I can’t come down…

I’m scared. I’m really scared. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like my normal management strategy is working. I usually pop a Lorazepam and I drift back down. But it’s not working.

I’ve had Lorazepam every night for the last 12 nights and because it’s a controlled drug in England, I’m almost out. There’s no way my GP will write me another prescription this soon. I usually get through a pack a year; not a pack a fortnight.

Yesterday I hit my husband. That’s how I know how bad it’s become. I never lose my temper – I have hit him once before and that was when I originally sought help and ended up with a bipolar diagnosis. Once is too much. Twice is unforgivable.

For me to lose control is out of character; I don’t even shout when I’m mad. I don’t cry. I don’t yell. I have never once raised my child at my daughter. I do not appear stressed to most who meet me. I am calm and contained by nature.

But we were arguing in the car and I was scared of my mind and I had nowhere to escape to. When we argue, I remove myself from the situation. I was scared that I would crash the car with all the yelling he was doing. And then he called me “Psycho” and I flipped. I swung and punched him with all my might in the chest.

I feel disgusted with myself. It is never ok to display violence to someone you love. Never. And that is how I know that I’m not coming down anytime soon.

I’m scared. I’m lonely. No-one in my ‘real’ life understands. All of my girlfriends have run for the hills because they don’t/can’t understand the mania aspect of my illness. It hurts so much. It is times like this that I need them the most.

I just need time. Time to take a break from being me. Time to take a break from this life. I just need it to stop.

Advertisements

I feel it coming…

I can feel it coming again.  The darkness.  Slowly, slowly creeping its way towards me.  Not slammed like a tidal wave, this time.  But almost like a game of  “What’s the time Mr Wolf?” You don’t see the change happening but you can feel it.  You can sense the shift in your perceptions and attitude.

I knew this was inevitable.  The last few months have been absolute chaos.  I haven’t had a second to myself and this constant demand for my time has meant I’ve gone higher and higher, running on nothing but adrenaline and caffeine.  But the saying, “What goes up must come down” is rooted in truth.  That’s the thing about cliques, they exist for a reason.

I’m lonely, that’s a fact. The summer holidays are too much time alone for me.  I’m with The Kid obviously, but an adult needs adult company now and again before you start to forget who you are, other than ‘Mummy.’

My mood is not black; nowhere near but still I feel it. My desire to sleep.  The heaviness to my limbs that makes me just want to crawl back into bed when that’s the last thing I’m able to do.  My desire for time alone to recharge myself. My loss of desire to ‘do something’ is fading fast…

Single Parent.

Do you ever wonder why you bother?  Yet again, I feel like I’m right at the bottom of the pile on the list of priorities.

My husband works 7 days a week.  Yep, 7.  He insists that it’s so that he can pay for an amazing holiday next year which he has promised our daughter.  I’m sorry if I’m sounding like an ungrateful bitch right now but seriously, I may as well be a single parent.  I don’t remember ever being so lonely.  I spend a rare hour here or there in the company of friends but other than that, it’s just me and the kid, flying solo.

He gets to see our daughter plenty as he spends every evening with her but I work 3 jobs, one of which is in the evening.  We are literally like ships passing in the night. By the time we take the trip, close to 2 years will have been spent working all the hours under the sun, for a 2 week summer holiday.  Is it really worth it? Not in my opinion.

I asked if we could go out on a date night this evening to see this cool local ‘Play Writer’s Night’; you get to watch 4 drama extracts and then vote on your favourite.  The winning extract is then turned into a future production.  It sounded kinda cool and cost a few pounds for a ticket.  His response?  “I can’t afford it.”

I get that he wants to give our daughter the trip of the lifetime. I understand that he doesn’t want to disappoint her and obviously neither do I.  But I feel like I am just going through the motions of marriage without actually getting a husband out of the deal.

I’m trying to work 3 jobs, care for the kid, keep the house in order and manage my condition on my own.  I’m not gonna lie, this isn’t what I envisioned marriage to be.

 

 

Don’t Forget to Remember

I am not a needy person; I don’t want you to think that.  I am not demanding; nor am I someone who pours out their soul whilst in the company of friends. Yet I cannot figure out why I so often find myself so fucking alone.

I don’t have insanely high expectations of my friends.  I don’t feel that I am demanding in any way, shape or form.  All I want is a friend to be able to text and say, “Fancy a coffee? Pop over!” or “Want to hang out a bit later?”  I really don’t think that is an unrealistic expectation to have? Or maybe it is?

I have reached the point where I am done being the person to try to set up plans with friends, only to be cancelled on, or to have to ‘book’ with them months in advance.  What happened to just being able to hang out with a friend without needing to fucking schedule it in?

My best friend lived in London for close to a decade.  Due to the fact that it physically wasn’t possible to ‘grab a quick coffee’ we made a point of setting up ‘bestie dates’ and would go out for dinner in Central London once a month.  Sure, it meant we only saw each other once a month but at least those 4 hours were quality time when we could really shoot the shit.  At the beginning of 2017 she moved to my area and started renting my apartment which is approximately 30 seconds down the road from where I am currently living.  She has been there close to 5 months and I can count on one hand, and have fingers to spare, the number of time I have seen her.

I am done with asking people if they’re free at the weekend.  Done with “Time for a quick coffee?” texts.  I don’t understand when it suddenly became so hard to maintain a friendship.  Can people just not be fucked anymore? Friends are always having someone over for dinner, or spending time with parents.  I guess sometimes you get to know someone so well that you assume that they’re always going to be there.  You forget that friendship doesn’t need time, care and nurturing. Sometimes people forget to remember you.

