Here’s the crash. After a very successful few weeks of socialising and enjoying life I’m now a bit fucked. Been impulse buying, only small things but silly shit I don’t need. Memory’s fucked, couldn’t remember what I needed in Tesco or how to buy a lightbulb. Been a bag of nerves the past few days, anxious for no reason, and today has been pretty bad. Granted, my flat looks incredible due to the vicious clear out I had but my hands have been trembling non-stop all day. Stayed up until 5am talking to a pal on Thursday morning despite having a disability assessment 6 hours later, was so tired I felt drunk all day and was a wreck. Made a total bugger of what was supposed to be a nice evening out. Rang The Samaritans last night because I couldn’t stop crying and was unbelievably stressed. They are so wonderful, it was an epiphany the first time I rang them. It’s great to just talk and talk without judgement or explaining or anyone giving you advice – particularly important because my impulse control is poor and I do [stupid] shit without seeing the consequences, people just want to support me and my enthusiasm is contagious, but The Samaritans just let me vent out my head.
Have had a few triggers for Very Bad Things this week and that’s been really hard. Thought I was stressed because of that but it’s all chicken and egg bullshit. We had some safeguarding lecturers discussing abuse and that was hard, especially when I left the room (mostly to go to the loo but there was some stuff which I couldn’t really hack) and people were looking at me. Reliving trauma is not fun, it’s not a way of connecting with another human being and, while I shouldn’t, I blame the person I was talking to. I dunno if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that the VBTs have become so painful – on the one hand I thought I had a handle on it and am really disappointed that it’s not fixed, on the other it’s good that I recognise how awful it was and that I should be angry and upset about what happened to me – I was a bit numb and blase about it all for a while.
All that serenity and control and confidence that hypomania affords has slid through my fingers like sand. It’s always so disappointing and heartbreaking when you realise it’s just the mental illness talking. I was having such a good time. I thought it was real. I always think it’s real. Now I’m a feverish and sweaty mess, wandering round Tesco looking haunted and utterly perplexed by lightbulbs. I am tired of being so fucking vulnerable – I’m so easy to fuck with and push around. I get myself into situations which I lose control of and this is why I invite abuse. I can see a long, horrible pattern. I AM SO ANGRY BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN SO FUCKING HAPPY.
On the plus side, I have written a formal complaint to the community mental health team which abandoned me over Xmas (how could I not have a follow up for 6 weeks – utterly disgraceful) and will be in receipt of a new laptop plus some sexy equipment/software from DSA. So there’s that.