So far this week- not just “the black dog” but a whole pack of black dogs have chased me down until even making eye contact was impossible- let alone sustaining a conversation. I had no desire to be around others anyway so it didn’t really matter.
Today I don’t feel depressed and there mere fact that I’m writing a blog post at 7.28am suggests I have renewed vim and vigour coming from somewhere.
Now it’s possible the drugs are doing their thing but the problem is I just don’t know- and neither does anyone else really.
One of the issues with mental illness is that your healthcare team don’t meet you until you’re ill. If you have a good GP (as I do) who has seen you in the past with the kind of ailments you see a GP about, they can often see how different you are when mental illness strikes. My current team however only know me ill so they have no point of reference in terms of where my mood should be. Nobody knows your baseline and when you’re ill you don’t either, I suspect, until you find it again.
I have always considered myself a naturally high person, enthusiastic, productive and engaging. Now even I can’t separate my personality from the pathology. With hindsight now being applied to my life before I became ill by various health professionals there is a tendency to see all my previous activities in terms of depressive or manic episodes.
I was the sort of person who felt completely comfortable getting up in front of a room full of people and talking- about whatever I was required to talk about. I was busy and had many fingers in many pies and I could leaflet a tower block in record time! I was often “high” when I think about it but only in a way that was appropriate and useful to get the job in hand completed.
So I’m still no wiser as to whether I will spend my day juggling up and down the hospital corridor or whether I will simply have a “good” day. Anyone who has bipolar disorder will know what I yearn for- whatever the price.
There is no way to tell, no test, though there are a few indicators. When I feel like this- I get all my drawing materials out and if I go for crayons I know I’m heading up. When I’m depressed I draw with pencils or black biro. (I have become a prolific artist of late although I can only produce dark, disturbing work or pieces that would be best described as “naïve”)
Thanks to Amazons very good “we know you want to buy this and we were waiting for you to feel good before we send you this direct link which will allow you to spend money in just one click” email I am also able to shop from my hospital bed. Mania has already stolen my savings and I used to be the most frugal person I knew- never buying anything without being sure I was getting the best available deal- even then I rarely bought anything for myself but I now have enough shoes for all the black dogs to be well shod for a while!
So in the time it’s taken me to write this post, my mood has continued to climb, I’m at the stage where I can “feel” my blood rushing through my body and I’ve just entertained everyone in the meds queue so I suspect I’m heading up. I will no doubt be back to blog the period of reflection and insight that comes after the juggling.