’s the soft, gooey, coffee flavoured chocolates, his personal favourite I might add. Presumably those are the good days in life. Then there’s the tough, horrible, toffee chocolates (bad days?). And then sometimes you come across a surprise strawberry filling (no idea what day this is. Sunday perhaps). And sometime you come across a nutty one (presumably you should try to avoid marrying that one).
‘But there are also those nice dessert chocolates that you buy me for my birthday. I like those,’ he says.

And there you have it.

9. Black Holes

I started this blog with some trepidation, but I must admit it has helped me to focus on my condition in a way that I haven’t ever done before. However, in focussing on it more keenly I seem to have more and more questions about the condition.

I’d never read anything about Type 2 that relates to hallucinations or voices but the trusty old internet (surely it’s never wrong?) says that these are symptoms of Type 1, the more serious condition. I very much doubt I have Type 1 just because I have seen how hard it is for people to deal with and my hypomanic episodes don’t even vaguely resemble a manic episode in severity. So what’s going on? Could I have more than one condition? Wouldn’t that be fun! Most people collect spoons or Barbie’s but no, not me. I’ve started collecting psychotic disorders. So it’s on my ‘To Do’ list to speak to my psychiatrist and find out once and for all what’s going on.

Since writing this blog I’ve found a site that states hallucinations can occur in type 2 sufferers and that they will only appear in line with an episode of depression or mania, not during ‘remission’ which seems to match my symptoms. Phew. I’d hate to be considered weird or anything.

The last time I went I told him about the few episodes I’ve had (before I was diagnosed mostly) in which I was obviously experiencing a hypomanic episode from what my friends tell me. I was chatty and talking at 100 mph as well as telling jokes and making everyone laugh. But ask me when this was or who I was with and I couldn’t tell you. On three occasions I’ve been told by friends that I was doing or saying something and I don’t remember being in that time or place. After years of carrying this around I told my psychiatrist who reliably informed me that this is not normal. I’m not sure why I needed a psychiatrist to tell me this! I never really got an answer on that. Saying that, this is the same psychiatrist who once told me that I seem to have a heightened awareness of my condition. My condition is in my head, I couldn’t be more aware of it if I stepped in it.

My problem with having periods in my life in which I can’t recall a thing is not knowing for sure how many periods like this I’ve actually had and that’s when bipolar can become quite a scary condition.

So then I wanted to know whether bipolar is one of those things that with proper medication and a banana a day, would eventually go away. And it would appear I’m living in cloud cuckoo land if I believe that. There are periods in between hypomanic and depressive episodes where normality reigns. Some call these ‘periods of remission’. But I’ve also discovered that there are aspects of bipolar which can exist between episodes. I believe I suffer these as I’m rarely comfortable that I’m ever experiencing anything truly ‘normal’.

I find it equally odd that at times when I’m going through a hypomanic episode, I don’t know anything is wrong until I come out of it. Looking back is the only way I can tell that things haven’t been quite right, which makes it difficult to fill in a mood diary when you feel perfectly ok. Funnily enough it’s usually after these happy, more wired episodes that I feel I’m not sure I can carry on like this. It makes sense if you think about it. If you had the power to do anything you wanted, the conviction that you were capable of achieving those things and the belief that things could only get better for you for weeks and then you woke up one day to find that all of those things had been taken away from you, you might feel that you don’t want to keep going through that cycle of feelings either. It’s a tough fall to break and I quite often feel very battered by the landing.

Knowing why things are happening doesn’t make them any easier, but it does remind you that it won’t last forever.

8. Flashing Signs And Beepy Buttons

Humour is something my husband and I have always used to get us through the tough times that my non-stop mental health issues have put us through over the years. It’s hard to say where I’d be without him and it makes me wonder how others, who don’t have a strong framework of support, get by. This is the conversation we had at 6.15 this morning while he dropped me off at the train station.
‘I hate this car. There’s always a light flashing or an alarm beeping on it. It’s becoming less and less like a car and more like a low-standing shed every day. I’m just waiting for the wheels to drop off,’ he says while tapping the petrol light. I’m pretty sure that one needs attention whether it’s lying to him or not.
‘Why don’t you buy a new car?’ I ask.
‘Because we can’t afford it.’
‘Why don’t you swap it for something equally as pointless like an ice cream machine?’
‘How am I going to get to work on an ice cream machine? On a giant trail of Mr Whippy?’
‘Yeah,’ I laugh imagining the congestion that would cause. I can see him in a Mr Freeze outfit.
‘You’re not thinking this through, are you? Then I’d also have to buy a snowboard and that’s MORE cost.’
‘Oh yeah. Silly me.’

