When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

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The Comedown

Here we are depressed. Abject. Desperate. In despair. Full of regret. Ashamed. Guilty. Subhuman. Worthless. Here we are.

Yes it’s like coming down from MDMA only much worse and protracted over a period of about three months. I’m not out of the woods yet, but seeing some glimmers of light, hence this post.

Because if I don’t blog it, I won’t remember it, simple as.

This blog is invaluable to me as a catalogue of my moods. Unfortunately I am not able to report them dispassionately like some other bloggers, and bipolar podcasters that I am aware of (see: The Bipolar Family Podcast). Instead I just go into them, I am there, and I blog from there. That’s why you see so many music videos on this blog. But luckily it’s still easy enough to read what’s actually written and this blog does go back about ten years after all.

It’s important when I am piecing together the recent past that I can see where I was mentally at that time. And it’s darn obvious how often I have been manic.

Well praise the Lord I am not now.

I’ve had little to no appetite for food for the past two and a half months. I’ve slept fine, more than normal actually. I’ve taken my meds religiously. Risperidone 4mg, Lamotrigine 150mg (at present, will rise to 200mg ultimately) and an antidepressant called duloxetine which does seem to have helped a bit, especially with the debilitating anxiety.

It’s been utter Hell, just like the episode of Spring 2016. I seemed to skip serious depression in 2017.

I’ve been getting out most days, largely to the Clarendon Recovery College which has proved itself to be a godsend at times when I would otherwise have been rudderless, cut adrift and drowning in utter isolation. Classes and groups. I have now started therapy back with Barry at the Psychosis Therapy Project. Have reconnected with one old friend who has been stalwart and very caring. Also found myself a carer/befriender who I pay to keep an eye on me for an hour twice a week. She encourages me and gives me moral support to do a few things around the house and cook the occasional meal.

My son is not doing too well either according to my mum. The magnitude of his problems is borne in on me very starkly when I am in depression mode. He is still self-incarcerating in one small room most of the time. Obviously that’s not healthy. And obviously I feel responsible to a degree. But life must go on, I have to care for myself first and foremost or I am no use to him or anyone else.

It’s my birthday on Thursday. I’m going to be 56. Old enough to know better, older but not necessarily wiser. In fact what they say about bipolar worsening with age has been amply proven to be true in my case. I’m the local crazy lady. I have been going around like a ghost with downcast eyes, hardly able to look anyone in the face in case they notice something is decidedly wrong.

But like I say. Life calls and when you try to be deaf it shouts, and screams at you to get your head out of your ass and be here now.


Sweet Sweet Home

Hey peeps.

Well I’m back home, by some miracle. Was released long before I expected to be from St Ann’s hospital. Guessing that the influx of new and quite disturbed patients had something to do with it. I was high on the list of ‘patients who don’t really need this’.

Truthfully the place itself made me feel quite ill. It really did.

Can’t describe how grateful and thankful I am to be back in my own little nest. Sometimes it feels like a ship on the high seas, sometimes like a stable for horses. But it’s all mine. I dreamed of these early mornings. Why did I wake up so early here when in the hospital I stayed asleep far longer? Self-preservation maybe? The mornings are just an inconvenience there, like pretty much everything else. You even have to beg the nurses for hot water to make a foul plastic cup of instant coffee.

Here they are my sacred time. Thank you oh thank you oh thank you psych gods!

In terms of my mental state, well I can see that some of my behaviour over the end of last year could be interpreted as ‘high’ though not really manic as such. The sheer volume of posts on facebook for instance, and the slightly portentous tone of some of them. I was just a little too ‘into’ my grind!

Quite often the mental health services see me as ‘vulnerable’, which I fuckin’ hate. I feel it gives me no credit for my ability to self-preserve and the fact that I am far from self-neglectful, cooking beautiful meals for myself, bathing every day and wearing clean clothes and generally steering clear of trouble. Though trouble still finds me it has to be said (witness Solly).

But ohmigosh I had just been freed from Mile End hospital after only two weeks(so much nicer in every way than St Ann’s, but STILL the last place I wanted to be), I have to question why this happened. I was two and a half weeks on the ward at St Ann’s, despite being served with a Section Three.

Then again it has given me time to reflect on the Solly situation and come up with the conclusion that I should steer clear of him. His nasty side which I’ve seen nuff times, plus the financial drain.

Well on the agenda for these first days back is yet another phone call to the council regarding the water leak. Buy a few groceries. Pick up communication with my mum, and through her, with my son.

Please Be Prepared To Account

Being prepared isn’t no Boy Scout ting.

Everyone who comes here should be prepared to account for their own misdeeds, actions, whatever you wanna call them.

Because the fact is, many of us are actually HARDWIRED to commit ‘misdeeds’.

I don’t want no more victim-blaming for Christmas.

I don’t want no more psychological projection for Christmas.

I don’t want no more faux naivete for Christmas. Unless you wanna dig yourself further into a ditch – ‘fosse’ in French.

If you are convinced of your innocence you are probably dead wrong.

Accept you yourself are mind-controlled before you start accusing others of doing it.

Accept that you are a paranoid fuck before you start inventing ‘conspiracies’ that have no real existence.

Do not pour scorn on what others genuinely see.

Do not begin any debate with the words ‘you are dead wrong’. Be prepared to LISTEN before ‘speaking’.

Allow PAUSE between ‘speeches’ in any genuine dialogue.

Maybe do what my son and I do. Take time to SIGH.

No more polarised discussions for Christmas.

A big thumbs down to nonsense, unless it is entertaining.

And remember. We know the truth. About you. About me. And about everything else.

I’m Fine Now Though

It was all over very quickly.

Now I don’t ‘tell stories’ for anyone’s benefit but my own.

Because yall hear what you want to hear.

And I get bored.

And Now The Withdrawal Fun

Coming off a high dose of risperidone I was given for two weeks in the hospital while not even faintly psychotic. Observed so far: intense fatigue and muscle weakness, lack of focus and concentration, nausea and vomiting, slurred speech, loss of appetite and seriously picky eating, insomnia, tardive dyskinesia.

Thanks again o great and mighty psych gods!

Fang You

And on 1st December she was duly released from her penal servitude in the mental bin. Facebook is where I’m blasting out my oh so serious anger and pain http://www.facebook.com/zoe.vincent3. Because it’s more fun with an audience. Ooh Missus!

Please Release Me Let Me Go

Kindly release me from my Section 2, you are seriously wasting public money…

It’s all very nice the free food board and company, don’t wanna seem ungrateful for the free holiday but free holidays should be optional would you not agree? No one should be dragged by a ravening, slavering mob of total strangers to the free holiday?

You’re making idiots of yourself as usual behmht. Nothing unusual for you, I gather that, but good leadership seems to have exited the window a long time ago and now we just have chaos.

Well, I’m a creative unfortunately and therefore cannot offer my services. Maybe try listening to my son who at 21 is much less tired, cynical and jaded than I.