This is easy.ish. My favourite movie made for grown ups is Withnail and I (favourite one for kids/me is Finding Nemo, but I can probably talk more about Withnail and I).
Withnail and I is a film first introduced to me by my eternally awesome former housemate, known fondly as my Mammy Mark (he mammy licked me once, rubbing his thumb with his tongue to get a smudge off my forehead, and I've never let him forget it).
But aye, Withnail and I - two out of work actors, living in squalor -
"We can't go on like this! I'm a trained actor, reduced to the states of a bum! I mean, look at us! Nothing that reasonable members of society demand as their rights - no fridges, televisions, no telephones! Much more of this and I'm going to apply for meals on wheels".
"What happened to your cigar commercial?"
"That's what I want to know! What happened to my cigar commercial?! What happened to my agent?! Bastard must have died."
Sorta resembles the house I lived in at the time. Living a similar lifestyle. But with more sex and rock'n'roll. Oodles of drugs and booze though. "I must have some booze! I demand to have some booze!" "Four hours until opening time... God help us."
It's an extremely quotable film, and we used to have Withnail and I nights in when we would get really drunk and had to quote or reference the film at every possible opportunity. You didn't get hungry and want to eat, you declared that you "want something's flesh". As the vegetarian, I'd argue that "As a youth, I used to weep in butcher shops", to be told that "much more of that and you'll be sprouting feelers soon", and so on and so forth. Extremely quotable.
I think the reason I love it so much, outside of the great dialogue, awesome depiction of the lifestyle and trials and tribulations of said lifestyle ("I feel unusual, I need to go outside."..... "You know what we should do... Get out of here for a while, go to the countryside, rejuvenate" "I'm in a park and I'm practically dead, what good could the countryside possibly do?". "*spits* Jeeesus look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only solid to have passed my lips in the last 60hrs. I must be ill."). I guess it all rings a bit true for me because I'm so familiar with drugs, addiction, and the compulsion to cope with life/have fun in ways that are less than helpful to my health and so many of my friends are in similar or worse situations.
Which is something I'm thinking about a lot lately. Two of my birthday presents this year consisted of illegal substances. Which is part of my friends supporting me in my 'not drinking' thing, with the new medications and such.
There are days I wonder where my life will lead - will I ever stop using drugs, or keep using them recreationally or will I fall deeper into it all, and let it become habitual rather than recreational? I know how easy it is to happen, one of my best friends is currently battling her own addiction demons. She started off just like me, curious and leaving lots of space between using. Yet here she is now, after years sex working and detoxing and quitting only to be stuck back in it all again, with all her money spent and worrying about the next week's rent, not to mention her own physical and mental health. It's so sad to watch. At the same time, she's been the most understanding person to me in this time of depression and nuttiness and self harming. She's the only person who hasn't made jokes, or given me shit over my wrists. She's the only person I've talked to about what was going through my head that day.
Which is one thing I love about working where I do, around other people who've used drugs, who've experienced addiction, marginalisation, prejudice and some fucked up shit (usually, if it's not a messed up background, it's the drug scene itself) - people get it so much better. There's a better sense of empathy and acceptance, I feel. One of the most important elements of my job is a non-judgemental attitude and I love that that attitude is mutual between me and the clients I'm greeting and chatting with. One even saw my wrists last week and didn't tell me what a stupid thing that was to do, didn't crack a bad joke about it, just asked if I was alright now, and said they hoped I was feeling better now and that I'd get through it.
Maybe she's just more detached from the situation, but so few of my friends were able to take that approach at all. I'd say the other friend of mine who uses most drugs was the second best one dealing with it. She was worried, asked if I was ok, then proceeded to give me some shit over it once she knew I was ok. Comments like 'nice bracelet' or commenting on how it was my own fault if I hit it off something. That's all fair enough, she's accepting it and isn't too in my face about it. Everyone else though... gyah.
Alright, so that was a bit of a tangent, but that's sort of the point of this blog - getting out all the tangled bits of my mind, and sometimes I need a heading as somewhere to start, and see where my mind ends up. And there's some stuff I did write but decided to delete as well, just TMI and more information/fears than I'm entirely comfortable putting up. But has brought some issues to the forefront of my mind that I can now begin to deal with :)
And one thing is, I'd be quite interested to read any feedback/questions/comments on this particular post. Challenge me, question the things I take for granted. Criticise me. Make me really think about this :)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
My Favourite Song
Usually I say my favourite song is Incubus - Sad Little World, but, given recent events in my life, I'm going to start this one with S*M*A*S*H - Altruism.
