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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