Today is a better day; too much better, I can barely type as my knees are jiggling underneath my laptop as my body strives to get rid of some energy. I have several choices
- take Lorazepam, dull the high and probably fall asleep at some point
- find something to do (I have already tidied and rearranged furniture this morning)
- as one Twitter friend suggested- go down the pub
The first option always feels like opting out. I suffer through the lows with little or no medicinal support (aside from a very occasional evening of trying to drink it away) and to medicate away a high feels wrong and somehow unjust. Lorazepam does help but I try and save it for the bad highs- the highs that leave my mind spinning and my body agitated and exhausted.
The second option has already seen the younger children’s bedroom furniture rearranged, I did fleetingly consider a bit of gardening but it would be gardening with a chainsaw and my neighbours still haven’t quite forgiven me for the last time (what else to do with a 10 foot Privet?). I could go to the gym but I already stick out a bit there with my 5 minutes on each machine then out approach. I went swimming on a high once, paid full price, got in, swam 10 lengths and got out- all in about 15 minutes.
Option 3 isn’t really an option, not for all the reasons us grown ups usually cite for not being able to spend sunny weekday lunchtimes in the pub but because of my illness and my medication- and because it would be just plain wrong.
So I suppose I’m blogging, so you all know a little of what it feels like in my head at the moment. I want to do so much but in reality can focus to do very little. I need to do my hair but my hands are trembling too much for straighteners to be a wise choice. I want to do something but I have no idea what. Most of the things I come up with are a little fanciful- I am convinced that today is the day I will start to turn my mental illness diaries into a wonderful autobiography that will make my fortune or i will pick up my paintbrushes and create that masterpiece I keep talking about.
The truth is, I can’t do anything. I need to get a few things from the shop but at the moment have retained just enough insight to see that going out in public would be a very bad plan and going out to a shop would be an even badder one! I have no concentration span and can't stop moving, I know that whatever I do, or try to do just won't be enough.
The chances are I will go for option one and take the drugs, it’s a shitty option and I’m not happy about it but when am I ever happy?
Showing posts with label mania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mania. Show all posts
Mania or me?
I’ve woken this morning to sunny skies and I feel good. Over my morning cup of tea I have formulated a number of plans and great ideas for activities to fill my day. Being under the psychiatric microscope as I am I’m left questioning whether I am simply in a good mood or on the verge of a manic episode.
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.
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.
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