I think it's important to point out now that when I was 17 I was given 3 weeks to live if I didn't sort my shit out, I had 1 week to start improving, or I was being chucked in the looney bin. Did my leaving cert 2 weeks later, several unfortunate and dramatic events during that summer forced me into a mental breakdown, I was sent away, and eventually kicked out of there, and unwelcome in my former home, sleeping rough and couch surfing, started college without a proper place to live, couldn't hold a job down, joined a band, was coaching U9 camogie, 2 people close to me died suddenly, still not coping with my eating disorders and at the same time was learning about myself and feeling more free, confident and in control of my life than I ever had before, while still struggling with the depression that had been present since I was 12. Crazy year.
I first heard S*M*A*S*H when I was 17, and Jeff and I had become good friends online (but nothing more, at that point) and he sent me over some of his music. This included Ride, elbow, Wedding Present, Belle & Sebastian and Kate Bush.
Took a while before I got round to listening to S*M*A*S*H. I had my mp3 on random one day, and heard their fantastic "Lady Love Your Cunt". Was fascinated by the feminist lyrics coming from an all male band, (Most governments, institutions, religions, weapons of war and general stupid mistakes were made by a man - I was made by a woman!) and got into them from there. The fact that this was also the year that two people very close to me died in quick succession, one from suicide (or something resembling it - I was too shocked at the time to ask, and amn't in contact with any of that group any more. I didn't attend either funeral). But anyway, Altruism. This was the song that somehow, reconciled my fear of death, and dying, and in a way, enhanced my love of life, and my drive to do what it was I wanted to do, and not live a half-life, slave to the system and all that jazz.
The fact it begins with the slow, melancholy "I have decided that I'm quite prepared to die, if my dreams aren't realised - I realise I am a future suicide!" then the guitars and drums kick in and you get the faster, more upbeat "I'm a future suicide! I'm a future suicide! But I'm still alive... ". It adds an element of hope, of strength, acceptance, and the 'but I'm still alive' really has been a useful one for me, just sort of saying 'it's not my time yet'.
As the song continues it refuses to dwell on that thought, instead, looking at what's important to the singer (Ed Borrie) - "My friend asked me, he said, 'write a song about all the things that you think are wrong', I said, 'I can't compromise my position, I want to talk about altruism'.
Another thing I love about this song is watching the thought process, as he goes from thinking about altruism, to thinking again about his band, which is his life, and reflecting the negative press and censorship experienced ("(I Want To) Kill Somebody", which was a hate filled song against the politicians of the time and politicians in general, which finished by listing politicians that 'this world would be a better place if they never existed', seemingly didn't go down too well with the British media) - so still focussing on surviving "I could suffer the media band, if I don't kowtow to the media's demand".
The next verse, begins again, a little helplessly, "There's nothing I can say or do, to ease these problems that are affecting me and you", before gathering himself again, focussing on the positive in the wonders and intelligence of nature and technology around us.
The last verse begins positively - "We could save the world, if we put our heads together, opened our mouths and said the words"... but ends somewhat dramatically, in the repitition of "The government runs the contraband! And my band could be banned, my band could be banned...", before suddenly being cut off half way through the word 'banned'.
I don't know, I love this song, it's so full of hope and life and appreciation and passion, but with that underlying depression, acceptance of death and the knowledge that we do actual have control to choose to end it or not (in the normal run of things, anyway). I think that those are all important parts of me. I think a part of me will always see suicide as a potential option, though not necessarily as the first one, but I want to live, I want to accomplish my dreams. As long as I am striving for the things I love, the things I'm passionate about and get so much pleasure from - and those exact things change as I grow - as long as I have them, or am able to work towards them, then I am realising my dreams, and that's what is important in life. If I couldn't do that, I'm not really living in any sense that feels worthwhile to me.