It made me think that there are times when you really want something more obvious to happen when you’re not feeling right. A flashing sign, beeping alarm or to turn up at work and find your psychiatrist waiting for you at your desk, picking through your best pens while pocketing a few paperclips. You’d know something was up then. How can you tell people that you’re not feeling right when actually you’re in a fabulous mood, ready to do karaoke at the drop of a hat, stand on tables, throw your knickers* at the DJ and be the life and soul of the party?

Depression is a little different in that it presents itself slightly more obviously, but again, there are a lot of people out there who are very good at hiding just how bad they’re feeling. But generally you can see that someone with depression is very down and not in a normal mental state. You can count the pills in the paracetamol packets every morning and you can keep an eye on things hoping that tomorrow the tide will turn and that person will start to feel better. You can feel slightly active in their care because you’re aware they need some, is what I’m getting at.

But, you try and stop someone experiencing hypomania from being overly happy or overly irritable and you’re likely to find yourself on the business end of a full-scale hissy fit. Rational behaviour like the rest of the world knows and expects from another human being isn’t always on the cards during a hypomanic episode. I would say ‘And certainly not during a manic episode,’ but I would be speculating. I don’t think anyone reading this needs or wants me to do that, but if you suffer these types of episodes yourself and want to leave a comment to educate me and other readers, then we’d be happy to read it.

They say that hypomania is often credited with increased creativity and productive energy. I definitely find this is the case. Most recently it has affected my work because that’s where my focus has been after finishing a long contract, but I have noticed, before diagnosis, that I would have regular and persistent periods where I would commit to something, a hobby say, like art. I would learn everything I could about it almost obsessively, develop very quickly, produce lots of work in a matter of months and then, for no apparent reason, totally lose interest and never go back to it again. Not having any idea what bipolar was at that time I can’t say whether these phases coincided with any mood changes but I suspect there was more going on than I was fully aware of.

My point is (yes I do have one), the best way to let others know how you’re feeling is to tell them. It’s taken me a very long time to come to this conclusion because, as I’ve said before, bipolar can be pretty scary. The symptoms are one thing, but it’s the unknown reactions of others that has scared me more. I don’t want people to look at me differently just because they now know I have a bunch of people talking in my head or because I see werewolves in car parks. I mean really, people, do you have to judge?

The surprising thing is, I don’t think many people do judge. In the few weeks I’ve been posting this blog I’ve had no strange or probing questions, I haven’t found any ambulances pulling up at my front door to take me away. What I have found is a lot of private message from people who find life hard in their own way, telling me they think I’m brave for sharing. And that’s truly lovely to hear. It’s been a relief and a release, because I’ve been carrying this stuff around for a long old time now. Perhaps, with the help of both friends and strangers I’ll be brave enough to let a lot of my issues go and trust that everyone will understand.


*I would like to make the point that I have never thrown my knickers at ANYONE. And that time I threw them at the cat I was actually aiming for the wash basket. Just wanted to make that clear.

7. You Can’t Miss What You Don’t Remember Having

Things have been going downhill lately. Since last Wednesday I’ve started sleeping for at least 12 hours a night, I have no energy and my memory is REALLY suffering.

I hadn’t realised before now but for the last 6 to 8 weeks I’ve been on a bit of a high. I’ve felt excited all the time, motivated to work really hard and get lots done and I’ve been achieving loads. I even thought my memory was improving dramatically. Then last week, for some reason, I started to crash.

I went home Wednesday night feeling a little tired, got in around 7pm and by 7.30 I was in bed and asleep. I didn’t think too much of it until the next morning when I noticed that not only did I feel exhausted but I didn’t have the usual jittery feeling I get in my chest when I’m excited and which had been with me the past 2 months. It had disappeared over night and the motivated, go-getting me had been replaced by a teletubby. And did I tell you that my memory is absolutely shot?

