Bored Game

I am so bored I am going out of my (already frazzled) mind.

For the first time in I don't know how long I actually feel reasonably ok -- but I have nothing to do!
I have nothing worth reading, all jobs are done, there is nothing on TV, and I am bored out of my skull.

If I wasn't agoraphobic I would go for a walk or get a job or something, but I am, so I can't. And daughter number two and my son don't think much of taking me out, so I'm stuck indoors, waiting for daughter number one to come home for the holidays, hoping I don't lose what's left of the plot in the meantime.

You would think that my complete lack of contact with the outside world would be grounds for a bit of support from mental health services, but apparently not -- because I have a private psychiatrist I can't have a community psychiatric nurse (even though that would give me access to all the other services in the area, like a day centre, cbt, counselling, etc).
So not only do I have the joy of paying for my psychiatric care, I get penalised for the fact that I do, too.

Thanks, NHS. I love you, too.

Repeat as Needed?

The new pills are kind of working, or at least I think they would be if I didn't have Titanic stress to deal with.

The lowered interest rate has put me in a position of being hundreds of pounds a month worse off. I was so upset about it I contacted my MP, and she didn't know what was going on even though I explained to her exactly what the 'nice' lady at the Department of Work and Pensions had told me. But at least my MP has said that she will contact the Minister, "to see if the policy needs looking at".
I won't be holding my breath.

But none of this is helping someone who is supposed to avoid stress. In the absence of something to deal specifically with the problem (having run out of Seroquel and not having them on repeat prescription at the moment) I have resorted back to sleeping pills for the time being.
But the newspaper this week contained an article about the high numbers of people who remain addicted to benzodiazepines, and how they are becoming attractive even to heroin addicts and lo! -- Suddenly they disappear off of my repeat prescription list too.

At the current rate I'll be down to aspirins and the odd ibuprofen before long.

***

In other news, number one daughter has been diagnosed with an underactive thyroid -- the exact thing I am being treated for.
If these things are hereditary, then I suppose it lends more credence to the fact that it is what is wrong with me after all.

Seasonally Affected?

My psychiatrist believes that at this time of year all bipolars naturally want to go into a kind of hibernation -- it's only natural, apparently.

And that explains my fluctuating moods, and tears, and general lowness.

That and the fact he thinks anti-depressants really don't agree with me, so I have to come off them asap. Which doesn't help the low mood.

So instead of them I am to start on the (controversial?) treatment of thyroid hormones in the absence of thyroid disorder. Lets see what my GP makes of it.
Personally I am looking forward to it, as from what I have read I can expect an upswing in mood before the stability bit kicks in.

And anything that gets me out of this hole has got to be good.

***

In other news, number one daughter is doing fantastically -- looking after me was good training, it seems, for life on her own. I am pleased for her.

She deserves to shine.

***

I am lonely as hell.

That might just be because I am in this hole at the moment, and holes are solitary places.

Or it could be because I am alone.

Insight - a Double Edged Sword?

Some kinds of madness are intractable even for the shortest time -- there is no respite at all, and therefore no time for any insight in to ones situation.

My madness, on the other hand, allows one breaks of varying durations, when one can look back with-- with what? Horror? Embarrassment? Shame? Mortification? If one is lucky, with amusement. When one can look back on ones words and actions and see them as being the result of ones illness. That is insight.

But which would I rather?

The periods of 'sanity' when I am relatively in charge of my own mind, even in the knowledge that those periods mean I have to face the things I've said and done?

Or no sanity, and never having to come face to face with my own madness?

How about having to do it over and over again?
It's a funny old game.

***

Being on medication reminds me of being an alcoholic.
Each time it fails it's like going right back to the beginning, even though it's not really your fault.

"My name is Betty and I'm bipolar. I've been sane for 3 days."

You Are Being Removed From The System

I removed He Who Left Me's homepage from my 'Links' today.

I'm not sure why.

I still miss him, so it isn't that.

I think I would just feel more peaceful if I thought the universe (including him) was less mad at me.

Hopefully it's grinding it's metaphorical teeth at me a little less today.

Fledgling

Number one daughter has finally left home.

I suppose I should be a bit sad, but it is hard to be when her house and her room and her housemates are so lovely, and she is so damn happy -- I couldn't have asked for a better departure.

