Well hello depression

I have always been on the depressive side of manic depressive and even during the times when I rapid cycle so many times a day that I lose count there was always the certainty that when the cycling stopped that I would stop in depression and not mania.

Depression, while a disgusting and debilitating experience, has always been familiar to me. I never recognise the onset of it but once I do I know how to handle it. I have a check list of things to do until I see my GP. I see my GP at least once every three weeks so I never have long to wait. People often envy my frequent visits to the GP but try being so ill that they’re seeing you often to keep you alive – it’s nothing to envy.

For the past two years or so I have been hypomanic. Hypomania is mania without psychosis. I have never had a full blown pyschotic episode but I have had episodes that are so close that I’ve felt the cold breath of psychosis on the back of my neck.

I hate being  manic. The management of my illness is centred around being in control. I can’t control depression but I can manage it if I’m prepared to lose sleep and look like a mess.

Over the past week or so I’ve seen my sleeping pattern change. It is a paradox that when I am manic I sleep soundly and when I’m depressed I get insomnia in a big way.

I have felt lethargic over the past few days. There have been bursts of  energy and enjoyment but today I just want to curl up into a ball and live in the airing cupboard for a few years. I sent a message to my best friend last night saying that I couldn’t find any positive things about the day, that I wanted to get monstrously drunk (I’ve been in recovery for 26 years) and that the safest thing I could do was to go to bed.

This morning I sent him a message saying that it had dawned upon me that I was actually was depressed. It had taken me two days to get to that point but I got there in the end.

Depression is a violent drag away from all that is enjoyable and worth living for but the feeling is much better than the relentless optimism (and the lack of empathy that came along with it) for the past two years.

If I spend the next few days, or weeks, or months crying and feeling like nothing counts anymore I’ll be happy in a weird kind of way but anything is better that the relentless mania and all the chaos and indignity that comes with it.

The family tree and not doing the laundry

The past few days I’ve been filling in my family tree on the Scottish side because now I’m not manic I’m exhausted from the experience. I’ve been napping in the afternoon and generally feeling washed out. It’s easy to sit at my desk and research details because if I don’t feel like doing it or I get tired then all I have to get up is walk away from it.

Not so the laundry as it has be done in a mini twin tub (yes they do still exist) and it takes time and usable energy and usable energy isn’t always a by product of mania.

The biggest positive of recent weeks is that since I’m only dipping a toe into Twitter to respond to tweets about a photo or a blog post I’m writing much more often and I’m enjoying it far more than I have for a long time. I had become less enamoured of it but I think that was Twitter draining me of the right to write in larger bursts than 140 characters. I had been thinking in tweets but now I can think about longer sentences, who paragraphs and entire blog posts.

Anyway, I’m hoping to do some laundry tomorrow and bake some bread. I haven’t thought about food as yet but then if I don’t feel like eating there’s plenty of places near to where I live that do reasonable food (and a few that don’t) so I’m not unduly worried even if the miser in me tells me not to waste money!

Today is gratitude day…

Yesterday was the final day of three days of mania. It was extreme irritability day (I was very annoyed with myself even) and it was breaking point day. If I were ever to commit suicide – and I sincerely hope that I never will – it would be on the final day of a manic episode. I want to tape my mouth up, rip my brain and self harm big time.

I contained myself as much as I could and I blogged about it. I think it’s important to  share the manic experience because so few people experience it for themselves but I also think that if I put the experience down on “paper” then I am, in a way, freeing myself from it. I truly believe that staying silent enslaves me.

Most people were wonderful. My family and friends were there with kind words and unspoken support and I felt protected by them. Other people weren’t so nice and one in particular wrote off my feelings of frustration at somebody refusing help and rebutting my offer of help at me being mentally ill. This, at its best, is discrimination but when it comes from someone who claims to have personal experience of mental illness it is damaging and disgustingly spiteful.

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Today was different – the quick chat in the pet shop, bumping into a neighbour in the street and laughing together, the packet of Revels that was cheaper than I thought, the easy talking with the checkout operator as I packed my shopping and the longer talk with another neighbour out in the churchyard that serves as a park which is right on my doorstep.

He and his wife have a rescue dog who is the sweetest if oddest looking dog I’ve seen. He recognises me and runs towards me with that smile that dogs have and today I got the supreme compliment from him – helicopter tail! Dogs don’t do helicopter tail unless they love you immensely.

As I talked to his owner I was really counting my blessings out loud and inside I was tearful as I did it. Counting your blessings in your head doesn’t work unless you say them out loud to somebody else or write them down and it’s always good to remind myself of my privileged life.

  • I have the time and space to be ill – sounds bizarre but I can take time to manage bipolar disorder even if I can’t cope with it;
  • I have lots of animals and there is always at least one that’s awake and ready to be cuddled;
  • I live on my own so if I can’t face the washing up or doing the laundry then I don’t have to;
  • I can nap in the afternoon in a haze of Valium if I need to;
  • I can catch up on television programmes or watch a movie without consulting anybody else;
  • I can eat when I want and what I want (and  yes those are cornettos you can see in my freezer);
  • I can live the life I need to live and not the one that other people think I should.

Tomorrow will be the day I feel as though I’ve lost people and that I’m emotionally detached from them but I’m expecting that and I know it will pass. I may chatter a lot on social media or I may sit quietly at home and read but I will do what is best for me and that’s good enough.