I had a meeting with my boss that basically turned into one giant game of charades. I couldn’t remember a thing I was going to talk to him about and my notes from go-getter me weren’t detailed enough to fill in the gaps. I spent the entire hour waving my arms around and making hand gestures (most of them polite). ‘You know the thing you asked me to do last week,’ I say hoping that from the 1000 things he’s working on at present he will pick out the exact thing I’m referring to, because otherwise this conversation is screwed. ‘Er,’ he starts and I scan my notes quickly for clues. ‘The contract work?’ ‘No,’ I say, I think it was another thing. To do with resellers.’ ‘Oh yes,’ he says, setting back into his seat, happy that he has helped. ‘How did you get on?’ ‘Well,’ I say, gesturing wildly, I don’t know why. Perhaps the recesses of my mind have dug up some Derren Brown style trickery and the gesturing is designed to hypnotise him into thinking I know what I’m doing. It doesn’t appear to be working. The whole meeting goes on like this with him guessing whether I’m talking about a book, a film or a contract! By the end of the meeting we’re both exhausted and I feel like I have a lot more sympathy for Lionel Blair. His job was HARD!

Oh, and just one more thing. My memory! Oh my god, you wouldn’t believe how bad it is now!!

6. A Husband's Lot

You know, I often wonder how I managed to get anyone to marry me. My husband doesn’t just have to put up with the usual stuff that a husband puts up with like arguments about the bills, deciding whose job it is to take the rubbish out, or whether there’s likely to be a nuclear fallout if he forgets to empty the cat litter tray on one more occasion. He has to contend with one or two more delights thanks to the personality issues that ensue in our household. I wonder if he would have been so keen to get a ring on my finger had he met me through the ‘Bipolar Dating Ads’.


Elle’s Dating Profile:

Described by some as ‘quirky’ I can be a giant, teary-eyed, ball of energy when I want to be. Always on the receiving end of an arrest warrant, the police just love my sense of humour. If I’m not being the life of the party myself then usually Janice, (she’s the voice in my head – oh she’s a scream), will take over and get things going.

I have developed a close friendship with the ‘c’ word over the years and use it with wild abandon to describe anyone from dictators I see on the news to whoever took the last Twix out of the cupboard. I am willing to give up this friendship for the right man and a lockable storage box.

I have certain ‘toxic’ medications which keep me on an even keel but sometimes I forget to take them. I’m sure you’ll find we have a lot in common if you’ve ever:
• Found yourself balled up in the corner of your bathroom, rocking and crying, because you’ve just discovered you’re down to your last tube of toothpaste.
• Decided that the bus driver who didn’t smile at you this morning when you smiled at him obviously hates you and you must now analyse every aspect of your personality in order to discover what’s fundamentally wrong with you as a human being.
• Decided that the bus driver who DID smile at you this morning when you smiled at him obviously fancies you desperately and you must now analyse every aspect of your life in case making a new life for yourself with said bus driver is an option.

The cat and I have made a pact with the devil. I feel any potential mate should know about this. It’s only fair. We are both going to live forever and love and snuggle with each other every single day. You, however, need to make your own arrangements.

I’m very versatile, able to make the best of any situation. For example, this morning I was on the train and my nose started to run. I reached into my bag for a tissue and it wasn’t until I got the ‘tissue’ to my nose that I realised I was in fact about to blow my nose on a panty liner. A quick scan of the train carriage informed me that no one had noticed and therefore, I can reliably inform you that they ARE as absorbent as the manufacturer states. Versatile. That’s me.

And finally, if you were to date me and decide that you no longer wish to see me but I decide I would like to carry on seeing you, I reserve the right to become obsessed with and/or stalk you. Terms and conditions of stalking can be obtained through written request, however, since I find it impossible to believe that my behaviour constitutes stalking my response will mostly include the words ‘F**K’ and ‘YOU’.

Now who wouldn’t marry that?!

4. Vanilla Me, A Second Scoop

I think I must have spent around 2 years hiding my symptoms until it became more and more obvious to me just how debilitating they were becoming. I finally relented and told my psychiatrist. He is a wonderful man who taught me a lot but it still took a lot of courage to tell him. I don’t think I stopped being scared about the repercussions of telling someone until… well, I’m not sure I’m all that secure about it now. I still don’t tell anyone I work with although I do write a letter to personnel stating what my condition is and that it hasn’t affected my work before now if I’m taken on somewhere new. This covers you because if you take a job and later on something about your condition manifests which means you need to go part time or take some time off to treat it, you can’t be accused of withholding anything from your employer. Believe me, I’ve been in that situation before and I was glad I’d written the letter then!


