Final Furlong

It's been another tough year, so I can't say I'll be sorry to see the end of it -- I won't be.
Christmas doesn't get any easier, and I still have tonight to get through yet.

That's not going to a walk in the park, especially without even a glass of red wine to soften the edges a bit.

I don't know what to say about it all really; I've tried the 'things can only get better' approach; the 'this year will be better' approach; the 'I don't give a flying fuck' approach.

I think I'll just keep my head down this year.

It's my party...

... and all the drinks will be non-alcoholic.

I've often wondered what it would be like to be told 'One more drink could kill you.'

Now I know.

According to the consultant, a liqueur chocolate could be enough to land me in the hospital; a small sherry could land me in the mortuary. So I won't be hitting the Gordons this Christmas.

Apparently the pain I was in in July/August was pancreatitis, and I was lucky it went away so quietly. Next time I might not be so lucky.

So now I am psyching myself up for an imminent MRI scan, to see if they can risk leaving my operation for another two months. Otherwise I shall be in the hospital sooner rather than later.

Not quite how I planned on seeing out the year, but then things never do turn out how I plan them.

There's a lesson to be learned in there somewhere, I'm sure.

Winter

It's so cold here, I can't ever seem to get warm.

It doesn't help that I don't really have any proper heating.

I can't sleep at night, it's so cold. It has to snow soon; usually it warms up a bit when it snows.

Three jumpers and a jacket and socks and boots and mittens indoors is too much.

***

Back to hospital for some results next week.

***

And we're not doing Christmas.

Not after last year.

Only a stubborn daughter number one and an ambulance man's dislike of paperwork kept me out of hospital; the police would have had me locked up faster than you could have said 'padded cell.'

So no Christmas.

Just another Tuesday in this house.

Another cold, cold, Tuesday, with not a turkey to be seen.

Asking for it.

One of the worst weeks ever.

I hesitate to say that things can't get any worse, because that's just inviting trouble.

But they can't.

Cold

It's a year ago today since I last saw He Who Left Me.

And that last meeting was painful, and he hurt me very much.

I can't imagine feeling that hurt about something now.

I can't imagine feeling that much about anything anymore.

I think my doctor said this might happen -- that the pills dull things, so one can't feel the lows (or the highs) quite so keenly. It's a dull -- but safe -- place to be.

I tell myself it's the pills, because the alternative is that without him, I don't feel anything.

Splitting

I've been on the new pills/increased pills for two days now, and the headaches are excruciating.
The pain of it keeps me awake all night (well, that along with a poorly dog, who has only just stopped being sick after 48 hours of puking and diarrhea...)

I hope these are just temporary adjustment pains, and that things settle quickly, because I really need this to work.

Five more days on this dose and then I increase again -- I hope that doesn't mean the headaches increase too, because I'm not sure I could stand it. This already has me climbing the walls, its that bad.

I don't remember it hurting before when I have had previous dose adjustments, but my memory is not up to much at the best of times, and these are not the best of times...

Keeping my fingers crossed.

***

Daughter number one and I went to a remembrance Sunday service, which was very cool, and proves I'm doing at least slightly better than this time last year.

***

And said daughter has started receiving offers from universities for next year, which makes her leaving seem all very real, and scary, particularly at a time when I don't want to be left.

I'm not good at being left.

Pee-ess

I got my mobile phone bill yesterday, and I forgot that it would be itemised. It turned out that I also managed to phone 112, which my children inform me is the emergency services.

Just in case my humiliation wasn't complete enough, I worked out that the whole episode took place around the time I was in the ladies room at Marks and Spencer. I'm not sure exactly who was treated to that -- I don't want to know -- but I really hope it was the CSA.

***

This afternoon I start tests to see if I have pancreatic cancer.

Daughter number two is taking the afternoon off school to come with me.
Not that I'm scared, or anything.

Space Between

Halloween has been and gone, and firework night is nearly upon us, and the kids keep reminding me how ill I was this time last year, and I can't remember any of it.

It's like someone has been inside my brain with a hoover, and sucked my memory out. Apparently I didn't leave my room for days, I cried and screamed, and all I wanted to do was die.