Sadder, I suppose, was homecoming to son and number two daughter, who are as unsociable as ever.

Yes, I'm going to miss that girl like crazy.

***

Our run in with the Medichi virus has been eradicated to the tune of £80. All because having music on the Xbox 360 was more important than antivirus software, apparently.

My son has learned his lesson, and Kaspersky 2009 is duly installed on the clean machine.

***

My heart appears to be slowing down.

Thankfully.

Only just a tad under 100 bpm, occasionally, but an improvement, none the less.

Hey, I'm low on good news at the moment; I'll take what I can get.

Try Not To Breathe

I saw the doc yesterday and she clocked my pulse at 118 bpm.

Tachycardia, she called it.

Too fast, she called it.

She said it's the new pills, and if it doesn't slow down, they have to go.

I said there has been a lot of stress. There was the doctor, for a start. And a phone call about my son, from school, and something to do with 'isolation'.

And then there was finding a family I didn't know I had, and losing them again, all in the space of a week, because I am bipolar.

My heart beats too fast.

Better that than not at all, some might say.

But the doc says it has to slow down, by tomorrow.

Deal Breaker

Today (tonight) I am having a hard time.

I am having a hard time getting my head round the fact that I am stuck in this godforsaken dump BY MYSELF when that was never the plan.
If I knew I would be here by myself, I would never have gone ahead with the move.

It would have been a deal breaker.

Yes, he hasn't spoken to me in over a year, and yes I should be getting over it, but clearly I'm not.

And anyone who thinks he is a 'dear soul' hasn't been on the pointy end of him, have they?

Or maybe that's just it.

Maybe they have.

Waiting for Snow

There is something about hypomania that makes it feel as though it would be more controllable, more containable in the cold.

Instead, we are having a balmy Indian summer, which only adds to my irritation.

I don't know if this is hypomania; I suspect it has gone beyond that.
Everywhere I look I see blue energy trails, like little lights. My temper is so short it's practically non-existent. And I'm only ever five minutes and two thoughts away from The Answer.

I suspect it's drug induced, so I should stop taking them, but I can't; I'm too close to The Answer.

Madness is a seductive mistress.

Grab your things...

... I've come to take you home.

***

As promised the new pills do amazing things.

I feel like I'm in orbit a million miles above the planet.

It's not unpleasant.

Not unpleasant for me. The rest for the household variously thinks I've lost it, I'm drunk, or I need a doctor rather urgently.

Today I insisted on clearing out the spare room. I was amazed at the number of empty boxes I had accumulated 'in case'. And my shopping has got rather epic. And I seem to have acquired a new child.

Apart from that, I'm fine; no cause for concern at all -- loud music at 2am is perfectly normal. Singing in the early hours is average.

And the jury on the new meds is still out, as far as I am concerned.

It Never Rains But It Pours

If it doesn't stop raining soon I'm going to go crazy.

Crazier.

It's rained for days and days and days, and the forecast is rain for more and more days. It's ridiculous. It just never lets up. And the bloody roof is leaking.

***

I'm still waiting on new pills. I've been phoning and phoning the doc, and when he finally got the letter from psych guy I asked for new prescription, and now I'm waiting for that.

I'm putting a lot of hope into these new pills, but apparently if they work, they work good.

I keep trying to imagine what it would be like not to be depressed at all, to have energy again, and be motivated. It's a lot to ask of a pill.

But number one daughter leaves home in a few weeks, so I either need a miracle cure, or something to numb me completely.

I don't care which it is.

Having my life back would be nice though.

New pills apparently offer said miracle cure, but only to the lucky few, with the right dopamine organisation.

Fingers crossed.

***

At the moment I don't appear to have the right dopamine for anything -- my life is going to shit, and I can't even cry.

Bring back misery, I say.

***

My brother was interesting at the weekend.

He has been treated with two drugs for bipolar in the past, both for mania.

First I've heard of it.

He said he stopped them both and went for easier options, in the end.

Not necessarily the right options though.

Make Your Own Kind Of Music

It was hot last night.

I was restless.

There was a lot of noise in the street.

Eventually I heard a woman screaming, and my dog jumped out of bed and went to the window barking.

I told him to shut up and come back to bed.

This afternoon the police put a flyer through the door, saying a woman was assaulted in my road, at around the time I heard all the noise.

I guess that's what I heard.