But back to my psychiatrist. He surprised me when I told him. I didn’t tell him everything, of course. Just about the noise in my head and how difficult I was finding things. He knew immediately that it was bipolar and recommended I go on lithium that same day.


I then had to go through blood tests and ECGs to make sure I could take it because of how strong it is. You want to be scared, you just need to take a look at the list of side effects that stuff can cause.


Pretty soon I started taking the lithium and within days my hands had started to shake uncontrollably. I couldn’t read a book because the shaking made each page blur! I also started to drink pints and pints of water every day. I was so thirsty all the time.


And then one day, I was walking along the street thinking about life in general, and someone switched the world’s colour on. Just for a few minutes my surroundings went from black and white, 2D, to 3D, full colour. Things had meaning, people’s faces weren’t flat with nothing behind them, they had souls and personalities and warm, red blood running through their veins giving them a pink, rosy glow. I nearly cried, I was so overwhelmed by this amazing revelation, at this riot of colour and clarity and beauty before me. My head was clear. I could hear my own thoughts and I had no doubt they were correct and being contorted by nothing. I remember it so clearly that even today, two years later, I could tell you where I was and what I was looking at when the world filled out in front of me.


And then it disappeared again. Life returned to 2D, grey, with constant noise in my head and negative thoughts skipping through my brain, skewering anything light and happy that dared pass by in front of them. But I was elated. If this was what was to come then bring it on!


I started to look forward to those moments of clarity which, over the following weeks, grew longer and more intense. It was like I’d been living in a dark, cold dungeon all my life up until then and someone had just unlocked the door to the outside world.


And so here I am. The person I always knew I was supposed to be but who was beaten down by mental illness for years. I still have a lot of days where I don’t feel right, obviously, but for the most part my life is better due to the medication.


Before I forget, I saw a werewolf today. It was cool.

3. Vanilla Me

So my last post introduced you to ‘bipolar’ me. This time I’d like you to get to know ‘me’ me. I’m the rather boring side of the personality Rubik’s cube that is me. I like chocolate and tele and I love my family and my cats and because I’m the boring, neutral, vanilla part of me, I fear the other personalities might gang up on me one day and bury me in the woods somewhere. I think they’re capable. And they know I have no sense of direction so I’d never make it back again.


Since I was a kid I wanted to be Melanie Griffiths in Working Girl. I wanted to wear a suit, work in the city, earn mega bucks, have MASSIVE hair and use big words like ‘infrastructure’ and ‘acquisition’. That was my idea of success. It was so far removed from my world as a child where I had no control over anything. This world of ‘The City’ was where dreams came true and on top of it all you could be rich and loved by Harrison Ford. Who wouldn’t want THAT?


So that’s what I’ve worked for. However, I have the distinct feeling that depression held me back for a loooong old time. Now I’m not making excuses here, don’t get me wrong, but depression is an illness and if you had flu every day for 15 years your career wouldn’t be as perky as a cheer-leaders butt cheeks either.


I had a nervous breakdown at the age of 29, fought my way out of the well of depression that I fell into only to find that at the top of the well wasn’t the home and the family I knew but a hyped up, slightly insane version of the world which shouted in my ears and made me feel as if I was going crazy every day. I think this was when the bipolar started showing itself. Of course, at that time I had no idea what bipolar was or why I was feeling so unable to keep a grasp on reality at times. I started seeing things (which still happens even today). Mostly people lurking in bushes or hiding behind lamp posts, sometimes other things like animals.


I couldn’t follow people’s conversations if there was more than one person talking in front of me. It was like I couldn’t hear them or my brain wasn’t able to react quickly enough to take everything in. I also felt as if I was 2 inches inside myself, if that makes sense. Like I was looking out of my head and not quite part of my own body. Not attached, just, following it around. Have you ever sat in a noisy school canteen where everyone’s talking but you can’t actually make out anything clearly? That was the state of things in my head.


Life was tough and confusing as well as isolating, but I refused to speak to my psychiatrist about any of what I was feeling. I didn’t want to be put in a straightjacket or carted off to hospital. I’d read so many horror stories about those who end up in mental wards and what they go through while they’re there, not to mention what it might do to any career I managed to salvage after all this was over. They even ask you when applying for insurance whether you’ve ever been committed! So I kept quiet, but the feeling of going mad only grew stronger.