The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

It is exactly 2 weeks until the anniversary of my first meeting with my psychiatrist, when I know I had decided that my only options were that it went well, or that I would die.

***

Having said that, its not all roses and smiles at the moment. I spoke to my psychiatrist yesterday and he is concerned about me. Concerned enough to increase the dose of my mood stabilisers and put me on antidepressants. Probably just for the winter, he said, but he doesn't want to risk me getting any lower.

***

Days like like last Thursday are enough to render even the toughest soul low. As if finding out that my son is going deaf and needs a hearing aid wasn't devastating enough, I didn't lock the keypad on my phone and it proceeded to dial its way through most of the people in my phonebook, including my dead father, the CSA, and he who left me (with whom I have had no contact for months). I actually stood in the Disney shop and cried when I realised what had happened, so mortified was I that he might think I was initiating some kind of contact. Horrifying, no matter how much I miss him.

The big-eared elephant wasn't the only Dumbo in that shop.

Saddest Day

I think I realised today _finally_ that it doesn't get any better -- that I'll always be alone, so really it's just a question of deciding when and how I go rather than deciding if I go.

It's not that I don't want to be with anyone else, or I can't find anyone -- I can't be with anyone else. So there really is no decision to make.

The decision is made.

End of, as my kids would say.

***

I first found my birth mother fourteen years ago tomorrow, on her birthday.

***

It was a couple of years after that I last saw her.

Dark Days

I feel pretty crappy at the moment.

It might be the result of dark mornings and ever darkening evenings. I might have to invest in a light box -- my psychiatrist seems to think that it will help. Its not seasonal affective disorder, but he says bipolars suffer similarly at this time of year.

I can't bring myself to take the last of he who left me's stuff to the tip.

He might be hating me for some presumed misdemeanour, but I still can't do it. So I'm stuck with it. I don't fancy having it delivered to him and opening up that particular can of worms. Storage is too expensive.

So until I figure out what else I can do with it, I'm stuck with it.

Beyond Economical Repair

Three months ago I met someone.

He says he likes me. A lot.

He's bright, funny, clever, interesting, sexy, helpful, and he likes me. A lot.

But I can't do it.

I can't do the whole connectedness thing.

Any time we show any signs of any real connection, I switch off. I can't believe he won't just run away. I can't believe he will still be there in the (metaphorical) morning. I can't believe its all for real. Maybe I don't want to believe it's for real, I don't know, but it's not happening. So I tell him I need space, and to leave me alone for a bit, and I'll text him when I feel better, which I have no intention of doing.

And I'm not blaming He Who Left Me entirely; God knows I wasn't without damage before I met him. But now I am incapable of being with anyone; relationship-wise, I am beyond economical repair.

Now thats a scary thought -- the prospect of life alone. Life alone when you just haven't met the right person is one thing, but life alone when you know there never will be -- never can be -- a right one, is entirely a different thing.

How long can I endure a life like that?

How long do I want to endure a life like that?

Beta male heart throbs?

Interesting article here about the attraction of the beta male, those less than alpha specimens that we can't help falling for.

I've known for a long time that I'm not attracted to the macho sort, out for saving a woman in distress; frankly I find them rather laughable, and it isn't that I don't often find myself in distress. I just don't see myself as being saved.

But clearly there are women who would never consider going out with anything other than the alpha male. No beta (or omega) types for them.

So what is it that defines the types we go for? How do I differ from the woman who goes for the alpha? Is it a maternal thing -- I want to care, she wants to be cared for? Or a deprivation thing -- I can't be cared for?
Or maybe I just like men who can't tie their own shoe laces.

Who knows?

Silence Ever After 2

So as expected, there were death throes.
And a brief resurrection.

We talked about couples therapy.

He said he'd go to relate.

There was a waiting list -- end of August, they said.

So I waited.

And it was school holidays so I didn't expect to hear because my daughter doesn't know that we communicate so I can spare her from the mess that sometimes (always) results.

But when I did hear it was for him to accuse me of doing something to hurt him.