As if I wasn't scared enough of going outside...

***

In other news, it is now less than one month until my best friend (only friend), daughter number one, leaves home.

Aside from the fact I am agoraphobic and can't leave the house without her, I am a mother, and I am going to miss my baby like crazy.

No Place Like Home

I hate where I live.

I hate my house.
I hate the town it's in.
I hate the area and I hate the people.

But for a number of social and economic reasons, I am stuck here, with no way out.

I spend a large part of each day devising possible escape strategies, and rethinking old strategies. And my doctors spend their time coming up with new medications to try and rid me of 'obsessional thinking.' When in actual fact coming up with a get-out plan would be the sanest thing I could do.

I start new meds next week. Hopefully these will give me the energy to come up with some mind blowing scheme that can't fail.
...
Or not.
I'll settle for just not being catatonic, thanks.

The Quiet American

Meeting with the Americans went ok, and the boy is far less mouthy in real life than he is online/on the phone. I like that.
And it turns out that I have rather a lot in common with his mother -- we share strangely similar backgrounds -- which may make us similar I guess, which may explain why our offspring get on so alarmingly well.

Tomorrow morning they fly back to Italy, so I have said that I will front up at the train station so number two daughter can do the farewell thing.
I shall expect plenty of waterworks and OTT drama -- from both of them.

***

In other news, number one daughter went to see my mother, and the woman is practically delusional.
For the first time in my life (and she has pushed me so, so far before, but I have never felt like this), I wanted to say that I no longer had a mother.

She has made up one too many lies about the things I have apparently said and done, and she believes every word of it. And what's more she repeats it to anyone who will listen (including my children) as if it's the truth.
It is beyond the pail.

I had a lie down and stared at the ceiling instead.

***

The effects of changing my meds are becoming apparent.

It feels like shrugging off a heavy winter blanket, and shaking myself free.

It feels good.

My rash has gone, and the jittery feeling has calmed down a bit. I am a bit wound up. I have to wait and see if I can hang on to my temper. Coping without anything for stress at the moment is a little tricky, but my schedule doesn't often allow for a six hour coma.

Still a long way to go, but we're getting there, I hope.

Baby Heroin

My new meds are known as 'baby heroin', and I can see why.

They completely knock me out.

I won't take it unless it's an absolute emergency -- I don't want to get dependant on it, plus there are the minor issues, that it causes obesity and diabetes. I haven't lost almost six stone to promptly put it all back on again, thank you.

And it is kind of dangerous; to be unconscious when in charge of children, don't you think?

***

In other news, Number One Daughter is holidaying in London with Boy -- a kind of trial run for the whole impending leaving home thing.

And Number Two Daughter has a boy (no capital letter, please note) flying in from Sicily to meet her, God help us all. I am being drafted in to meet his mother, but alas cannot utilise baby heroin to calm fraying nerves else I might collapse into my pizza over lunch. I can't use my old meds, as they have caused some nasty prolactin problem, and it isn't clear yet whether I am out of the woods for a prolactinoma on that front.
So lunch might be a little tense.
Luckily they are not actually Italian, but American, so at least I can have a go at making conversation. Hopefully.

I'm really not a people person.

Goodbye Mrs Whiskerson...

... I miss you.



My cat died.
She was very old.
We miss her a lot. Even the dog misses her.

Rest your paws, Mrs Whiskerson, sleep well.

A & E

It's a blue, bright blue Saturday, hey hey
And the pain's starting to slip away, hey hey

I'm in a backless dress on a pastel ward that's shining
Think I want you still
But there may be pills at work

Do you really wanna know how I was dancing on the floor?
I was trying to phone you as I'm crawling out the door
I'm amazed at you, the things you say and that you don't do
Why don't you ring?

I was feeling lonely, feeling blue
Feeling like I needed you
Like I'm waking up surrounded by me
A&E

It's a blue, bright blue Saturday, hey hey
And the pain's starting to slip away, hey hey

I'm in a backless dress on a pastel ward that's shining
They gotta watch you still
But there may be pills at work

How did I get to accident and emergency?
All I wanted was you to take me out high
And I was feeling lonely, feeling blue
Feeling like I needed you
Like I hoped you'd call and hoped you'd see me
A&E

I can't believe the amount of stuff that's gone wrong lately.
I can't believe I keep going.