I think it's important to point out now that when I was 17 I was given 3 weeks to live if I didn't sort my shit out, I had 1 week to start improving, or I was being chucked in the looney bin. Did my leaving cert 2 weeks later, several unfortunate and dramatic events during that summer forced me into a mental breakdown, I was sent away, and eventually kicked out of there, and unwelcome in my former home, sleeping rough and couch surfing, started college without a proper place to live, couldn't hold a job down, joined a band, was coaching U9 camogie, 2 people close to me died suddenly, still not coping with my eating disorders and at the same time was learning about myself and feeling more free, confident and in control of my life than I ever had before, while still struggling with the depression that had been present since I was 12. Crazy year.
I first heard S*M*A*S*H when I was 17, and Jeff and I had become good friends online (but nothing more, at that point) and he sent me over some of his music. This included Ride, elbow, Wedding Present, Belle & Sebastian and Kate Bush.
Took a while before I got round to listening to S*M*A*S*H. I had my mp3 on random one day, and heard their fantastic "Lady Love Your Cunt". Was fascinated by the feminist lyrics coming from an all male band, (Most governments, institutions, religions, weapons of war and general stupid mistakes were made by a man - I was made by a woman!) and got into them from there. The fact that this was also the year that two people very close to me died in quick succession, one from suicide (or something resembling it - I was too shocked at the time to ask, and amn't in contact with any of that group any more. I didn't attend either funeral). But anyway, Altruism. This was the song that somehow, reconciled my fear of death, and dying, and in a way, enhanced my love of life, and my drive to do what it was I wanted to do, and not live a half-life, slave to the system and all that jazz.
The fact it begins with the slow, melancholy "I have decided that I'm quite prepared to die, if my dreams aren't realised - I realise I am a future suicide!" then the guitars and drums kick in and you get the faster, more upbeat "I'm a future suicide! I'm a future suicide! But I'm still alive... ". It adds an element of hope, of strength, acceptance, and the 'but I'm still alive' really has been a useful one for me, just sort of saying 'it's not my time yet'.
As the song continues it refuses to dwell on that thought, instead, looking at what's important to the singer (Ed Borrie) - "My friend asked me, he said, 'write a song about all the things that you think are wrong', I said, 'I can't compromise my position, I want to talk about altruism'.
Another thing I love about this song is watching the thought process, as he goes from thinking about altruism, to thinking again about his band, which is his life, and reflecting the negative press and censorship experienced ("(I Want To) Kill Somebody", which was a hate filled song against the politicians of the time and politicians in general, which finished by listing politicians that 'this world would be a better place if they never existed', seemingly didn't go down too well with the British media) - so still focussing on surviving "I could suffer the media band, if I don't kowtow to the media's demand".
The next verse, begins again, a little helplessly, "There's nothing I can say or do, to ease these problems that are affecting me and you", before gathering himself again, focussing on the positive in the wonders and intelligence of nature and technology around us.
The last verse begins positively - "We could save the world, if we put our heads together, opened our mouths and said the words"... but ends somewhat dramatically, in the repitition of "The government runs the contraband! And my band could be banned, my band could be banned...", before suddenly being cut off half way through the word 'banned'.
I don't know, I love this song, it's so full of hope and life and appreciation and passion, but with that underlying depression, acceptance of death and the knowledge that we do actual have control to choose to end it or not (in the normal run of things, anyway). I think that those are all important parts of me. I think a part of me will always see suicide as a potential option, though not necessarily as the first one, but I want to live, I want to accomplish my dreams. As long as I am striving for the things I love, the things I'm passionate about and get so much pleasure from - and those exact things change as I grow - as long as I have them, or am able to work towards them, then I am realising my dreams, and that's what is important in life. If I couldn't do that, I'm not really living in any sense that feels worthwhile to me.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Me 3 years ago..
Heh. Found an old blog post now that is *almost* as relevant now as it was back then. Thought I'd share. :)
Sunday, July 08, 2007
thoughts
"dont think me unkind
the
words are hard to find
they're only cheques ive left unsigned
from the
banks of chaos in my mind
and when the eloquence escapes you
their logic
ties you up and rapes you"
alright the issue has come up in various
forms a bit in the last week or so, and i was doin my nut at work cos i
didnt have my writing pad to put all this into, and hell, i can type quicker
than i can write, so ill try do this here.
ok, so the first
incident was stevie askin why i need music on all the time, even when im going
to sleep. especially when im going to sleep, i told him. and... it's hard to
explain these things to people, especially with words, of the spoken variety.