Was it because he really thinks I would do that? Or because he doesn't want to have to talk about our relationship?
This is the closest he has come to having to do it -- I have waited over eight months since he said he would seek third party advice, and it must have been only days away at most, and he does something to screw it up.

What am I supposed to think?

So thats the final nail in the coffin.

I shall take his stuff that I have been keeping in my shed to the dump -- out of my life and out of my head. Finally.

I went out with an ex-partner from eight years ago last week, for old times sake, and it wasn't much fun. It proved to me that there is no going back.

This proves to me that there is no standing still, either.

Solsbury Hill

I haven't been able to listen to music for so long, and today one of the Sunday papers gave away a Peter Gabriel cd, and it sounded like the best music my ears had ever heard.
That was the best birthday present I could have asked for.

Almost.

My kids had a portrait done for me, of the three of them.

I had a good day.

Being 40 isn't so bad. So far.

In the Summertime

I'm tired.
It's not lack of sleep, and I'm aware that my pills are affectionately named dopamax, or stupamax, by some who take them, because of a certain dulling effect that they have on one, but I don't think it's that either.

I think that summer is coming.

My psychiatrist tells me that summer is a much easier time of year for 'people like me' -- that those of us who are classically bipolar feel the pressure lift in the summer months, and that urgent drive to do whatever-it-is during the early spring and autumn suddenly lifts during the summer, and we can relax.

So I think that is what I am 'suffering' from now.
It's a curious feeling.
A weird sensation of not really having to do anything.

I keep trying to work out if this is what 'normal' people feel like most of the time.
It's very odd, but it's early days yet.

Maybe I'll try more sleep, and June, and see how I am after that.

Slow Death

Well it took a lot longer than I thought it would, but I think we are finally there.

Imminent visit to his brother was the final nail in the coffin; he can't possibly cope with family and communicating with me, we've seen that before.

So something had to give.

And the something was me.

I'm not surprised, or even that sorry. I know it might just be a delayed reaction thing.

Or it might just be a been there, done that, don't care thing.

***

My only regret is that he has now (finally) last night come off anti-psychotics and started on lithium. Finally there might have been some improvement in his mood / condition / whatever. And he was finally going to get some kind of psychological assessment, and get some therapy. After six months of saying it was urgent and he was going to do something about it, it was finally going to happen.

But I won't be around to see it.

Maybe, eventually, it all just got too complex. I didn't want to be around for the unravelling. I don't know.

***

I wouldn't be surprised if there are some final death throes.

Some dead things just don't know when to lie down.

***

Given all the above, my own head-weather is surprisingly good.

Down the Line

Well, here we are, over a month down the line, and he who left me and I are still communicating and being civil. Like adults. Without drama.

Its all very new, for us.

And for some reason, it makes the missing him bit worse. Unbearably so.

I suppose it makes sense -- there is only so much that you can miss someone who sends you into a screaming pit of insanity.

Which is why the decision I find myself facing is particularly difficult -- do I carry on as I am, with reasonable communication but missing him dreadfully, indefinitely?
Or have a final short sharp shock, and say goodbye, again?

If I go for goodbye I have to be sure I mean it -- I don't want to just be creating drama where none exists, so there would be no going back.
And whereas before it seemed like lunacy to me -- leaving someone that you love -- now I can see that people make tough decisions every day, and just because it's hard doesn't mean it isn't the right thing to do.

Trouble is, I don't know what to do.

Lunar-tic

Tonight there is a lunar eclipse, which may help to explain my latest lunacy.

He who left me and I have been texting again since Tuesday.

Not at the moment; not over the weekend -- I don't want the kids to know -- I can't bear the thought of number one daughter telling me she told me so when it all goes pear-shaped, again.

But I can't stop it either.

I don't want to stop it.

Hearing from him again is so good.

He still makes my heart beat faster.

I still love him to bits.

I'm telling myself that this time is different -- this time I will have lower expectations, and keep my eyes wide open, feet on the ground.
That's what I intend to do, anyway.
But even though it's a full moon, I'm trying to be realistic.

So I shall just enjoy it for as long as I can.

For as long as we can. He said he's missed me too.

