Filthy Lucre

I couldn't feel worse.

Which is a shame, considering I've just come home from a holiday that was supposed to make me feel better.

But then I wasn't expecting to find a letter telling me I owe £6500.

At the moment I am pretty suicidal, not taking my pills, and expecting to go to prison if I don't pay it (which I can't -- I simply don't have the money).

And my brother asked if I was feeling relaxed after my break.

I soon put him straight.

Daughter number one is coming home from uni to see what she can do, but in truth I don't think there is much she can do.
She says she will find out what is going on, and why I apparently owe the money, but I don't think it will change a thing.

And I don't think I can live with a £6500 debt hanging over my head, which only leaves one option; one way out.

All is Quiet...

... on New Year's Day.

One of the most peaceful New Year's I've ever had.

Thank God for my medication.

So how the stupid head local psychiatrist can call my meds eccentric and say she won't be responsible for me while I'm on them is beyond me.
At least my GP is supportive, but it means there is going to be no CPN support, and so no help with my agoraphobia. Any thing that I want doing about it is going to have to come from me.

So no change there then.

***

I am missing he who left me lots at the moment. I don't know why that should be the case. Maybe because I am thinking it is about time I got rid of the last of his stuff -- something about the last of him being gone, or maybe a bit of sadness about chucking out his pc. I wondered if it was guilt, but it isn't -- it's been sat here for 3 years, and he knew where it was, if he wanted it.

***

New Year's Resolution is, as usual, to lose weight.

That, and to kick this agoraphobia in the teeth once and for all.

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.

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.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

Since my last past, there has been news.
Some good, some bad.

Good:
Number one daughter passed exams (Hurrah!), got into the college of her choice, and has made a good start, in good solid subjects. Younger childers have gone back to school and that seems to be going fine -- the highlight of number two daughter's life is that the school has installed a pasta bar for lunches.
Oh, to be 12 again.
And he who left me has said, in a round about way without really absolutely saying it but not not saying it, that he still loves me.

Bad:
I still can't walk.

*****

Its been a funny couple of weeks.

I'm off of the trazodone at the moment. I really couldn't take any more feeling sick I was so tired, and feeling like I couldn't use the top half of my brain.
It's a relief to have all my head back, but scary in a jumpy sort of way.

And apparently a sprain really is worse than a break, according to my doc. He says I could be limping like this for six months. Six months!

And today the electoral roll form dropped through the door, bearing the name of he who left me. That was a bit of a blow.

And I started therapy.

Footloose

Another week has passed, and I'm still limping.
I can just about get around, but it's a real trial, and it still hurts so much.
I always thought a sprain was a little namby-pamby thing that footballers made a fuss about for nothing, but it really hurts!
So most of the school holidays are being taken up with me in bed or sitting with my foot up, still waiting for the swelling to go down.

Texting and emailing he who left me is going ok.
We are still trying to sort out some of the mess we are in -- all the things that have caused hurt and misunderstanding really need to be addressed before we can even think about being friends.

My head is still not great.
I have had a couple of up patches -- very up -- but I landed safely from those.
Downs have been difficult. It's like someone pushing at the door and I'm trying really hard to keep it shut, but when I'm tired I know it's going to be too much.

My sleeping is bad -- up until 3 or 4 a.m. most nights, and then sleep until 10 or 11a.m.
I think maybe I'm nocturnal, like a bat.

I realised this week how bad my paranoia is, and that scares me.
I understand psychosis to be when one's reality differs from everybody else's, and mine certainly does that sometimes.
I think people are lying to me -- I am so sure I am right and nothing can convince me otherwise.
And yes, it could just be stubbornness rather than paranoia, but I had the most massive row with number one daughter because the dishcloth went missing and I was utterly utterly convinced she had hidden it from me with the deliberate intention of upsetting me.
Ok, so the cloth was found and the next day I could see that she hadn't done it, but at the time, I couldn't be told otherwise.
And that's just one silly example, and it scares me.
I have no psych lady anymore because I accused her of lying, and rather than seeing it as part of my problem she just said she wouldn't work with me.

