Monthly Archives: November 2013

Gorilla-Blowfish Love Triangle

Got 5-6 hours of sleep last night and had a really good day at the student rep conference. Heard a fantastic speaker and chatted to some nice people – human interaction has been surprisingly welcome and satisfactory.

However, my self esteem has increased and I suddenly have inspiration and insight into my own mind. Unfortunately, this is probably just been triggered by sleeping less. What a bummer.

In other news, I’m pregnant with Jesse Pinkman’s baby (despite our rocky patch following my affair with my anthropomorphised stuffed gorilla who’s now a government scientist) and my novel is a best seller. I really need to lay off The Sims (or at least stop telling people about it).

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Fortress of Solitude

Today has been another day where I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone. I went to see Occupational Health at uni and a very nice doctor said that they’re there to help and that it doesn’t matter what I did as a youth, as long as I don’t do it any more (don’t get caught lol jk). He also said that his brother had compiled a study proving that the success rate for people on my course with mental health issues is the same as anyone else and is a champion of their cause – he was quick to add that this perspective is something of a rarity. I have to continue being honest and engage with treatment. I am not to do night shifts for three months and am to be reviewed in two.

He asked me if I was stable at the minute. I fudged through it. I didn’t want to tell him that I don’t really remember being stable ever. I think I’ve always been like this. Everything feels like a big grey bad peppered with the odd cheerful moment, after a week of paranoia, aggression and hysterics. I didn’t know that there’s an alternative. I feel dull and unhappy and unfunny and glum and vaguely angry. I do not want to talk to anyone. This Fortress of Solitude belongs to Crapgirl, not Superman.

I have things I should be doing but sincerely and utterly do not care about. I should be preparing for an upcoming exam. I should be preparing a timeline and getting ready to discuss events where I’ve felt dis/empowered. I am attending a doctors appointment student rep conference tomorrow. I have done nothing except sit in my bed eating cream cheese and playing The Sims 2. I lovingly recreated both my current flat and parents’ home plus I made an avatar of my stuffed gorilla and he graduated college magna cum laude so we can’t really say it was a wasted day.

I hope that by having played The Sims all day instead of all night (I played until 4am, even though I probably could have slept much earlier) then tonight I’ll do useful things like get packed up to go back home. Really, I do not want to do anything ever again.

W sent me this. It’s good:

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Enjoy the Silence

Today I do not want to talk to anyone. I want to sit and rattle and brood. I am functioning but hollow.

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On Friday night I helped give first aid to a woman who had fallen and smashed her face in near our house. We waited with her for an hour for the ambulance as she slipped in and out of consciousness. We saw her off (hopefully she’s ok now) and then I became very anxious so W took me to buy beer and cigs. I have been smoking to quell my cravings for other things. I’ve had the urge to self-harm and other risk taking behaviour. We went for a tour round various supermarkets, my hangouts of choice in my hypomanic/mixed periods because they’re 24 hours, met a cat and went for a very long drive and I seemed to calm down.

When we got back, W and I had a nice night talking and drinking beer until at about 3am when I realised we were sat on a blanket we’d given the lady we helped. I became convinced (despite it having been out of the way of any blood and I don’t think she touched it) was contaminated with hepatitis and HIV and became hysterical. I washed my hands until they were sore and cried and cried and cried. Eventually I went to sleep at about 6am.

We awoke yesterday at 3pm, went out to town for some meat for Sunday dinner and then had a really good takeaway – gourmet burgers and sweet potato chips. I managed to have a decent night but still didn’t sleep until about 4am.

Today I have been rather flat and depressed though we made an excellent Sunday dinner. W did beef with mustard, herbs and seasonings while I made Yorkshire puds, thyme-candied carrots, green beans and leeks with pancetta and the gravy to end all gravies: beef juice, red onion, red wine, lard, a roux, beef stock, Bovril, more beef juice and crumbled black pudding. It was a hearty dinner.

I feel properly tired for the first time in days so hopefully it’s a good sign. It’s been a bloody horrible episode though, even if my gravy was fantastic. This is what happens when I have nothing to do. It’s painful. 

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I crashed my bandicoot.

I’m pissed off. Not least because I’m in the midst of a pretty bad mixed episode but because my Gamecube just crashed and took all my rad Crash Bandicoot data with it. I set up the Gamecube in a twitchy state in order to try and cope with the yawning chasm of the night. I’m cheerful for now, techno-grievances aside, but the past couple of days have been rather rocky.