which kinda came up when i was talking to Jeff last night. but... my thoughts,
in my mind... i cant understand what's going on in there... even just writing
that letter to rocky, it turned out 6 pages, with relatively small writing, i
just have to write frequently, thats one thing ive discovered in teh last couple
of months, cos there really is just so much goin on in my head that i have no
control over at all... i barely know whats happening in there half the time, and
yeah, my mood does be affected by these thoughts that i dont know are
there.
which is quite possibly why i suck so bad at actually
speaking. talking. conversation. explaining what im thinking verbally. i really
do just suck at it... cos... if you can imagine every thought as a single bit of
thread, but in my mind, its like the threads are all mixed together, and
when you think youre following one thread, youve actually lost it in the
knot, and are following another one... but when im writing, when i can see
the words, sentences, thoughts forming, i can see them i can hold onto
them, i can kinda bypass the knots that lead me onto another (vaguely
related) topic.
but.. the thing is, when im writing, yeah, i still
ramble, and one thought quickly leads to another and i get quickly off
point...
but when im talking... i, honestly, with the exception of
maybe Jeff, i just get embarrassed, and know im talking too much, or something,
and just stop, or become really conscious,and start stuttering... which
inevitably makes me stop talkin anyway.
the weird thing is... back
to the thread analogy, if i put my thoughts into writing often, like my regular
correspondances would be Jeff, Gilly and now Lucky... just emailing them, or
writing up stuff like this, or writing letters (though probably not really
anymore now that im not working and have other distractions), and i can feel my
head less cluttered, as though working it out through writing is like unknotting
and spooling the thread away, tidying it, organising it... even if its thoughts
on completely different things, or anything, just, getting thoughts out,
somewhat organised on paper, and i seem better able to handle what im thinking
in general.
which, even by what seems to be average standards, is
pretty fucking dismal, i reckon.
which is kinda why i have to have
music on so much. because, in silence, my thoughts go nuts, there's nothing to
focus them, nothing to keep me on track, no thread to follow... but with music,
you can focus on the music, or the words, or the sound, or pick out any little
piece of what you are hearing, and keep rhythm, or just hear it, listen for
it...disect the lyrics, decide what you think they mean, what they could mean,
what theyre trying to say, the particularly clever aspects, the assonance, the
alliteration, the visuals, the pictures and moods painted and created by what
youre hearing... there's so much to focus on, so much to keep your mind
from wandering overmuch...
blah, i gotta go. id intende da longer
rant. comments welcome.
So...
Inspired by Novella, I'm gonna start my own blog, with specific headings for each one set out before I even start writing them. The theory involves using proper capitalisation throughout, but I'm not making any promises there, my little fingers don't work properly and I hate using the shift key. Also, I can't promise that I wont stick some other bloggy stuff in here in between the fixed ones.
So today is my first day back at work after about a month of being off sick, due to general inability to cope with life, or to put it another way, having had "bipolar tendencies" since forever, I went on anti-depressants at the start of the year, which completely fucked with my head, and started me doing "rapid cycles" between hypomania and a deep, suicidal depression.
I'm gonna start off writing about that experience a bit, just because nobody knows the full story, bar my boyfriend, and everyone seems to have bits and pieces of it, different moments I've been with them, or different things I've said.
One particular set of days stick in my mind. One was at a Warmline supervision group, and I spent from 6.30-8pm perfectly normal, clear mind, actually feeling quite calm, and had a really interesting and beneficial supervision group, and about 8pm, found myself unable to sit still, rocking and bouncing in my seat, and making all these connections between what people were talking about and relevant things I'd read/experienced, and at one point putting my hand up to mention one of these things to someone, and speaking a gazillion times too quickly, and stuttering, and not being able to finish the sentence, because I kept getting distracted by all these other thoughts and ideas and observations. Got a lift home from one of the chicks there, quite literally skipping and dancing to the car, unable to stop talking, speaking waaay too quickly, making waaay too much eye contact (and was aware of all this, but *couldnt* stop it!) and literally running down the drive when she dropped me off. Jeff (my partner) genuinely thought I was on drugs, and I have to admit, it was weird when I looked in the mirror to be feeling like this, and for my eyes not to look like saucers. Isolated myself for a while, did everything to try get/stay calm, and after a few hours, went to bed at about 3am and managed to sleep.