Synchronicity

I am a fan of Jung, so I like the idea of synchronicity -- meaningful coincidences as oppose to random events.
Which is why I suppose today strikes me as a synchronicity, rather than a coincidence.

Today is the birthday of he who left me, and the anniversary of the death of my father.

Two of the men I love most in the world (the only other being my son), and on this day one of them came into the world, and one of them left it.

Coincidence?

I think not.

Little Miss Sunshine

... made me laugh.

A lot.

White Rabbit

The school phoned me yesterday to tell me that my son is being bullied.

I had no idea at all.

He hadn't said anything.

Not physical bullying. Not hitting him, or pushing him around.
Just constant, niggling digs at him. Just a few kids, I think. Talking about him behind his back. Starting rumours about him. That type of thing. Apparently he's been getting more and more withdrawn, and his grades have all started to drop.

And I'm the last to know.

It really hit me like a bomb shell.

I wanted to drive straight to the school and pick him up, and never let him go back.
I just feel like I can't protect him.

My brother was bullied at school, and he was never the same afterwards. It crushed him; just kind of broke his spirit. He became a follower, never a leader. I don't want that to happen to my son.

But the school say they are dealing with it, and he says he wants to go, so he has gone.

And the noise in my head has got to the loudest it has been in a long time, so I have taken one of my emergency pills.
It says on the leaflet that they are anti-psychotics.
I don't feel psychotic.
I don't think I'm psychotic.
But I feel better for having taken it, and things seem quieter now, so I'm not going to argue.

Houseyhousey: 19th February, 2005

This is basically an email I received from he who left me exactly two years ago today, replying to one that I had sent. He was just returning to his flat after a visit to his parents for the day to see his family:

"Am in victoria ecaff which means NOT in parents home which is gd gd gd gd
news. Ooo, that was tense. BUT hurrah I got out very early and my Dad murmured
wearily that I had made a good decision, bless him :-). I like them all
separately, but together, ooo tense.

But homeward!

>This is the link to the house. Only has a shower room,
>but has enough bedrooms for a bathroom on the floor above. And its only
>£84950. Let me know if you have any problems with the link.

This pc won't do PDFs but I found the details on the site ... bottom of the
road, then wiggle, then you're on the road to the sea :-). I've written
down all the measurements -- GINK WORK AHOY :-D

I like that you have a very doable house on your list. :-)

Warning, I will want to do LOTS of house talk :-)


>Odd, knowing you will be reading this in London and sososososososo wanting
>you just to get the train to here instead.

Me too me too me too.

---
Hello u.

I have a pound left on my phone. I shall try to top it up at vic, but if not
and I run out of txts then 1130&+15,

I hope everyone had a good day. We're going to p [speak on the phone]. Hurrah.

Hello u so much

wish I was there

xhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxhxh much"

We were house hunting, and it was four months before he moved in, six months before we moved up here. And a while before he decided that his parents was where he wanted to live permanently.

So its hard to read that and remember that I didn't imagine it all; I didn't base my assumptions? feelings? relationship? move? -- I'm not sure what -- just on something that I imagined.
That it was all real, and said, and what we both wanted.

It wasn't just in my head.

minus six degrees in the morning

It's cold.

Damn cold. Snowing.

I love the way it's so quiet when it snows.
Rain is loud -- whether it's clattering down or pattering down.

But snow is silent.

It's quiet here in general at the moment really.

Head equilibrium was regained, although I spoke to my psychiatrist and he is increasing my dosage again. He thinks one mood swing a month is still too much. It's hard for me to get my head around that -- when I think of the number of years I have lived on that roller coaster daily, and he thinks that even monthly it is too much for a normal person to bear...
So I will take more pills.
I'm not complaining -- weight is falling off me for the first time in my life, and my fear of turning into a grey, emotionless, robot has not materialised. I think, bizarrely, or by some quirk of fate, or act of God, or something, borderline personality disorder protects me from that -- it is simply not in my nature to be that way. In actual fact, the mood stabilisers have freed me up to laugh more -- rather than having to hang on to every little shred of emotion for fear of where it will lead, I am freer to experience more emotion, because the consequences are not so dire, and recovery is quicker and less painless.