On Tuesday night/Wednesday morning I went to sleep at 5am. I cried because I couldn’t figure out what to do with my washing and panic cleaned the house. I didn’t go to Spanish and wandered aimlessly round Tesco, picking things up and putting them down, looking like a mad old bat. I ran away back home to the safety of my mum and dad’s. I’ve been feverish, focused but distractable with busy hands. W took me for apple crumble in Wetherspoon’s and I swung through about six or seven different states in the hour and a half we were there.

In the past couple of days I’ve been through more cycles than Lance Armstrong on steroids. I’m like a washing machine who’s not only swallowed all your socks but decided to shred the remainder of the load and turn it into an artful collage representing aggression. I’ve been tearful, I’ve been buzzy, I’ve been too fast, I’ve been bombarded by memories and intense dreams. I’ve found thoughts physically painful as I churn and churn on pump and spin. Last night I managed to sleep at about 4am so I’m hoping that if I’m good I might even be able to make bedtime at 3.30am.

I’ve finally heard back from the mental health team and should have an appointment in 2-3 weeks. Until then, it’s onwards I go, smashing boxes and eating the apples that life throws at me as I try and make profound analogies using a video game about marsupials. Ripper.

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Nocturnal Admissions

In the space of 72 hours, I seem to have gone pretty much nocturnal. I desperately miss the structure I had to my week in that long forgotten time of, oh, five days ago when I had to get up and be a real person… well, as close as a student can be. This is the difficulty I have being bipolar – my body is sensitive to the slightest changes and my delicate grip on daylight is very easily lost. My mum says that I’ve always been like this. I’ve always needed very regular hours and a good routine of sleep and food. I’ve noticed that my periods are somewhat unpredictable as well, often sneaking up on me or making me panic buy pregnancy tests even though I’ve got another 9 blessed and baby-free years left on my coil, which I’ve read can be common for us in the batshit brigade.

Part of me is wondering if this is my natural state, that capitalism has interfered to force everyone into a little 9-5 box and made the world hostile to mavericks like me who occupy the night. That’s why so many mad people become artists – you can set your own hours to obsess over your latest formaldehyde fancy. But really, I’m probably just bipolar.

I’ve been on a bit of a downer. I’ve managed to get an awful lot of uni work done but I’ve become rubbish at Scrabble (brain’s not working fast enough) and found going out of the house somewhat nerve-wracking this afternoon. I went to the doctors to pick up a prescription and as he asked my address I completely forgot where I lived. I bumbled round Tesco in a state of anxiety, things are usually going south when I start getting lost in shops, and was so relieved to return home. I’ve been off my food but compelled to eat, hoovering food but not really tasting anything. I ate 24 chicken dippers – I couldn’t meet Michel Roux Jr’s eye while watching Masterchef. Mind you, I once had a dream about him eating a packet of Wotsits with a naughty expression on his face so who’s to say what he gets up to in his spare time.

Thankfully there’s a lot of excellent television at the moment to soothe me as I do my workbooks. Everyone on my course seems to be enjoying placement so they feel very much like wet playtime. Still, it might be for the best that I’m contained in my flat during this little down patch.

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“Don’t slam your door!”

I’ve regressed. I’ve gone from 8.30am every morning (well… 9am), shower, porridge and out the door back to my natural student state. The kitchen’s a bombsite and there’s lots of washing up to do. I’m falling asleep later and sleeping longer, barely rising until the afternoon, and have become addicted to a 90s sitcom. The entirety of 2point4 Children is on YouTube. I’ve been sucked into the black hole of UK Gold.

The first series is really good – obviously rather cliche but there’s some pithy lines and the acting’s commendable. There’s a lot of sex jokes and it seeks to poke misogyny in the eye in a charming sort of way, plus it’s interesting watching something where the characters are living through the last recession and Tory government. Also the daughter’s clothes are faaaabulous – I’m so glad the 90s are back in fashion – and the main character Bill reminds me of my mum back in the day. The second series (yes, I’ve burned through two series in 24 hours – how else do you think I got a BA in social science?) has gone far more… 90s. Suddenly we’re dealing with ‘ishyooz’. I’m on episode five and we’ve already had bulimia, denouncing graphic violence, a cringe-inducing supercrip wheelchair episode and there’s even an examination of sex tourism and global inequalities as Ben’s dad brings back Thai bride (not that it goes into too much depth and, of course, everything works out alright in the end). Still, I’m enjoying my nostalgia trip and it burns away the night as I wait for something proper to do.