Got up at 6am feeling dreadful. Took so much effort to get out of bed, got to work almost 30mins late (I'm never late), burst into tears when the petty cash notebook wasn't in the petty cash box (it was about 3 inches away, just beside it), and then sitting in the corner sobbing, the photocopier/printer beside me started whirring into motion, and I had a small panic attack, and was promptly sent home from work (by my loving, caring, understanding boss who is my adoptive mother over here :D ).
Spent the day hiding in bed, sobbing, mostly. A friend texted to tell me about an awesome band playing at Blue Monday's that night, and I figured I'd go, just to get out of the house, and be around some good people. Was feeling better by the evening and something resembling normal. Took a 'mystery pill' that my friend also took, and left, had a drink at the pub, and suddenly felt the pill come on. Was definitely an upper of some sort (we later guessed BZP - yes I know how stupid that is, but meh, that's a whole other debate for a whole other blog, I guess), and I had a giggle when I saw my saucer eyes in the bathroom. I enjoyed the ride of it, but my mate, a placid, logical, analytical kinda guy, couldnt handle feeling so agitated, so we spent ages walking around, initially really quickly, then sitting on a bench, just holding him and soothing him, then walking soooo s - l - o - w - l - y. But this is kinda irrelevant, except for the bit where eventually we were both ok, and more or less enjoying the drug, got to our respective homes, and realised we had absolutely zero chance of sleeping that night. I got 30mins before my alarm went off, and I went to go get the tattoo that I had booked myself in for about 10months beforehand (from an artist who was coming to Christchurch just for this tattoo expo). So I went through 6 and a bit hours of tattooing, on 30mins of sleep, and did a lot better than I'd expected. I can't really remember Sunday day, pretty non-eventful, I spent most of the day sleeping, I guess. Then, that evening, I went the most manic I've ever been.
I didn't sleep at all that night, from typing superquickly, conversing with about 6 people online at once, feeling massively sociable and energetic, dancing around my sitting room just cos (I never do that, even when drunk!), but sorta kept myself as unstimulated as possible. Figured I'd get into work early and get as much done as possible while I had so much energy. Got in before 6am, found the walk in quite soothing, actually, and got through about 3hrs of work in less than half that time. All the while feeling hugely anxious, with a very physical knot feeling in my chest, had to close all the blinds and doors in my office, which I never do, and was rockign all through doing my work.
But when my boss came in, it was like, hugely stimulating. Just having that person there, was more than I could handle. The movement, the presence, the conversation. She had to get me to repeat everything I said about 5 or 6 times, because I was speaking so quickly (and she lived in Ireland for 12 years, she's about the only person who's never had a problem with my accent!). At one point she said something like 'Will ya slow down, for God's sake!', and I just stopped and burst into tears. Just like that. Spent the rest of the morning bouncing around, quite literally, I couldnt walk, I could just bounce, hope, run, spin, twirl and dance. I'm pretty sure I was supremely annoying.
Until about mid day. And I crashed. Boss found me curled up in my little spot underneath my desk, crying my eyes out. All these crazy suicidal thoughts going round in my head, these thoughts, planning to pick up a heap of paracetamols, codeine, valium and whiskey on the way home, and take them all (done that one before, stopped just in time, screwed my liver up a bit, but not enough for acute liver failure, mercifully), another thought of the box cutter at my desk, nice sharp blade there on my wrists and neck, another part of me scrambling to think who I can get some morphine from, to cook up to MST (think cheap and nasty heroin) and shoot that up and O.D. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I could just bawl my eyes out and tell my boss that I couldn't stay at work, I just wanted to go home, take a heap of sleeping pills and blank it all out.
After that, got some anti-psychotics and mood stabilisers off my doctor, which as it turned out I'm extremely sensitive to. They also have a 'drowsy' effect. i.e., send me almost straight to sleep, impossible to wake up less than 10hrs after falling asleep, and seemingly Jeff's never heard me snore when lying on my side before! Then get up, groggy as hell, and feel like an emotionless zombie until late afternoon evening, then depression/mania again.
So that's been me for the last month, more or less. Last week, I spent helping a friend who lives in a venue, build a stage. Was great having a project to focus on, and be in different surroundings and around different people than usual. Also meant I spent a lot of time getting stoned and drunk. Which in the short term, was good. Kept my mood very even. Spent the weekend coping with the subsequent down, but it was more like my usual lows, not the intense lows I've been feeling lately.