BliP

Funny, to get a letter inviting me and two members of my bipolar self-help group to a regional network meeting, but then as the only original start-up member who hasn't given up and run away, it does feel a bit like my group.

***

Formal complaint against the childer's school is progressing, and making everyone's life a misery. Now they don't miss any opportunity to make the kids pay for what is, really, my problem.

How very grown up of them.

Once bitten

I realised today that I don't think about him so much anymore.

But it isn't that I miss him any less.

It's that it hurts more than ever -- things like the fact this was the first birthday in five years when I haven't heard from him, really hurt. And so I've kind of trained myself to avoid the pain.

If I make myself not think about him, he can't hurt me. Can he?

Do Miss America

So, tell me how you feel without your medicine
Hold you head feelin' paranoid
Sweet sixteen for a schizoid

So, tell me how you feel
Now you're the only one
Held you head in the setting sun
Sweet black smoke with the poison

Hey, come everybody do Miss America
Hey, you know when she goes down it's hysterical

So, tell me how you feel without your medicine
Hold your head feeling paranoid
Running down the street from a mergatroid

So, tell me how you feel
Now you're the only one
Held your head in the setting sun
Sweet black smoke from a crooked gun

Hey, come everybody do Miss America
Hey, you know when she goes down it's hysterical

I'm having a bad day.

Opting Out

I am cancelling my scheduled operation.

Cowardice it may be, but on the other hand it might be damned sensible; anything planned for the 13th of the month, with the way my luck runs, that involves cutting into my body and anaesthesia, is not going ahead.

Either way, the op is off.

***

It is now officially two weeks since I have eaten.

I am told that's nothing; hunger strikers can keep it up for months.

Then they die.

In Dreams

This morning I woke up screaming from a nightmare/hallucination. I tried to find the door where it would have been when I was in the bedroom that I had when I was about 10, so I could get to my mother.

Weird.

This is possibly related to the fact I haven't actually eaten any food in over a week (hence imminent hospital visit) because of pill complications.

Lack of food does funny things to your head.

Sting in the Tale

I've actually been more affected by that poem going up online than I thought I would be, or than I probably have any right to be.

One of the hard things is knowing he wrote it when he loved me, thinking about me; for me. And now it's just another sale.
And, nothing to do with his doing, there is a dreadful synchronicity to the timing of the publishing of the thing.
And, connected to that timing, a ghastly horror story in itself in my publishing life has unfolded and taken on a life of its own, simply out of me trying to do something nice.

I never learn.

All the stress is, as usual, rather bad for me. This time, added to a number of pill-related complications, there is a chance I will be seeing the inside of a hospital ward for a few days this week. Certainly I'll be seeing a new doctor or two. It's all a bit scary.

And right now, I can't help but wish he was here.

Life From Another Side

"...was inspired by a desire to see life from another side"

Bollocks.

He wrote that poem for me.

It was my Christmas present.

Well it's a little late, but thanks very much.

Comes around...

It's that joint anniversary again; DK's birthday, and the day my dad died.

It doesn't get any easier.

And it doesn't help that I'm at a particularly low ebb at the moment. Or maybe that's part of the reason why I'm feeling so down. I don't know.

Either way, it's a stinker.

Ball of Wax

Busy week coming up -- dog sitting for brother while he flies off to Cuba, and in the middle of that, final hospital trip before my operation.

Hm.

What was that someone said about avoiding stress?

Clinic trip with son tomorrow about his hearing, number two daughter having counselling and needing to see a speach therapist, and number one daughter having blood tests and doctor's appointments galore for nasty problem that refuses to be sorted. No one is having fun at the moment, at all.

Add to that the fact we still have only half a kitchen and no paint on the walls, and it's an all round cheery place to be.

I've had to stop taking one lot of meds because the side effects were becoming unbearable, but I'm nervous being without them at the moment. My psychiatrist is in the process of writing to my GP and telling him I need more support in place ready for when number one daughter leaves home. Given how unsuportive the support was last time, I'm not optimistic.

It's now six months since I last spoke to he who left me.
I still miss him every day.

2008

Well, it has arrived quietly enough.

Lets hope it continues that way.

P.S My New Year is quiet. I'm trying to ignore the neighbours shrieking and rowing in the street, and praying they haven't started as they mean to go on.