To be continued…

2. Introducing... Janice!

I’m trying very hard to concentrate while I write this over Janice’s voice. She has a New York accent and she’s being quite loud today.
‘I’m blogging,’ I tell her.
‘No you’re not, you’re ignoring me. Anyway, I was watching the new Star Trek film last night…’
‘I know. I was there,’ I say absently.
‘My god, that Benedict Cumberbatch does things to me.’
‘I don’t want to know,’ I say but I can’t help but smile because he sort of does things to me too.
‘That Sherlock could frisk me all over. And his friend.’
‘Who?’
‘The other one.’
‘Dr Watson?’
She nods and I note how unusual it is for her to be this quiet for this long. ‘He was in the hobbit,’ I say.
‘Hey,’ she whispers. ‘Do you think he’s hobbit sized all over?’
I slam my hands over my ears in a futile attempt to block out her voice. I’m ignoring… I’m ignoring… She carries on yammering regardless, which is the only way I can describe the way she speaks. Loud, insistent, and often very, very funny. She makes me laugh out loud, which is a feat, and most of the time she’s good company. But right now I’m blogging so I don’t want to be disturbed, but when someone lives in your head it’s not so easy to turn them off. One thing I find odd about Janice is she’s always talking about men, she’s constantly flirting, and always saying things which make me cringe or laugh. She’s the total opposite of me. I carry on writing. I’m ignoring… I’m ignoring… ‘…and who doesn’t love to be naked and covered in jelly,’ she says and the surprise of it makes me laugh. This is all a bit much for 6.30 in the morning.


It’s strange living with someone who comes and goes but essentially lives in your head and is nothing like you are. It’s weird, don’t you think I know it’s weird? I can no sooner predict what’s about to come out of her mouth than I could predict what you might be about to say. But it’s cool. She doesn’t cause me any grief, she’s loud and it stops me concentrating at times but she’s never pushy. She doesn’t tell me to kill anyone in their sleep or steal cars. She’d probably like it if we bought a few more handbags but she’s mostly happy to talk... and talk.

The trouble is that she does herald the start of an episode usually. Things get loud in my head when she’s around. They get confusing and fast and exciting and I stop caring about the things I usually care about like my husband’s feelings, my responsibilities, the routine things that need doing and I start to care instead about making life exciting and fun and just a little bit scary. I start applying for new jobs, usually paying £200k a year and way out of my league but then I’m a genius, you know, and if someone else can do it then I can DEFINITELY do it. They’d be mad not to let me try because knowing how good I am I’d probably give them £250k’s worth of work!

It’s also a time when I can get lots of things done. If I’ve wanted to do a course I will sometimes sign up to 5 and get them all done within a month. In that sense I wish there was a way to motivate me to do the housework in such an efficient manner. It seems that no one’s ever ill enough to fancy bleaching the bog.

But it’s not all fun and games when the real mania comes on. This is going to be difficult to explain because I don’t really understand what happens myself. There’s another person that takes over during the height of an episode. It’s almost like driving from the back seat of your car. She pushes me to the back of my brain so I can only see the back of my own eye sockets and everything she’s doing through them, but I have no control. I know what’s happening isn’t always right but what can I do? I’m not making excuses but I feel like a toddler whose mum is pushing her around the supermarket whilst serrupticiously putting things down her child’s jumper to steal. At the end of the day, the toddler will get frisked and whether she’s to blame or not she’ll feel the guilt of the act. That’s the trouble with bipolar. I’m always the one that takes the blame, no matter who was in charge at the time. I’m the responsible driver whose keys get stolen regularly.

Plus, I see things. People usually and they’re almost always hiding behind trees and bushes or lamp posts. I don’t know why my brain does that, makes them look as if they’re hiding. Laziness I suppose. It can’t be bothered to pick out an outfit for my hallucinations. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’ve never really been all that scared by them. They’re disconcerting, don’t get me wrong, but if I’m honest, when I first started seeing these Primark wannabees I was more scared by the thought that I’d be committed if I told anyone. Therefore I kept it secret for a good 3 years along with a lot of my symptoms. It’s only been the last few months that I’ve told anyone about Janice.

She doesn’t care. She’s too busy yammering.