Tag Archives: exercise

Yesterday feels like a faded dream. It was nice to be a silly teenager again for an evening, running around and being teased by boys. I’ve been feeling a bit desperate for some affection.

I saw a video blog with Dr Francesc Colom on the Bipolar Foundation website which talks about the importance of tracking what you think or do rather than how you feel. It allows you to build up data so you can spot the warning signs of an episode. Sleep changes are the big ones for me along with a desire to smoke (mini self-destruct button). Here is my day:

Today I slept in until about 9.30am. I first woke up some time between 6.30am and 7am after going to bed at around 2.30-3am, then I was in and out for a couple of hours. Had some intensely detailed dreams. I got up, didn’t shower or have breakfast (haven’t made any bread) but bought a flapjack and a bottle of water at uni. Had a dreadful lunch of sausage roll, chips and gravy which I didn’t really want or enjoy. Barely spoke to anyone all day, people remarked on how quiet I’ve been, and was relieved to get out at the end of the day. I got home, sat down for an hour, squeezed the shit out of my face (I really, really need to stop – the scars on my cheeks are embarrassing and I wouldn’t have them if I didn’t keep scratching my face up) and then forced myself to have a good workout. I did 15 minutes of circuits (using the 7 App on my iPhone – I lost the plot with my old routine because I was so knackered after placement, the commute ruined me) then 50 sit ups, about a minute of peddling on my back, 50 clams, 40 side-lying leg lifts, and 4 x 50 arm exercises with my 1.5kg weights. Stretched down then had a shower. While I feel physically better my head still feels quite cloudy and disastrous (I think I’m fat and ugly, I don’t know what I’m doing, everything I’ve ever tried to make happen has been a failure while every accident has been great proving that I’m incapable of steering my life in the direction I want, I’m jealous of everyone, I’ll never find love etc – though reading these thoughts written down makes them look patently ridiculous).

I’m going to make a salad, clean up the kitchen and then watch telly. Might ring my mum. She rang me back yesterday and I was in no fit state to talk to her. She said some of the wrong things (like that I should be careful how ill I say I am in case I get kicked off my course, what the fuck) so I felt it best to just leave it and talk to L instead.

My friend L from uni is coming to stay tomorrow with her friend J after a gig, I’d completely forgot and am somewhat dreading it. I’m also speaking at an event tomorrow for uni and have absolutely no idea what I’m going to say. It’s only a couple of minutes so I’m sure I can make something up. Still, free sandwiches.

Tagged , , , , , ,


I’m bored. So bored. I didn’t feel bored at uni and I didn’t feel bored when my friend was round. I felt good when I exercised and managed to push myself further. I watched a boring film and am writing my boring blog. Boring boring boring. It could be a bad sign, that it has all been hypomania and now here comes the tick tick tick crash, or it could be that I live on my own in a small flat with no one to talk to and am desperate for company. I miss my parents – the chat in our house is generally belter. 

I wish I was clear cut crazy instead of just maybe a bit of something not quite sure perhaps. That’s not really true though. I just hope this isn’t the yawning, painful boredom that makes me think of suicide. I can become hopelessly bored by everything to the point where I want to kill myself. Maybe I’m just understimulated today. Xmas was busy and fun with lots of people, I’m a natural extrovert, so maybe it’s just dull real life again.

I think the thing my brother was getting at before is that I just don’t know what’s normal. Like, it’s probably normal to be bored when you live on your own and Xmas has finished. I get dramatic and make it pathological. He reckons it’s because our parents never told us off as kids – we got long guilt trips or ignored or made to feel like we weren’t loved anymore if we did something wrong. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I’m frustrated by not knowing – I’m not depressed about it but I’ve got too much time to think. Maybe I’m just being self-indulgent. I want visitors again. I was supposed to have a visit this week but it bottomed out. I’ve a trip to Scotland planned soon, booked on a whim, and I’m looking forward to it.

I’m knackered as well – I didn’t sleep very well last night (I think I was just too warm) and woke up a few times before my alarm. Perhaps it’s uni which disrupts my body clock, rather than me being dysfunctional, as it makes me get up at a time which doesn’t suit me and it’s not constant at the minute. Sometimes, after uni, I’m too tired to read or concentrate properly on TV or films. Maybe that’s normal. Fuck’s sake, man. Maybe I’m just normal and a bit of an idiot. I’ve been perky and cheerful today, went for a pint at lunch and then had a couple of beers with I this evening before he went to a party. Then I was bored. Maybe I just need people.

I wish I could go for a drive. The northern lights might be visible tonight. Christ, I wish I could go for a drive.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Everyone loves an angry bird

Yesterday was rather dreadful. I was morose and moody all day and it culminated in a big argument with W in the car. We spent much of the drive in silence, which I preferred. I don’t especially like conflict or shouting because I feel I’m not very good at it. I’m not secure enough in my own judgement to think that I’m right and I don’t see the point in speaking. There’s also things that I don’t want to talk to him about and so I talked to my mum. My mum is quite standoffish about the bipolar whole thing, not because she doesn’t care but rather she’s worried about saying the wrong thing, but she was really helpful. She told me to hang in until my appointment and then I’ll have some help figuring out how I feel. I have no idea what’s me and what’s me being ill. I’ve lost my thread completely. My entire narrative, of which I used to be sure, has fallen to pieces around me. All the shards are jagged and cut my fingers as I try to pick through them and stick them back together, reliving some dreadful memories. And I’m still terribly angry about losing my independence. It’s a feeling I’ve often felt in relationships anyway, that I end up losing part of myself because I need so much looking after, and now it’s justified by letters from doctors. I also struggle with boundaries because of my flurries in mood, one day wanting to be together forever let’s get married and the next repulsed by the woebegotten creature who I now have to deal with. My relationship history is very, very painful.