Finally saw the psychiatrist this Monday just gone. That was... interesting. A lot of old issues were brought up (I wont say unresolved, because I don't see how any of them can possibly be resolved. There is no possible way to undo what is done, or to repair it. What's happened has happened and the only thing I can do is put it out of the front of my mind, not dwell on it, and move the fuck on. Anyway, we decided that cos I'd been substantially less crazy that week, we'd see how I went without meds, cos I really don't want to go on bipolar meds. Of course, bringing everything 'traumatic', 'disturbing' or that evoked 'emotional issues' up in one afternoon was quite draining. Then I watched a tv show that echoed and raised questions in me about a lot of what I'd had to talk about that afternoon.
Bawled my eyes out during the show, went for a walk afterwards, with the express intention of buying a knife to cut myself with (had disposed of all the sharp objects in the house I could think of a few weeks ago, as an impulse deterrant). Fortunately, the impulse had decreased a good bit by the time I'd gotten it, but I still brought it home, hid it from my partner and then got the fuck to bed and hid and slept. The next day, I woke depressed. So deep, dark, just in a zombie state, completely apathetic. It took so much effort to care about anything, and I was second guessing my place in my friends' lives, putting myself down as useless, annoying, in the way, etc etc.
Meh, not in the mood for dwelling on it too much now, but I ended up, trance-like, adding a fourth very controlled, quite deep cut to my thigh, and later, over the course of a few hours of going from apathetic nothingness, to desperate, pleading attempts to get help (also, fuck you psych emergency services, you fucking failed me), or to meet up with someone, I managed to slash my wrist a few times. Not too bad, mind. Initially it was an odd, observer curiosity, I felt so detached watching it, tracing tiny scratches along my veins. Later, as people I desperately tried to contact proved unavailable, I just sorta, slashed, I guess. There are several scratches there now, I think most of them will heal eventually, two will be smaller scars, and two will be blatantly there for life.
That day ended in the emergency room, with Jeff forcing me to go, to heal them up as best as possible to avoid future scarring. I felt so eerily calm watching them patch it up (glue and sterry stitches) and then from nowhere started bawling my eyes out again, I think the most sane moment I've had in a month, as if I'd just woken up and seen what I'd done, and realised what I could have done.
So here I am, on Thursday, the day before I turn 22, wondering where it will all end. Started bipolar meds yesterday. They mean no drinking, and I'm gonna abide by that, I'm going to do everything in my power to get myself fucking well again. My life since October has just been so messy. Maybe I do need to 'resolve' some of my issues. I think what set it all off was the anniversary of Jenny's death, and maybe I need to do something else to come to terms with that? Or that whole period of being so lost and rejected and alone and just without. Without a home, without my family, or people who I could think of as family, without the acceptance and support that I so needed at that time. I think of those months often, they were very important to me being the person I am today. I know it's not really my fault that she's dead. But I'll always feel that guilt, just as strong as the sense of loss. I don't know. And so much badness in the years before that, that I can't even begin to think of 'resolving'. Let me put a knife through his heart, and maybe I'll start feeling a little better whenever the flashbacks occur, whenever I wake up crying, or screaming, or sweating, whenever I freeze when someone touches me, whenever my heart recoils when someone meaning well tries to hug me. Maybe a little bit better.
Right, I'm gonna shut the fuck up now.
This is the layout Novella used, and because I'm so unimaginative when it comes to vaguely practical things like this, this is what I'm gonna use too :D
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television program
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote
Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy
So today is my first day back at work after about a month of being off sick, due to general inability to cope with life, or to put it another way, having had "bipolar tendencies" since forever, I went on anti-depressants at the start of the year, which completely fucked with my head, and started me doing "rapid cycles" between hypomania and a deep, suicidal depression.
I'm gonna start off writing about that experience a bit, just because nobody knows the full story, bar my boyfriend, and everyone seems to have bits and pieces of it, different moments I've been with them, or different things I've said.