Having said all that, I am wondering about the point of continuing with therapy. If therapy is about getting back to normal, and I have never been normal, what am I hoping to get back to?
At the moment it feels a bit like being on a journey with no map, and no destination.

* * *
In other news, the school finally took some notice of me and did some testing on number two daughter; turns out she does have dyscalculia like her sister, and isn't just trying to wind me up after all. They are referring her to an educational psychologist for further tests.

And finally, I do still wonder if he ever thinks about me. At all.

Silence Ever After

Once upon a time, on the anniversary of this day, two people met.

They fell in love.

Shit happened.

And they lived in silence ever after.

Romantic, huh?

Dammed

Hey

That was a nasty blip.

It seems to be subsiding a bit at the moment, but I can still feel it there at the back of my mind, lurking like a storm cloud, waiting to burst.

I think it has to do with therapy last week. That's the first time I've really talked about he who left me in a while, and more specifically the emotions I have about it. Usually I just keep them all bottled up inside.
I think therapy was a bit like making a small hole in a dam -- it isn't as easy as all that.
You can't make one little hole and just let a trickle come out.
The whole lot wants to come gushing out.

I think that's a big problem with borderline personality disorder -- there really is no middle ground. Its an all or nothing kind or thing. Or, at least, I haven't found the middle ground yet.
I'm working on it.

So what do I do?

Keep everything bottled up? Because clearly it doesn't all stay put -- I do get angry, and I continue to hurt.
Letting it out doesn't feel like an option -- my propensity to become uncontrollable is far too terrifying.

In the USA the answer seems to be DBT -- a kind of therapy where the therapist more or less acts as a surrogate parent, more or less holding the clients emotions until they learn the control they never learned as a child. But that takes trust, and money, and I don't have much of either at the moment.

I guess I better keep my finger in the dyke for a little longer...

Bad day

I'm having the worst day I've had in about a month.

But its not PMS.

It could be because it's our anniversary this week, or it would be, if we were still together.

I feel terrible at the moment.

I'm not sure if I want to cry or rage. Or both.

I miss him so much, it still hurts so much.

I shall take a sleeping pill, and go to bed.

If a tree falls in the woods..

... and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a noise?

I was reminded of that saying in therapy yesterday.

If I express my anger at someone but they are not there to know that I am doing so, is that enough to let me work through the anger?
Because somehow it doesn't feel like it is enough.

And then I remembered he who left me telling me about someone else who was angry with him.
I have no idea who she was. Is.
He just said she used to phone him up periodically to shout at him, and that it scared him that she was still so angry after so long.
God, how I wish I'd asked more questions!

But I know how she felt.

It's difficult, when you're stuck with all these emotions, and it doesn't feel as if there is anywhere for them to go, because the place where it seems that they belong refuses to accept them.
What are you supposed to do with them?

And I wonder if that is the life pattern for he who left me?
A kind of tessellation of angry people, left behind; never meeting; never overlapping; and him just moving on when real emotions get involved.

Its hard to feel angry with someone and sorry for them at the same time.

Dolphin

There was a dead dolphin washed up on the beach today.

A smallish one, but definitely a dolphin.

The kids stood and looked at it.

Number two daughter always said she wanted to see a dolphin close up, but she didn't mean like that.

I'll be pleased when this weather improves.

Storm

So far the storm-force winds have brought down more than half a dozen tiles off of the roof.
Every morning there are more, the slate smashed to pieces on the ground.

On the lowest parts of the roof the gaps are visible, like missing teeth. The rain is starting to come in, and it isn't going to get any better if I go on ignoring it.

Looks like a visit from the roof-dentist might be in order.