Last night I slept terribly. I awoke repeatedly between nightmares – there was general fear, dread and a sensation of falling, plus something about having to report a safeguarding issue regarding obscene photographs being coerced out of patients by GPs. I’ve always struggled with sleep. As a very small child I never slept. My mother recounts the years of endless screaming which progressed to locking myself in the bathroom in hysterics. She said she kept getting phone calls from the bank about the credit cards she’d lose because she never slept as a result. She’d also often find me sleepwalking or having nightmares. I used to insist on going to sleep in their bed and being carried through to my own room after – I don’t think I fell asleep in my own room until I was about 9. I remember my dad saying that people would think they were abusing me because of the dark circles permanently etched under my eyes.

I was a very strange child. When I was little I would only talk to men with red hair – I was terrified of any other blokes, including my dad. We couldn’t watch ITV for a year because I was petrified of a particular washing powder advert. I had (and do have to this day) a huge sensitivity to caffeine, resulting in migraines and utterly appalling behaviour on the comedown, and it took my parents until I was two to figure it out. They think that might be the root cause as they said once they weaned me off (which involved me hanging on to my mum’s leg screaming ‘no, mummy, no, don’t take my cocoa away, what will I do’ like a little junkie) I became much more pleasant. It took several more years to realise that pink food colouring also has the same effect and sneaks into a lot more unexpected things.

For a long time my mum genuinely thought I was mad. Maybe she was right. I was certainly very emotional. She caught me stealing once when I was about eight and told me off. She said that I was hysterical and completely overcome with guilt in way that she’d never seen and she found quite disturbing. I also remember lying in bed as a kid and becoming inconsolable about the thought of my parents dying. I couldn’t bear to be separated from them, even on trips to my friends’ houses or my grandmother’s, but I think some of that was from my nana’s bullying and manipulative behaviour. I was left with her a lot as a kid when my mum went to work and she fucked with my head something rotten. Nana would feed me sweets, praise me for cleaning my plate and then tell my mum what a horrid fat child I was when she came to pick me up. Not good for the mind or body.

I was also very funny and lovely and extremely bright, of course. I did often manage to be nice even if I was a bit weird. I’ve always been loved by my parents which I think inoculated me against a total mental breakdown. These stories are part of family legend now anyway, we trot them out and recount them to guests who look on in puzzled semi-horror as we laugh. It is all rather funny really. My teenage years were more complex and involved Very Bad Things that mum and dad don’t know about and hopefully never will. Perhaps another night.

Still, today I’ve been in a good mood. I think I can see that the less sleep I get, the more likely I am to be a bit manic. I’ve also been overjoyed to be back at uni, even on about five hours’ sleep, and we had a very interesting day. We had to make a timeline of our lives, some very intricate and others sparse, and present to the group about times when we’d felt empowered and disempowered. People shared the most incredible stories: births, deaths, carjacking, suicides, helping people, loving people, kicking a dog in the face jungle style. I talked about my bipolar (of course) and how disempowering and emotionally disruptive I’ve found my diagnosis, particularly when psychiatric teams write to you but put the wrong name on the letter (unless I’ve also suddenly developed multiple personality disorder, of course). I also talked about my love of performing in front of an audience and working with people with learning disabilities, two things which give me genuine joy. Then I came home and cooked in a distracted fashion which ended up with sardines all over the kitchen wall. While it was messy, it made me acknowledge that my thoughts were racing (which doesn’t help a raging identity crisis in the slightest) and I’ve also been angsting about a couple of extra pounds that have appeared due to recent kummerspeck (German for “grief bacon”). So I did the unthinkable: exercise.

I started with a few of my old yoga poses just to see how it felt. A delicious heat seared through my limbs, all useful and taut, and I felt sweat bead on my forehead. I panted and glowed. Then, feeling cocky, I began to look up other exercises I could do. I settled on the Angry Birds Workout Plan which I’d seen some time ago but never quite got round to doing. It’s a dead simple combo of four movements using your own bodyweight to build strength. It’s designed for people with neither time nor space so seemed ideal for me – astrophysicists use at your own discretion. I gave it a whack and, after some sore reps in my pyjamas, got that wobbly orgasmic feeling I didn’t realise I missed so much. It was definitely a cheap kneetrembler rather than the spiritual earthshaker I used to get during dynamic balance classes at uni (I often had to refrain from blissed out giggling at the end of every session) but it did the trick. I was surprised at how average I was as opposed to the complete wreck I’d expected. It felt really, really good. Let’s see if this is another flash in the pan or if I can have another blast on Wednesday.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,