So I have no psych lady, no psychiatrist, I can hardly walk and my mood is still up and down like a whore's drawers.

Apart from that, it's been a good week.

What a Difference a Week Makes

Its exactly a week since I last posted on here.

Its been a funny week.

Last Saturday and Sunday were pretty good, as far as I can remember. Church on Saturday, a birthday on Sunday. We ate cake and Chinese food.
Fine.

Then Monday it all went pear-shaped.

Its hazy in my head.

Psych lady phoned and spoke to number one daughter.
It didn't go well. Number one daughter spoke to the crisis team, briefly. They couldn't offer much advice.
I was getting more and more distressed, and I wanted to sleep.
I used up the secret supply of pills I had -- the ones I don't take when number one daughter hands them over.

I drank some vodka.

I really really really wanted to hurt myself.
I remember that clearly.
I wanted to cut myself.

And the pills weren't making me sleep and I was getting more and more agitated so I did what I thought was the most sensible thing I'd ever done in this situation.

I called a taxi and went to the hospital.

We arrived in A & E, and they asked what I'd taken. They asked if I'd spoken to the crisis team, and agreed that they were useless.
'Don't worry,' the nurse said. 'We wont send you home tonight.'
And they didn't.
I spent a quiet night on a medical assessment ward, and waited to see a psychiatrist.

'It's your choice,' she said. 'Clearly your meds aren't working, else you wouldn't be here. It's all your choice.'

She left, and I came home. Depressed, scared, rejected, insecure and wondering what the fuck I should do.

I did what she said, and stopped taking my meds.

By that evening I felt a bit better. I got out of bed, and typed up all the things I wanted to talk to psych lady about.
Off of meds, my mood was high. And I had some good arguments. I rushed downstairs to show daughter number one.

And I fell.

I remember wondering where the ground had gone, and then reaching out with my toes for something solid. The next thing I remember was hitting the ground and screaming.
Boy, did I scream.
I thought I'd broken my ankle -- it was massively swollen and hurt like nothing on earth.

I couldn't face calling an ambulance that night, so I slept on the sofa.
The next morning it was still swollen and hurting and I couldn't walk on it, so an ambulance had to be called and I ended up back in A & E.
X-rays were ok though, so we got to come home again.
Crutches on the bus was not as fun as it sounds. All in all, we were gone about 4 hours.

I made it back home and slept. I think later that night I ate supper on my bed with the kids, and then I slept right round to the next morning, Thursday.

Pretty much as soon as I'd woken up the phone rang.
Psych lady.
She had come round soon after I'd left in the ambulance, and my son had given her the notes I'd typed up.
She said she didn't think we could have a therapeutic relationship anymore.
She said she was reporting me to social services, for leaving my kids alone.

That was two days ago.
I'm still waiting for social services to descend, I'm still waiting to be able to walk.
My mood is ok -- thanks are due to he who left me, for talking to me and texting me and keeping me calm and giving me strength, and for talking a lot of sense which sometimes we both doubt that he can do.
Thank you.



It's been a rocky week.
But I'm back on meds and I'm trying to be optimistic -- at least I can pee in the bathroom again.

As if by magic...

... I'm back up again.

These mood swings are a fucker.

I'm not quite as high as I was before. The world doesn't seem quite so rosy.
But no alcohol, and meds only in their prescribed doses.
Its a big improvement on yesterday.

I don't know what caused the turnaround. It just sort of happens.

It's very confusing.

But I'm glad to be back.

Vodka and tears, on the rocks.

In the blink of an eye, I have hit the bottom.

I cant remember at the moment what put me here. Something about being refused benefits and psych lady lying to me.

I'm drunk.

I'm tired.

I don't want to be here any more.

At this moment, I want to kill myself.

You make me feel like dancing (the speed queen remix)

Just walked home from the supermarket in the rain, and got soaked.
It wasn't so bad -- it was good to see the sea.

I'm having a bit of a headrush at the moment.

I think it's a trade-off.

I need this level of meds to keep my mood from slipping again, but at this level I can so easily become... what? I don't know what they would call it. I don't think I'm bad enough to call it manic, but something certainly happens.

