I want you back…

Dear life,

I miss you! I miss the silliness, the spontaneity, the laughter, the joy in the existence, the wonder and beauty of the smallest things. Please come back to me.





Striking a balance…

I have reached the conclusion that mood stabilisers and anti-psychotics are not for me.

Over the years, my consultants have always been amazed at how sensitive I am to medication (I am often floored by a mere paediatric dose) There is a good chance that this could be ASD-related as apparently that’s pretty common too…

Several months ago my anxiety was so high that I had stumbled over into mania – my mind was working at a million miles an hour and I was taking stress after stress in my stride while everyone around my questioned, “How is she still smiling?” At that point, Quetiapine was a God-send. It took the edge of my vibrating thoughts which made my head hum in the middle of the night. That excess energy finally mellowed and I’d find my self enveloped in a cloudy loveliness each night as I’d drag myself sleepily up the stairs to bed.

The mania passed and I stopped the quetiapine. It had served its purpose.

Fast-forward to now. The midst of a cloudy, Black depression. The will to live has gone. I simply wish to cease existing.

Every winter this happens. Every year a little worse that the year before. Sadly the experience doesn’t seem to help, only suck me lower in the knowledge that this dark fucker ain’t leaving me alone any winter soon…

My consultant tells me I need more than just an antidepressant. That someone with Type 1 Bipolar needs a cocktail of meds in order to contain the evil motherfucker. I agree, in theory. Yet in reality, not so much.

For the past couple of weeks I have taken my quetiapine as instructed, just before bed and have fallen into a restful slumber. However, every morning I wake with a tight chest, fear of leaving the house and unable to think my way through the simplest of tasks.

The other night, I forgot to take it. It triggered hypomania which although feeling fabulous, is no way to combat the fucker. It was clear that I needed to sleep but I feared that lovely ‘alive’ buzzy feeling would be replaced with the black fog the moment I took the quetiapine again.

And so I skipped the dose again and replaced with a pill from my emergency stash of Lorazepam. I fell asleep and the edge was taken off my hypomania buzz and I woke in the morning feeling brighter than I had in days.

So now I ponder, is the quetiapine making my anxiety worse? Is a medication which was so helpful at knocking mania out of the park last year, the cause behind my worsening depression and anxiety?

I hate meddling with my medication and doses but here an ‘emergency’ appointment can take a month or so to get. I don’t have weeks to waste before seeing someone again.

Is it just coincidence? I have started keeping a diary stating what I have taken each night and the state I wake in each morning. Hopefully a pattern will begin to emerge and I can get back to living sometime soon.

Fuck this illness.


Fuck this disorder. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going! Last night I forgot to take my quetiapine dose. I didn’t sleep a wink. I literally tossed and turned all night. I figured there was no point taking it in the middle of the night as I needed to be up early with the kiddo.

This morning the tightness in my chest isn’t there and I don’t feel quite so massively overwhelmed as I have recently. But why? Is it the missed dose or has the lack of sleep merely triggered a little hypomania?

Fuck sake! 😩


It’s not enough that a bipolar episode can rob you of your joy, spirit and humour. This alone makes functioning hard enough but at times the little bastard destroys cognitive functioning too.

I have been unable to work for weeks. Just the thought of getting out my laptop, firing it up and cracking on with the numerous tasks necessary in order to be prepared to teach, draws a great big, fat blank.

It is as though my brain has been replaced with a dark fog that prevents me from recalling, processing and initiating any form of function above the bare basics.

Someone whose brain usually runs at a hundred miles an hour, multi-tasking and working 4 jobs is currently ticking along like an old clock submerged in treacle.

My doctor just told me I need to “Rush more slowly at getting better!”

Ugh, but life doesn’t stop when I do. I accept that I’m ill and cannot fulfil my responsibilities at the moment but I also fear the fallout and having to pick up the pieces when I am able to return to life.