From depression to brief relief

I’m having a brief evening’s break from depression it seems and it’s such a relief. There are signs it’s coming, before I realise it’s here:

I’ll have a drink – not much left of that bottle of white wine. Small glasses, straight or tall glass of kir.

I’ll listen to familiar ‘up mood’ music: invariably this will consist of Underworld, Mew, maybe some Psychedelic Furs. But always Underworld. ‘Two Months Off’ especially

Such a relief; just to lift that mood that’s persecuted me for weeks, months. Try to forget that this break will more than likely last no longer than an evening. I’ll wake tomorrow filled with anxiety, low mood, suicidal ideation and OCD-driven thoughts and ideas I wouldn’t wish on my enemies.

An evening off.

The music in my head and in my body. Moving. Feeling. Being.

An idea that everything might be alright; not forever. Hell, not even for a day. But for now, it might be good. Shift those thoughts, overcome those blades and car crashes, live for another day.

Such a relief, so impermanent. A relaxing of muscles, a loosening of nerves. Just being someone, something, other than who I am. That can wait.

Breathe in, breathe out. Sleep, because tomorrow’s going to be the usual bastard of a day.

 

 

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Poem – ‘Sunday, so’

Sunday, so.

 

 

 

I’m ill today. I know I

say that every Sunday

but it’s true, I do.

 

I’m low today; I know

there’s nothing new to

tell you, but I’m low.

 

So the wind swings

from the autumn trees,

I ache from head to

 

toe, that’s so. Elbows,

fingers, knees and toes,

the sort of pain that

 

lingers throughout the

day and blinds the night.

I’m right, I’m ill today.

 

Poem – ‘Sunday, so’

Sunday, so.

 

 

I’m ill today. I know I

say that every Sunday

but it’s true, I do.

 

I’m low today; I know

there’s nothing new to

tell you, but I’m low.

 

So the wind swings

from the autumn trees,

I ache from head to

 

toe, that’s so. Elbows,

fingers, knees and toes,

the sort of pain that

 

lingers throughout the

day and blinds the night.

I’m right, I’m ill today.

 

 

Poem – ‘I am Full of Bees’

I am full of bees.

 

I am full of bees; every

cell of my being every

breath of my soul aches

 

and pains day and night

night and day ad infinitum.

Gravity is in league with

 

this illness; I’m pulled

down. Down towards the

centre, making my feet

 

heavy, dripping the atoms

that compose me, leaving

me heavy but with little

 

mass. And I’m tired; you

couldn’t even guess how

much I’m tired. I don’t

 

sleep. Never have. Mired

in that sinking sand I’ve

tried everything. Nothing

 

works. My opponent is

me; however the moods

make, take, me. I am

 

full of bees; each cell

buzzing with exhaustion,

creating a sea-swell of hell.

 

 

Spooky Action, not much of a distance

I am fastidious about my pre-bedtime routine. This is dictated by my (bipolar) anxiety and OCD. In the living room, I make sure the TV is off, the lights are off and the door is shut. This is how it always is, how it always has been.

This morning I came downstairs and stopped when I saw the door open and lights on. My first thought was that I’d  been burgled (unlikely as the house is as tight as a drum). But no, the lamp I always use was on and another lamp I seldom use was also on. The TV had switched itself off on the power-saving mode.

There was no sign of a break-in; windows were intact as were front and back doors.

This hasleft me feeling ill and uneasy all day. Thinking about it, I can guess only at two posible explanations:

Memory lapse (wouldn’t be the first) probably linked to the dissociation I have with my bipolar. Brief psychotic episode (again, wouldn’t be the first). Had I come downstairs in the night and watched TV or done something else? I have no history of sleep-walking.

It’s all very strange. Spooky action indeed.

 

 

June update

I’m relatively stable at the moment, hence the reason I’ve not written anything here in a while. The sole reason for this stability is my meds. After all, I don’t have any other help or input – in this respect I’m where I was three years ago, before therapy and starting on quetiapine + fluoxetine. I am theoretically in the care of my GP though I never see my GP.

After having so much time off work last year (several months) my main objective this academic year was to have no time off at all. That’s how stubborn I am! But here we are, seven weeks from the end of the school year and I have 100% attendance.

It doesn’t mean I’m “better”. I’m not; there’s no cure for bipolar. No cure for anxiety. No cure for OCD. No cure for the dissociation (DID). There’s just medication; damage limitation.

I still, of course, get intrusive suicidal thoughts. I still don’t sleep well. Surely 550mg quetiapine + 20mg fluoxetine daily should be knocking me out all night? But no, I’ve not slept through the night in decades, if I ever did at all. My short term memory has taken a severe hit (I suspect some of this is memory lapses linked to the DID symptoms) though my long-term memory in many respects would put your average elephant to shame.

Quetiapine continues to function in making me fat. It’s a straight either / or choice with these meds: Fat or Mad. I’ve opted for the former, somewhat reluctantly.

There’s a blog piece to be written about the DID symptoms I’ve experienced through my life and I’ll write than when I’m able to collect those thoughts together.

 

Appraising my suicidal ideation and assumed methods.

1. Plough car into a suitable concrete wall somewhere on the M4:

Well, I’ve only just washed it, not to mention having T-Cut that scratch.

2. Take a shower after dark, drink copious amounts of alcohol, lie naked on lawn on a chilly night.

It’s a bit cold out there, and cosy indoors – what with the thick jumper and the central heating. And ‘Homeland’ is on in a minute.

3. Cut wrists.

That’s going to hurt, isn’t it? And there’ll be blood everywhere, I’ve only just started Spring cleaning.

4. Drink copious amounts of alcohol, swallow a few sleeping tablets. Jump off high building.

I don’t like heights and high buildings. They make me want to jump off. Oh…

5. Shoot myself.

Don’t have a suitable weapon. Nerf gun with foam ‘bullets’ borrowed from son probably not going to do the job to be honest, even at point-blank range.

6. Overdose of meds.

Couldn’t understand the document about quetiapine o.d. I found on Google – it was far too technical. Does it or doesn’t it?? Also, fluoxetine o.d. seems unlikely.

 

As Samuel Beckett put it: ‘I can’t go on. I’ll go on.