Its like my brain speeds up.
I read a lot more -- loads of books at the same time.
I buy a lot more books -- Jesus fuck, I've bought six books today alone, and I really can't afford it.
And make-up, and magazines, and stuff for the kids and the house and anything else I can find to spend money on. That all goes up.
I listen to more music, I want more sex.
Sleep is screwed -- very little at night, some in the day, sometimes hardly any.
I talk at a million miles an hour and I rarely finish a sentence.
At the moment I think I'm psychic, and I worry that I might have started hearing voices.
Last week I could hear Leo Sayer singing "you make me feel like dancing" in short bursts. Apart from the fact it was Leo Sayer, it wasn't as bad as it might sound.

So that's where I am at the moment.
No Leo Sayer (thank God), but some general all round speediness.
It's preferable to the alternative -- a high mood is much more fun (if that's the right word) than a low one is -- but it's still hard work.

Excuse me, I have a book to read.

Touchdown

Sunday morning, and finally I feel a bit calmer.

Yesterday was appalling. I took four Librium and I still couldn't talk in complete sentences. We went to church but that didn't help. I even sat in a quiet room and tried to do some sewing -- me! sewing! -- but I was just too agitated.

But this morning I feel a bit better.

* * *

I've been texting with he who left me for a few days or so now.
It's been going ok.
I'm not sure why that is. I have a feeling its all the drugs I'm on. Comfortably numb.
I worry when we're getting on ok though, that I'll forget all the things he did to hurt me, and that he'll just get away with it.

Maybe that's why I'm agitated -- all that injustice looming.

On the one hand my head says to me that if I can forget them that easily then they couldn't have been that bad, so maybe I should just drop it. But on the other hand I know what he did was awful. My children know it. He knows it. We can't ever really get on until we clear the air properly, because it's always going to be lurking there at the back of my mind.

There are too many things lurking there already.
I don't need anymore.

* * *

My nails look nice.

* * *

We're supposed to be going to a drive-in movie tonight.
I hope it doesn't rain.

Brain drain

Not much blogging from me lately -- my head is all over the place.

Friend's daughter is very negative. That's not a criticism, it's just the way she is. But I find that sort of person quite difficult. My mum is like it, and my brother. But generally I don't think I am, and my dad wasn't, when he was around. It makes me feel like it's my job to put everything right, which is simply an impossible task, so it leaves me feeling like a failure.

Texting with he who left is moving on apace. I'm still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. That's partly down to the way my head is at the moment -- I keep forgetting my point (if I ever had one) so it makes conceptualizing consequences almost impossible. It's definitely a chemical/brain thing going on -- whatever it is, it's the same thing that sorts out libido. That's going crazy at the moment, which is inconvenient to say the least.
Not to mention pointless.

Another seven hour drive starts in about 2 hours. That should be mind-numbing enough to sort out most things :-/

Monday's child

Number two daughter has just gone off to summer school. Suffice to say her first solo trip on a bus involved number one daughter running down to the seafront in her pyjamas.
I keep telling myself that it's all part of growing up.
Well, it is if you're daft as a hairbrush with the memory of a goldfish (God Bless number two daughter).

I've had a dodgy couple of days. Very jumpy, very tearful, but very hard to get going. It's not much fun. I've managed it with Librium and sleeping pills and diet coke, which is good. Six months ago it would have been completely unmanageable, so I'm definitely doing better.
It's a very strange feeling, this jumpiness. It's like someone standing just behind your shoulder but then every time you turn around to look at them, they've gone.
It's very disturbing.

Number one daughter had a birthday on Saturday and that was hard going.
She didn't know if it would be best to hear from her dad or not.
In the end it was not; he didn't send a card or anything, and she was very upset. The situation was made more difficult by the fact my friend's daughter (who is staying with us) lost her dad (my friend) six months ago.
No wonder I've been a bit wobbly.

Number one daughter is hard on herself -- she blames herself for the fact men leave and then never speak to her again, her dad and he who left me being the main players at the moment.
They both made a lot of promises to her personally which they never kept, and she finds that hard.
I keep telling her -- it was me they left, not her -- but those promises make it hard for her to believe me. Or moreover -- she accepts that they left me, but doesn't see why they had to then treat her the same way; she is not me.
I don't know the answer to that either.

