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