Narcissus

Dear momma's boy
I know you've had your butt licked by your mother
I know you've enjoyed all that attention from her
And every woman graced with your presence after
Dear narcissus boy
I know you've never really apologized for anything
I know you've never really taken responsibility
I know you've never really listened to a woman

Dear me-show boy
I know you're not really into conflict resolution
Or seeing both sides of every equation
Or having an uninterrupted conversation

And any talk of healthiness
And any talk of connectedness
And any talk of resolving this
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to love you
Try to love you when you really don't want me
To)

Dear egotist boy
You've never really had to suffer any consequence
You've never stayed with anyone longer than ten minutes
You'd never understand anyone showing resistance
Dear popular boy
I know you're used to getting everything so easily
A stranger to the concept of reciprocity
People honor boys like you in this society

And any talk of selflessness
And any talk of working at this
And any talk of being of service
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to help you try to help you
When you really don't want me to)

You go back to the women who will dance the dance
You go back to your friends who will lick your ass
You go back to ignoring all the rest of us
You go back to the center of your universe

Dear self centered boy
I don't know why I still feel affected by you
I've never lasted very long with someone like you
I never did although I have to admit I wanted to
Dear magnetic boy
You've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit
You've never been with anyone who's dared to call you on it
I wonder how you'd be if someone were to call you on it

And any talk of willingness
And any talk of both feet in
And any talk of commitment
Leaves you running for the door

(why why do I try to change you try to
Try to change you when you really don't
Want me to)

You go back to the women who will dance the dance
You go back to your friends who will lick your ass
You go back to being so oblivious
You go back to the center of your universe

By Alanis Morissette

Un-fare

I've just found out that the return train fare from my brother's to here is just under £100.

It's too much.

He was going to come and see me next month, so I didn't feel quite so isolated, but he can't afford it, so it looks like I won't be seeing anyone after all.

Me? Angry that I'm stuck up here, alone, in this god-forsaken miserable forgotten corner of the country that someone once described to me as the arse-end of the universe?

Perish the thought.

Breathing

I realised today that for the first time in as long as I can remember, my life has some kind of sense of slowing down.

It's a big relief.

The spinning and the noise and the not knowing who or where I will be from one day to the next feels like it is coming to an end.

I don't know how long it will last, but for now, I'm breathing again.

I might even take the dog for a walk later.

Play it again, Sam.

On the subject of protection, I never felt that he who left me would protect me.

Thinking about it now, one of the biggest rows we had was probably about protection -- about him protecting someone else over me.

Her name was Sam. I don't know much about her -- I wasn't allowed to ask questions (that was the point of the row). What exactly was he protecting? I'm not sure.

All I did know is that he met her on a chatline, and she was (is) a social worker who lived on the South Coast. I knew they must be pretty close because she knew his real name as well as his writing name, and she stayed with him at his flat in Brighton -- something I was never allowed to do.
He said he wouldn't answer questions about her because she didn't matter; she was no one; they had no connection, whereas we did.

We, as he put it, were entangled.

Yet here we are now, not tangled at all; not even communicating, but I bet he is still in contact with Sam.

So who had the greater connection after all?

Maybe thats why he was prepared to defend their connection -- because he knew it was stronger than ours?
Or maybe it was stronger than ours because he was prepared to defend it.

Protection

I've been thinking a lot over the last few days, about what my psychiatrist said.

I told him about what happened at Christmas, and he said I needed to be protected.

I need to be protected from any more swings in my mood as bad as that, he said.

No one has ever talked about protecting me before.

It has always been about protecting other people -- whether it is my kids or my wider family or just people around me, or even complete strangers, it has always been about protecting other people from me, not about protecting me.

I'm not saying that other people don't matter -- especially my kids, of course they do -- but the idea of protecting me is new, and strange, and made me want to cry, and thank him.

Double Top

I spoke to my psychiatrist, and the plan is to double my mood stabilizers over the next two to three weeks, and see if things are a bit more stable then. He's also writing to my doctor about keeping something on hand here for emergencies, to keep me calm and out of hospital, because Christmas was a nasty experience and not one I want to repeat.
Won't repeat.
The plan would be that number one daughter would hold it in reserve, to be administered only in an emergency, instead of calling an ambulance.

I like that plan.

At the moment number one daughter is back in the throes of exams. At least this time I feel that she is pulling out all the stops.

Strict instructions would have to be included, that even under extreme exam stress, she is not allowed to use said sedative on herself.

PS: A Word on Antidepressants

All through the summer I was taking antidepressants.