Church on Saturday was ok but dull. No massive inspiration from the great beyond.
Still waiting for Him to send me the lottery numbers.
But maybe He did help me with the crossword.
It's the first time I've had a go at one since he who left me left, and I only have one clue to solve:
Fellow at location of an eruption?
I think the answer is something spot. Heatspot? Is that a word?
I don't know, but it's certainly an improvement.

Heat strokes

I drove for 7 hours yesterday and narrowly missed two major motorway accidents. I always find that sobering.

I was going to pick up a friend's daughter, who has come for a holiday. She's just 16, as is my eldest.
Strange to see signs of self-harm on her arms and to find it so shocking, and yet to accept it as everyday on myself.
I haven't decided if/when/how I should talk to her about it yet.

Still hot here.

£850 gas and electric bill. I'm paranoid about every light we leave on now, every tiny bit of fuel we might be wasting.

I'm very teary. Just want to cry all the time. It's definitely not pmt this time. It's just stress, I think. And heat and tiredness and just not sure what's going on-ness.

Today...

... was better.

Daughter number one and I went out for breakfast and then we went shopping, which always makes me smile.
I bought nail polish.
Buying polish for my newly grown nails is very fine.

I had a lot of caffeine today (Ooo! Starbucks freezy coffee is yummy in this heat!), and that seems to help at the moment. Of course, I might regret it tonight, but then I don't think my nights could get any more odd if they tried; last night I had to present written arguments to the judge as to why I felt it necessary to bring my toothbrush into court.

Some text with he who left me. I still don't know if it's a good idea.
The jury is still out on that one.
I hope they have their toothbrushes.

I'm having...

... a shit day.

Everything is going at a million miles an hour.
I can't get that dream out of my head.

He who left me says he just forgot I'd asked the question, but everything feels loaded to me. Everything feels as if it means so much.
I would take half a sleeping pill, but I'll fall asleep.
Although why I want to stay awake is beyond me.

It's days like this I want to be in hospital.
I want to be somewhere safe.
The whole world is so fucking scary. I can't do anything right.

I want it all to go away.

Haircut, Sir?

Hey

We were talking (texting) about the weather. That seemed to be going ok.
Then all I did was ask if he'd had a haircut -- on account of the heat, that's all.
And I could feel him clamming up.

I didn't mean anything by it; it was just a question, out of interest.
But it was too personal, so he changed the subject -- what did I think of the Davinci Code film?

I left the conversation.

Really, if all we can talk about is the weather, why do we bother?

* * *

Really bad dream this morning, about a friend of mine who died. It wasn't horrific, just sad.
I woke up crying.
I hate those.

* * *

Serious dose of caffeine in the morning does seem to help get things going. I had worked so hard on giving it up -- no coffee, no coke, no lucozade -- but now it seems that its a good idea. In moderation.
Isn't that always the way?

Breathing

I'd forgotten for a while there how to breathe.

Today I breathed again, and I feel human again
(I also had a huge caffeine input whereas I normally have none - this may have had something to do with my super-whizzy okey-dokey mode).

My neck doesn't hurt when I try and turn my head.
I did a project for my son on Armadillos in about 40 minutes. It's due in tomorrow and normally I'd just make him hand in some half-arsed effort that he'd thrown together himself. This time I did the paperwork but I still made him learn all the stuff -- did you know an armadillo can hold it's breath for six minutes? You do now.
I tidied up, and got rid of all the piles of crap that have been accumulating around the lounge. Yes, I just moved the piles to other rooms, but at least I don't have to look at them (except for the ones that are now in my room).

And I had a half decent text exchange with he who left me.
I wasn't expecting it.
I was, as I have been so many times before, ready to walk away.
I was sorry that I sent him a message on Friday, having realised that if I hadn't then he never would have contacted me. So I sent him a message to say as much. He said he was pleased I had texted.
Anyhow, the long and the short of it is that we exchanged messages without an argument ensuing.
I have to word them very carefully -- if the boys ego was any more fragile he'd be a... well, a boy. But I managed it and we got there.
The hardest bit is when he asked how we all are.