One particular set of days stick in my mind. One was at a Warmline supervision group, and I spent from 6.30-8pm perfectly normal, clear mind, actually feeling quite calm, and had a really interesting and beneficial supervision group, and about 8pm, found myself unable to sit still, rocking and bouncing in my seat, and making all these connections between what people were talking about and relevant things I'd read/experienced, and at one point putting my hand up to mention one of these things to someone, and speaking a gazillion times too quickly, and stuttering, and not being able to finish the sentence, because I kept getting distracted by all these other thoughts and ideas and observations. Got a lift home from one of the chicks there, quite literally skipping and dancing to the car, unable to stop talking, speaking waaay too quickly, making waaay too much eye contact (and was aware of all this, but *couldnt* stop it!) and literally running down the drive when she dropped me off. Jeff (my partner) genuinely thought I was on drugs, and I have to admit, it was weird when I looked in the mirror to be feeling like this, and for my eyes not to look like saucers. Isolated myself for a while, did everything to try get/stay calm, and after a few hours, went to bed at about 3am and managed to sleep.
Got up at 6am feeling dreadful. Took so much effort to get out of bed, got to work almost 30mins late (I'm never late), burst into tears when the petty cash notebook wasn't in the petty cash box (it was about 3 inches away, just beside it), and then sitting in the corner sobbing, the photocopier/printer beside me started whirring into motion, and I had a small panic attack, and was promptly sent home from work (by my loving, caring, understanding boss who is my adoptive mother over here :D ).
Spent the day hiding in bed, sobbing, mostly. A friend texted to tell me about an awesome band playing at Blue Monday's that night, and I figured I'd go, just to get out of the house, and be around some good people. Was feeling better by the evening and something resembling normal. Took a 'mystery pill' that my friend also took, and left, had a drink at the pub, and suddenly felt the pill come on. Was definitely an upper of some sort (we later guessed BZP - yes I know how stupid that is, but meh, that's a whole other debate for a whole other blog, I guess), and I had a giggle when I saw my saucer eyes in the bathroom. I enjoyed the ride of it, but my mate, a placid, logical, analytical kinda guy, couldnt handle feeling so agitated, so we spent ages walking around, initially really quickly, then sitting on a bench, just holding him and soothing him, then walking soooo s - l - o - w - l - y. But this is kinda irrelevant, except for the bit where eventually we were both ok, and more or less enjoying the drug, got to our respective homes, and realised we had absolutely zero chance of sleeping that night. I got 30mins before my alarm went off, and I went to go get the tattoo that I had booked myself in for about 10months beforehand (from an artist who was coming to Christchurch just for this tattoo expo). So I went through 6 and a bit hours of tattooing, on 30mins of sleep, and did a lot better than I'd expected. I can't really remember Sunday day, pretty non-eventful, I spent most of the day sleeping, I guess. Then, that evening, I went the most manic I've ever been.
I didn't sleep at all that night, from typing superquickly, conversing with about 6 people online at once, feeling massively sociable and energetic, dancing around my sitting room just cos (I never do that, even when drunk!), but sorta kept myself as unstimulated as possible. Figured I'd get into work early and get as much done as possible while I had so much energy. Got in before 6am, found the walk in quite soothing, actually, and got through about 3hrs of work in less than half that time. All the while feeling hugely anxious, with a very physical knot feeling in my chest, had to close all the blinds and doors in my office, which I never do, and was rockign all through doing my work.
But when my boss came in, it was like, hugely stimulating. Just having that person there, was more than I could handle. The movement, the presence, the conversation. She had to get me to repeat everything I said about 5 or 6 times, because I was speaking so quickly (and she lived in Ireland for 12 years, she's about the only person who's never had a problem with my accent!). At one point she said something like 'Will ya slow down, for God's sake!', and I just stopped and burst into tears. Just like that. Spent the rest of the morning bouncing around, quite literally, I couldnt walk, I could just bounce, hope, run, spin, twirl and dance. I'm pretty sure I was supremely annoying.
Until about mid day. And I crashed. Boss found me curled up in my little spot underneath my desk, crying my eyes out. All these crazy suicidal thoughts going round in my head, these thoughts, planning to pick up a heap of paracetamols, codeine, valium and whiskey on the way home, and take them all (done that one before, stopped just in time, screwed my liver up a bit, but not enough for acute liver failure, mercifully), another thought of the box cutter at my desk, nice sharp blade there on my wrists and neck, another part of me scrambling to think who I can get some morphine from, to cook up to MST (think cheap and nasty heroin) and shoot that up and O.D. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I could just bawl my eyes out and tell my boss that I couldn't stay at work, I just wanted to go home, take a heap of sleeping pills and blank it all out.