And all through the summer I got worse and worse.

Then suddenly in August I heard my brain screaming at me that they were killing me, and I stopped taking them. I stopped taking everything.

And then things got very very rocky indeed.

And eventually I got myself to a very good psychiatrist, who actually knew what he was talking about, who listened to me and didn't tell me that I wasn't trying.

He told me that I was bipolar, and that I have a particular kind of bipolar, called rapid-cycling, and that it can be brought on or made worse by antidepressants if they are not given VERY carefully.

So I am not anti-antidepressants; I never have been.

I just want to be very very cautious this time around.

What I think is interesting is that somehow my body/brain/something knew that I shouldn't have been taking them, no matter what the doctors said at the time.

Human beings are amazing.

Insomnia

I hate it when I can't sleep.

I mean, sometimes it used to annoy me -- being the only one awake when everyone else is snoring peacefully -- but now, since I've been diagnosed bipolar, it kind of scares me.

I used to think it was just a quirk of mine -- that I would go days or weeks only sleeping two or three hours a night. I hated sleep; felt like it was a waste of time, that I could be doing something else. Now I know it means something is going wrong. The pills aren't working. Things are starting to speed up, and I'm getting nervous.

My psychiatrist says it's more than just bipolar -- that it's an actual sleep disorder -- part of ADHD, and I also suffer from PTSD (I'm a mass of acronyms these days...), but lack of sleep is very bad news for bipolar.

So now I'm into about my fourth night of minimum sleep, and I'm worried. Tonight is particularly bad. I don't think I'll sleep at all. That will be my third night of zero sleep in about two weeks.

My psychiatrist is due to phone this evening. I am hoping he suggests an increase in my mood stabilizers. I suspect he might also suggest some antidepressants. I'm not so thrilled about that. Not that I don't think I'm depressed, just that rapid-cycling plus antidepressants is bad news. I need to be more stable first I think. I'm sure he'll agree after he hears about the Christmas I had.
Thank Christ it only comes round once a year.

Seized

I have just finished reading Seized, by Eve LaPlante, about temporal lobe epilepsy. It's an amazing book, and a fascinating subject, and I would definitely recommend it. It's available through Amazon, now reprinted.

I'm now reading some short stories by Chekhov. I have no idea if 'Lost in Translation' (the Bill Murray film) was based on the story The Lady with the Toy Dog (I've never even seen the film), but I wouldn't be surprised if it was.
It's a funny little story. Not funny ha ha. Just kind of funny. About what is it that we really want?

What is it that I really miss?

I don't actually miss anything -- we never had a chance to have anything that good. So I suppose what I actually miss is the possibility of that *something good* coming in the future. That is what I am angry about -- not about losing what I had, but about losing what I might have had.
So what is it I think he is guilty of? Stealing my dreams, perhaps? Or maybe he just put them with his own?
No, sorry Shane. No fairytale ending this time.

from Fairytale of New York
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Cant make it all alone
Ive built my dreams around you

Anniversary

The daughter of a late friend phoned tonight.

Her dad died a year ago next week.

She's the same age as daughter number one. She lives on her own now.

Last year was a shit year, all round.

Slow Start

So far the year has got off to a slow start.

Not that I'm complaining -- I'd rather have one of those starts than the downhill at 700 miles per hour kind any time. But it takes some getting used to.

I am finding it really hard being on my own at the moment, now that the kids have gone back to school -- hence the dog -- he was supposed to keep me company. I just don't think anyone told him that. And not every mental health professional that I have worked with in the past has chewed my furniture. Having said that, he's more reliable than most, better looking than most, and generally pees outdoors.

I guess we can't have it all.

The Blogger's Lament

It must be the most commonly blogged about thing in the world -- the cyber-confession of our times: I'm sorry, but its been so long since my last post.
A third of a year in my case.

Major news is, in no particular order:

1. I'm walking again.

2. I'm diagnosed bipolar.

3. A New Year has arrived.

4. He who left me and I finally met up again, split up again, and are no longer communicating, except by the power of all the things that I wish upon him daily.

5. I have a dog.



Folks, meet my dog.