What can I say?

Number one daughter is defensive, friendless and won't go out without me. She hates men, swears shes going to be a lesbian and blames herself for letting him move in.
My son doesn't sleep. Last night I came out of the kitchen at midnight to see his legs dangling over the banister. I thought he'd hung himself. Turns out he'd been sitting there for ages, just listening to me. His ocd is getting worse, his food intake more bizarre. Now he says he cant eat anything until he's 'processed' it. This means inspecting it, literally, a grain of rice at a time. Dinner takes ages.
Number two daughter has just retreated into her own world. She stays in her room mainly, or collects snails in the yard. Usually the only person she talks to is herself. Today she came in crying because the kids on the bus had been bullying her.
And my cat is now incontinent.

We're fine, I said.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

This (Sunday) was the worst day I've had in months.

Two sleeping pills and half a dozen Librium and I still spent most of it bouncing off the walls.
The rest was spent crying in bed.

I'm not stupid -- I know it's not a coincidence that yesterday was the first time I'd had contact with he who left me in a month. I know I shouldn't have done it.

But I thought if he still loved me (as he has always said he does) he would be pleased to hear from me. I thought he might be just a bit sorry for the mess he left me in. I thought he might want to find a way forward, so that we could be friends, or something.
I thought he might at least offer to pay back some of the money he owes me or take his fucking stuff away.

But no.
Yesterday ended on the usual 'shut up and fuck off' text, and today, nothing.

I know he's ill, and I know it's a big deal.

Actually, I don't know anything.
I guess cutting me out is what he always did. It just hurts more now because we've been so close.

Daughter number one is resisting the urge to say 'I told you so,' just about. Unfortunately I can't be so gentle on myself.

But this isn't the Andrew Daniell I fell in love with. That one was gentle, and sweet, and cared.
Or maybe he was just a better actor than this one is.
I don't know any more.

I feel like shit. I have a really bad urge to hurt myself, so I'm just going to take more pills, go to bed, and pray it goes away.

Mea Culpa

Well, I finally did it.

I sent him a text: I miss you. xx

We exchanged a few texts -- pleasantries, more or less.
He says he can't talk (text) right now because he's hyper, in a bad sort of way.
I never did really understand what that meant.

Do I feel better for it, or worse?
Hard to say at the moment.
I certainly feel something -- I cried a lot this afternoon.
He's ill -- he says they are doing tests. I want him to be well.
I feel like I want to hold him, and stroke his ears (he liked that) and tell him everything will be ok. But somewhere at the back of my head a little voice is asking who is going to hold me? Who is going to stroke my ears?
And how much more am I going to get hurt?

It's evening...

...that always seems to be the hardest.
I'm ok until about 5ish, and then I really feel it.
I took Librium every three hours tonight but I'm still wound up like a top. I haven't taken any Trazodone yet because I want to write, but it really is hard going.
Having the kids home all summer is going to be hard work if I'm as tense as this.
Number two daughter is on a Gifted and Talented summer school thing for the first week, which she is looking forward to. But number one daughter is already 'bored' so that's going to be a trial, especially if I can't leave the house.

I shall be counting the days until September.

I didn't realise the sunset would be so hard.
We used to walk down to the sea, to watch the sun go down, almost every night.
Now, as soon as I see the sky turning that pinky colour that means it's on it's way, I start feeling sick.
At the moment I don't think I'll ever be able to watch it again.

Event Horizon

We went to the psychic event. It was kind of an all day thing.
By the end of it we were all psychicked out.
It was pretty good - lots of messages, some insight, some stuff I already knew but was trying to ignore. Some rubbish. But it was ok, and it got me out of the house.

* * *
We finally got registered with an NHS dentist. Appointments in August.
I've never been so happy about the prospect of seeing a dentist.

* * *
I'm still sleeping 12 hours a day, and am sluggish for the other 12. It's not ideal.
The good news is that for the first time in my life I have spontaneously stopped biting my nails. Looks like all those side effects, the constant drowsiness and the total lack of life was worth it after all.