It’s not all bad though. I have managed to do some uni work and I’ll be starting on the workbooks I’ve been given instead of going on placement. As soon as I’ve finished 2.4. There’s only 5 series left.

And the Xmas specials.

And the millennium one.

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“Hermione had a big white handkerchief.”

I have had a lovely weekend. W took me for dinner at a fabulous restaurant last night – there were medieval portraits on the wall and the toilets had Harry Potter audiobooks playing on the soundsystem. I ate chilli and garlic-marinated goats cheese, pancetta-wrapped pork fillet stuffed with black pudding (a symphony of pig!) with mustard mash and sweet potato chips, then a sticky toffee pudding with ice cream. Today we had breakfast at Wimpy, then he let me nap while he made cocktails (strawberries with black pepper and vodka – only a wee bit, mind) and cooked dinner (steak and ale stew with cheesy garlicky mash). He even did the washing up.

I had a moderate meltdown on Friday night. It wasn’t a full on manic panic but it was a definite ‘ring W at 2am’ affair. Every time I go up or down I have a big identity crisis and I lose my internal thread upon which hangs my sense of self. It’s like I struggle to see how the two incongruous sides of my personality match up because they’re so wildly different. This isn’t helped by being very, very sad and plagued by uncomfortable memories and unwanted thoughts. Needless to say, I got a bit emotional.

W listened, groggily, as I tangled myself in a knot and passed out – my antidepressants make me very drowsy. When I awoke, something wonderful happened. W wrote something which helped me pull my self-image back together. He explained that it’s not me that changes, just my moods. Even though I feel like a different person, there is a consistent whole that runs through everything and he knows who I am even when I don’t. He recognises that there’s a facade that I put up when inside I’m really struggling, but that overall there’s a person that he loves very much and I don’t stop being me. Needless to say, I got a bit emotional – in a good way this time.

Even though I’ve crashed significantly and been a quieter, sleepier manatee I’m ok. There’s a trickle of sadness and the world’s a little less bright but I’m alright. I’ve had a beautiful weekend and I know that someone loves me very much. Let’s see what happens tomorrow. 

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I can feel it. I felt it happening this afternoon. I felt it when I realised that I can’t go on placement next week due to various fuck ups and I wasn’t angry. I was vaguely annoyed but cheerful. And now in the past hour I’ve experienced a mixture of panic and abject terror while in a bath surrounded by candles. The only way I could calm myself down was to lie face down in the bath, chin under the water, digging my nails into my shoulder blades. I felt good then and then abstracted, like I wanted to cry but couldn’t feel anything. I’ve been distracted, leaving things half done and the flat’s a mess. I feel trembly and like everything’s just a bit much. I thought all my hair had fallen out and I broke my cold tap because I couldn’t remember which way to turn it. It sounds stupid but that’s how disorganised my thoughts can be.

At first I just felt a bit feverish. Then it was like after you’ve had a night on eckies and are struggling to sleep at 4am. Your head keeps chattering like a little monkey with stupid thoughts like ‘how do electric showers work?’ and you’re just a bit wired and buzzy. I just feel a bit unsafe, not like I’m in danger or going to do anything silly (or serious), but just nervous.

It’s funny because I was laughing until I cried earlier. There’s a pile of rubbish building up in the kitchen – a sign of the impending doom to come. Every time I think I’m normal, that I can’t possibly really be manic depressive, I have to stop and remember. I struggle so much to remember what it’s like at either end. When I’m up I forget what I’m like when I’m depressed and vice versa. I ask W ‘what am I like when I’m not like this?’

I’m going to go ask him now.

23.19 – I rang W and all it did was make me sad and angry. He doesn’t understand and he never will. There is absolutely fuck all he can do and I really want him to do something but he can’t. I just want him to fuck off. I just want it to stop.

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Flash of brilliance
Burns like fingertips in snow
Weeks of darkness

The sky is crying
It hunches, heaves, cracks the trees
The world wants to drown

The sun’s returning
Says hello goodbye hello
Goodnight and godspeed

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