On being unbelievably ratty…

I’ve been really high manic again for three days and it’s wearing me out.

I’ve baked bread and scones, I’ve done laundry, I’ve hoovered every day (unheard of) and walked for miles and it’s all taking it’s toll.

When I have a long cycle through a very high mania I tend to have a build up over a couple of days until it all explodes into an unbelievably ratty mood. I am not pleasant to have around at these times.

I knew the mania was building up at the weekend because I started shifting furniture about and had a total disregard for what I was doing to my body. I’m not 27 anymore no matter how many times I claim to be and I’m always covered in bruises or clutching my back or both. By the end of Saturday I’d dismantled a chair (with the help of a hungover neighbour) and filled three bin bags of stuff that I’d been meaning to get rid of for ages. I couldn’t sleep on Saturday night because my mind was racing.

On Sunday there was more of the same only in the baking department and with laundry. I couldn’t seem to stop doing either and both at the same time which was far too much even for a mega manic me. By this time my words were becoming muddled and I was not making any sense. It’s one thing to talk a million miles an hour but when those words come out in a jumble because your brain works faster than your mouth it’s a pain in the arse.

Yesterday was a day of everything that needed to be done (including a walk with my dog, baking a batch of bread, hoovering, bath and hair wash) before Ogden got picked up at 11.00 for his afternoon with the pet sitter. At this point I should have taken a couple of Valium and slept the afternoon away but I’m manic so I don’t listen to common sense.

I went into town and found that the exhibition I was planning to see was £5 to get in and I refuse to spend money to go into museums or places of worship. I then decided that instead I would walk over to the cathedral to take a few photos and have a sandwich in the coffee shop except that it was a graduation day so there was nobody allowed in except over-excited students and their over-dressed parents.

By then I was getting a bit short in temper.

I picked Ogden up and on the way home a man bent down and almost kicked my dog in the face. I swore not quite under my breath and told him off. This man then justified his behaviour of not taking care about what was going on around him because his child was the most important thing not just in his world but everybody else’s too and basically my dog was way down the list of consideration. Of course I let rip.

When I let rip I am accused of being rude, bitter, over the top or all those and some more. I’m actually not being rude intentionally but I am inadequately expressing an irritation that boils over into anger that, because I’m manic, I have difficulty in controlling it. Yes, sometimes it does come across as pure rudeness but other times it very definitely comes across as big anger. I am harmless though and I’d never get physically violent.

I am not bitter – that’s an emotion or mood or whatever you want to call it projected upon me. The unfortunate recipient thinks,”If that was me then it would because I was bitter.” One woman told me God loved me and that she’d pray for me after almost knocking me down as she drove across a pavement to park on it. Bitter – no, rude – yes.

Yes it is over the top because mania is about being over the top. Mania isn’t about being sedate and controlled, it isn’t about being moderate and dignified and it certainly isn’t about being restrained.

So today I’m feeling sorry for the bloke that I verbally lashed out at but still angry at him for almost hurting my dog then  dismissing him as though he didn’t count and I’m sat here wishing I could live in a wood with my animals for company and just never talk to anybody ever again except my family and my closest friends. In the meantime I’m keeping the list of people I need to speak to very short and counting to a million whenever somebody has the misfortune to irritate me…

Stop the world, I want to get off

I’m waiting to see a psychiatrist again. My GP requested a referral and we’re both hoping I’ll get to see my last consultant mainly because he’s amazing at his job but also because I saw him for about 10 years and we developed a mutual language so it would be easy to talk to him. I can go in and tell him I feel well fucked up and he’ll know what I mean. Priceless.

I’m ultradian cycling (though at this point it’s only one change every 12 hours or so) and this started on Thursday. It was odds on it was going to start – EU Referendum, opportunity to write about it for a website and staying up all night to listen to the results – it was never going to end well. Politics leave a lot of people cold but I love it. I’m not eloquent about the subject but I know what I believe in and that passion, like all the others that inflame me, burn me out with mania and turn me into ashes with depression.

I’m fed up with the in-house mud slinging of those within the Labour Party re Jeremy Corbyn. He was voted leader by people who know that, despite the leadership and Tory Lites of recent years, the Party was born in red brick houses and not red brick universities. If he is deposed then the Labour Party membership will drop overnight.

I’m not at all surprised at the antics of the Conservative Party (has anybody found George Osbourne in their shed yet?) and the desperate please of the Liberal Democrats is rather sad but have any of the shit stirrers thought about what this is doing to me and all the other vulnerable people who have elected them, voted in the referendum and left feeling scared at the uncertain future that has been created?

I’m in that tiny section of people who are considered so ill I was put in the support section of ESA for life (without a face to face assessment) because the risk of me committing suicide if I was forced back to work is too high for them to take the chance. This means that my income is guaranteed but I am not invulnerable to rising prices, higher utility bills and I cannot tell myself to worry about life in the UK because it is something to worry about.

Anyway I’ve been so manic that I can’t get the words in my sentences in the right order and today I’ve dipped into depression and couldn’t care less if my words are in the right order or not. I’ve decided to focus instead on a day out in London I’m having on Thursday and if I burn out then so be it.

Meanwhile the country is being fucked roughly by the people we have trusted it to. Bastards.