Blogs of note

Hey

Not much blogging of any note from me lately (ever?).
I've been really jumpy, and not able to concentrate much -- aside from the stories I've submitted.

I watched a new candy-floss tv programme last night, The Ghost Whisperer. Not for the beginningless talent of Jennifer Love Hewitt (although the guy from Prison Break was quite cute...), but just for interest's sake.
I ended up bawling my eyes out.
I think that getting a message from my dad affected me more than I realised.

That said, daughter number one and I are going to a psychic event this afternoon.
Watch this space.

* * *
Apart from the jumpiness, original pill plan seems to be working better. The nerves might just be pms, and if that's as bad as it gets then I've done well. Hell, if I get through a month without blood-letting, hair-pulling and howling at the moon, I've done well.

* * *
I still can't believe that he who left me never even said goodbye.

How come...

...I remember what he looks like when I'm dreaming, but not when I'm awake?

Moonshadow

Hey,
It's been a long day.

Number one daughter had a taster day at a college she hated.
She still stuck it out though.
She's tough like that.
But I'm worried about September. I want her to fit in somewhere, and to make friends.
I don't want her to end up like me.

I read a lot today, and wrote a lot, and had stomach cramps.
We haven't got any food so I need to get to a shop or get some delivered.
I need to hoover, and I don't remember the last time the house saw a duster.
Everything is a bit disorganised at the moment. Maybe it's just the end of term.

On the other hand, the full moon is in 4 hours and 15 minutes.
Maybe that's what it is.

I wish this blog had little mood and music icons that told the reader how I felt and what I was listening to.
If I had any sort of brain I'd add them to the template, but I don't know how.
Just for the record: hazy, and Cat Stevens.

Sunday Afternoon

Things are a bit brighter today.
Not the weather -- it's absolutely pouring down -- but in my head.

I got a message from my late father last night.
Nuts, I hear you cry. But in actual fact going to a Spiritualist Church is about the sanest thing in my life at the moment.
It was nice to hear from my dad.
I know it was my dad.
It wasn't a sentimental hugs and flowers message.
It was my dad; the funny rattling noise on the car needs to be checked out, and the thing doesn't run on air -- put some oil and water in it occasionally.
Thanks dad.

I'll be booking my car into a garage very soon.

Why do I do it?

Really, why do I do it?

I get all worried about him. I start imagining that something terrible has happened and he's upset or hurt or something. And I hate that, because I love him.

But no.
He's happily updating his little site with more jolly football banter and writing news.

He's absolutely fine.
He just doesn't give a fuck.

When will I learn?

All's fair.

Tonight I came the closest I've been to texting him.
I wanted to tell him I miss him, and I hope he's ok, and I love him.

I didn't do it, but the pain of this grief is unbearable.

I know it will pass, it always does.
But at the moment it is overwhelming.

* * *

I talked to psych lady about things that affect my mood -- the things that bring me crashing down.
Injustice is one of those things.

'Life isn't fair,' she said to me.

I know that.
But I still can't handle it.
That's why I'm being treated for a personality disorder and most everyone else isn't.

Oh so quiet

I'm on my own today, and it's spookily quiet.
Good quiet.

Having three kids around is a noisy business.

It's hard to admit, but I found it difficult being with he who left me when the kids were there. Things were always gentler, easier, when they were out or away.

We didn't have enough time on our own in the beginning, when things were really good, to really get things sorted and get a good base for when things got rockier, I think.
When people first meet, it's often before they have kids, or away from the kids, but we were always all together.

I found it difficult so I know he must have done -- and he said as much.

When he first left part of me thought that it was only temporary.
My kids are getting older -- one has already left school.
I thought when it was quieter, he would come back.

But I was kidding myself.

It was me he left, not them.

Raining again

Its raining here now, even though its still heatwave hot.
It smelt like there would be a thunderstorm earlier, but it hasn't come yet.

I saw psych lady today. I'm back on my pills as I was before -- two at night, and one in the morning. She said I'm markedly worse this time than when she saw me last, so we're going back to what works.
I didn't argue with her -- my paranoia has been worse too (people hiding things from me, deliberately trying to upset me etc).
We talked about the fact I'll sleep more in the day. As she said, its not like I have to be anywhere, and the most important thing is getting my mood straight.