After that, got some anti-psychotics and mood stabilisers off my doctor, which as it turned out I'm extremely sensitive to. They also have a 'drowsy' effect. i.e., send me almost straight to sleep, impossible to wake up less than 10hrs after falling asleep, and seemingly Jeff's never heard me snore when lying on my side before! Then get up, groggy as hell, and feel like an emotionless zombie until late afternoon evening, then depression/mania again.
So that's been me for the last month, more or less. Last week, I spent helping a friend who lives in a venue, build a stage. Was great having a project to focus on, and be in different surroundings and around different people than usual. Also meant I spent a lot of time getting stoned and drunk. Which in the short term, was good. Kept my mood very even. Spent the weekend coping with the subsequent down, but it was more like my usual lows, not the intense lows I've been feeling lately.
Finally saw the psychiatrist this Monday just gone. That was... interesting. A lot of old issues were brought up (I wont say unresolved, because I don't see how any of them can possibly be resolved. There is no possible way to undo what is done, or to repair it. What's happened has happened and the only thing I can do is put it out of the front of my mind, not dwell on it, and move the fuck on. Anyway, we decided that cos I'd been substantially less crazy that week, we'd see how I went without meds, cos I really don't want to go on bipolar meds. Of course, bringing everything 'traumatic', 'disturbing' or that evoked 'emotional issues' up in one afternoon was quite draining. Then I watched a tv show that echoed and raised questions in me about a lot of what I'd had to talk about that afternoon.
Bawled my eyes out during the show, went for a walk afterwards, with the express intention of buying a knife to cut myself with (had disposed of all the sharp objects in the house I could think of a few weeks ago, as an impulse deterrant). Fortunately, the impulse had decreased a good bit by the time I'd gotten it, but I still brought it home, hid it from my partner and then got the fuck to bed and hid and slept. The next day, I woke depressed. So deep, dark, just in a zombie state, completely apathetic. It took so much effort to care about anything, and I was second guessing my place in my friends' lives, putting myself down as useless, annoying, in the way, etc etc.
Meh, not in the mood for dwelling on it too much now, but I ended up, trance-like, adding a fourth very controlled, quite deep cut to my thigh, and later, over the course of a few hours of going from apathetic nothingness, to desperate, pleading attempts to get help (also, fuck you psych emergency services, you fucking failed me), or to meet up with someone, I managed to slash my wrist a few times. Not too bad, mind. Initially it was an odd, observer curiosity, I felt so detached watching it, tracing tiny scratches along my veins. Later, as people I desperately tried to contact proved unavailable, I just sorta, slashed, I guess. There are several scratches there now, I think most of them will heal eventually, two will be smaller scars, and two will be blatantly there for life.
That day ended in the emergency room, with Jeff forcing me to go, to heal them up as best as possible to avoid future scarring. I felt so eerily calm watching them patch it up (glue and sterry stitches) and then from nowhere started bawling my eyes out again, I think the most sane moment I've had in a month, as if I'd just woken up and seen what I'd done, and realised what I could have done.
So here I am, on Thursday, the day before I turn 22, wondering where it will all end. Started bipolar meds yesterday. They mean no drinking, and I'm gonna abide by that, I'm going to do everything in my power to get myself fucking well again. My life since October has just been so messy. Maybe I do need to 'resolve' some of my issues. I think what set it all off was the anniversary of Jenny's death, and maybe I need to do something else to come to terms with that? Or that whole period of being so lost and rejected and alone and just without. Without a home, without my family, or people who I could think of as family, without the acceptance and support that I so needed at that time. I think of those months often, they were very important to me being the person I am today. I know it's not really my fault that she's dead. But I'll always feel that guilt, just as strong as the sense of loss. I don't know. And so much badness in the years before that, that I can't even begin to think of 'resolving'. Let me put a knife through his heart, and maybe I'll start feeling a little better whenever the flashbacks occur, whenever I wake up crying, or screaming, or sweating, whenever I freeze when someone touches me, whenever my heart recoils when someone meaning well tries to hug me. Maybe a little bit better.
Right, I'm gonna shut the fuck up now.
This is the layout Novella used, and because I'm so unimaginative when it comes to vaguely practical things like this, this is what I'm gonna use too :D
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television program
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote
Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy
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