We talked a bit about he who left me.
She asked me how I felt about him.
I told her I loved him, and then I started to cry.
I cried because I was angry at myself, for being so stupid, for believing that he could ever have loved me.
I must be very stupid, to have believed that.

And then the time was up.

Code Red

We went to see the Da Vinci Code tonight.
It was tedious. It suffered, as he who left me would say, from rinky-dink syndrome. It just never knew when to stop.
But then neither did the book.
The thing I thought was weird was that it was supposed to be about the Sacred Feminine -- about how woman was paramount in Christianity and in history -- and yet the whole film consisted of a series of men explaining what was going on to a dumb (albeit not blonde) and uncomprehending woman. What would we do without them, eh girls?

I asked my son if he understood it all.
'Yes,' he said, 'up to the point where they thought that man had committed the murder.'
That was about four minutes into the film...

* * *

The good news was that I walked there and back.
In the outside.
With people about.
I had some Librium help, and some supportive kids with me, and it was still tough. But I did it. Evening is the hardest time for me to go out, so I'm pleased.
I had to be home before the sunset -- I couldn't bear to see that -- but I went out, and I was pleased.

* * *

I know I go on and on about he who left me, but I'm still finding it so hard. I'm sure normal people don't find it this hard. I just can't seem to reconcile the fact I love him so much with the way he hurt me. I couldn't hurt someone who loved me like that.
Maybe the two things are, simply, irreconcilable, but at the moment I am stuck there.
Something else I should talk to psych lady about.

Person B

Imagine person A.
Person A forms a relationship with person B, knowing that person B suffers from depression.
Person A thinks they can handle it.
Person A cannot handle it, and gets out, shortly before person B commits suicide.
Person A then uses the fact he had a relationship with person B to have sex with person C.
Person A leaving may or may not have been the trigger for B's suicide. I can't remember, and it doesn't matter; it's just a story.

But what if person B didn't die? What if person B is stronger than that?

What if person A wrote that story, shortly before they left, and then person B read it.

How much do you think person B would hurt?

night swimming

Hey,

Today was hard work.

It was very hot, so I opened the patio doors, only to find out that one of them is busted and wouldn't shut. It took me and daughter number one forever to close it and when we'd managed that we found out it wouldn't lock.
I had visions of us sleeping in shifts so that someone could stand guard in the dining room all night.
But luckily we don't give up easily, and after much ado we got it locked. Not properly, but enough to stop someone wandering in.
That was scary.

And all the plaster is falling off the walls and all the fucking lights keep blowing and I'm just too fucking tired to deal with it.

Maybe it's pms, I don't know. But I feel crappy.
I feel so scared when something housey goes wrong and it's just me and the kids. Its a big responsibility.

And that BT advert is winding me up. Woman with two children meets man and everything works out hunky-dory.
Not in my life, it doesn't.

Sunshine, on a cloudy day.

It wasn't a cloudy day at all. It was hot.
But I felt a bit cloudy.

I had another dream last night, and it wasn't scary or horrible or anything.
It was unnervingly peaceful.
A bit sad I suppose, as I think about it now. I need to think about it some more, maybe write it down. It was one of those ones that feel like there is a message in there somewhere, if only I can find of it.

The house is falling to pieces. I really don't know what to do about that. At the moment my blood pressure is really high, which doesn't help things, as it makes me feel like I'm trying to run up a hill all the time, so doing DIY is the last thing on my mind.
Its not really stuff I can sort anyway -- it's the electrics and the damp that are the two biggest problems at the moment.
Those and the roof and the boilers and the floorboards and the windows and the cracks etc etc.

England went out of the World Cup.
I think I was actually quite pleased -- if nothing else the nation's beer consumption will go down by about four hundred per cent.
I was much more moved when Argentina went out. That made me cry.

Number one daughter and I went to church as usual tonight. We took some flowers for one of the elderly ladies there.
That was the highlight of my day.
I hope it cheered her up a bit too.