Don’t get me wrong, I would rather have a couple of really good friends than a bunch of acquaintances but is wanting some company really such a huge fucking demand?  I am so.damn.lonely.  With the exception of my daughter, the children I teach and my fitness class participants, I have very little social interaction with others.  This is not through choice.

How do you reach out to people without screaming, “I fucking need you ok?  Friends are supposed to be there for each other and I need you right now, so be there for me. Please!” I am not that kinda girl – I am not the one who lets people know I am falling apart. That’s why I come here and let my real emotions spill anonymously onto the page. I don’t want to burden people; no one does but I would just like to be remembered once in a while.  Is that genuinely too much to ask?

 

No Time to Say Goodbye…

images-9

I am no stranger to death.  I have lost many close to me over the years.  I held my father’s hand as he slipped away after a painful battle with cancer the day after I turned 12 years old. I have lost classmates to suicide, car accidents and tumours but I have never experienced the sudden and unexpected death of someone who I love dearly. Until now.

This experience has taught me that grief is so different depending upon the circumstances.  In the past, I was able to prepare myself for the inevitable.  Make sure that the words I chose in their presence used a sense of hindsight. My emotions were laid bare. Nothing left unsaid.

Unexpected death is a thoroughly different experience.  It is like a tidal wave that slams you off your feet without a second to catch your breath.  Before you know what is happening, you are sucked under, struggling to breath. You frantically attempt to steady yourself and set yourself upright and then it hits again, flooring you – an out of body experience as you blink in disbelief “This is not my life.”

That day is a blur of blue flashing lights, haphazardly mounting the kerb to ‘park’ my car as I sprinted towards the house. A mish-mash of paramedics, police, undertakers and the God-awful wailing of everyone in disbelief.  I sat and I waited.  I paced and I sobbed as they fought to preserve life for what seemed like an eternity (but in reality was approximately 90 minutes” and looked up as all 4 EMT’s slowly descended the staircase.  “Why are they walking so slowly? Where has the sense of urgency gone?”

I watched numbly as the words, “We’re so sorry, we tried everything we could…” empathetically leave the young paramedics mouth and I realise she is looking at me, she is talking to me. Saying the line reserved for TV shows.  Except this isn’t TV; this is real life. My life.

Leave nothing unsaid. Time is so very fucking precious.

That’s a Wrap…

1-7-16.wrap_.KB_-625x640

Life throws some weird shit at you sometimes.  3 weeks ago something horrendous and huge happened to me which I don’t really want to talk about right now but it was a game-changer and I’ve spent much of the last few weeks in tears, unable to sleep and generally just going through the motions of life.

Last week, out of the blue amidst all the insanity of what was going on in my life, I received a voicemail from a guy making a film, asking me if I would consider taking part, as they were looking for someone like me to be in one of their scenes.

My first thought was, “Are you fucking kidding me?  Could your timing be any worse? I am going through some full-on shit right now and I’m being asked to take part in a film project?”  But then I thought to myself, maybe that’s exactly why I should say yes.  I needed something else to focus on, something fun to distract me from my thoughts.  And so I thought, “Fuck it!” and before I knew what I was doing, I’d text back the number the guy had left agreeing to take part.

Sometimes you just have to say “Yes!”  Granted, the timing was awful but it ended up being something positive to focus on, whilst reminding me that life is about taking opportunities as and when they occur.  It’s highly unlikely I would ever get a chance to do something like this again so I decided to embrace the bad-timing and throw caution to the wind.

I have just returned from the shoot.  I am so glad I agreed to take part.  What a buzz.  Despite only being a small production there were cast and ‘film folk’ everywhere. It was really fun talking with the director about the kind of shots they wanted and how many retakes they thought they would need to get the desired effect.  I can’t wait to see the project once its been edited and released.

If you ever get an opportunity to be in a film, no matter how bizarre or ill-timed the offer may be, take it.  I highly recommend the experience.  I’ve gotta say that tonight was probably the most fun Sunday night I’ve ever had. Sometimes you’ve just gotta say, “Yes!”

That’s a wrap.

 

How low can you go?

Over the years I’ve done a lot of reading on bipolar disorder.  From this extensive research, I’ve learned time and time again that bipolar disorder gets worse with age.  Fuck.  Hypo-mania seems like a lifetime ago, a blurry and distant memory.

This low has lasted for a long time.  I usually get a break in my lows – a gap in the clouds where the sunshine cracks through, unexpected yet welcome.  There has been no gap in the clouds, no spontaneous brightness.

I miss my life.  I miss who I am.  I don’t think that I have ever felt so alone in my life.  When I am in this place, there are a handful of people that I feel comfortable enough around to be able to open up my heart and mind to.  But none of these people are here.  They have their own lives going on. Time and time again, I’ve reached out but to no avail.  And trust me on this one, I am not the sort of person to ask for help and reach out.  So if I ask for you, or say that I miss you and need to see you, that’s as close to a cry for help as you’re ever gonna get from me.

Am I suicidal?  No.  I thankfully don’t feel enough to feel suicidal.  I am just numb.  Do you ever think that you can only be hurt so much before you learn to feel nothing at all?  In recent months I’ve come to accept that I have finally reached breaking point.  I can hurt no more and so I have embraced empty.  For the first time in my life I actually believe the words, “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.”  They can’t.  Not anymore.

At times like this I have to ask myself this question again?  Is it better to hurt than feel nothing at all?  Right now, I feel nothing.  I’m not gonna lie, it sucks.  But would I switch it for the crippling pain of the black dog?  Don’t get me wrong, I know that what I am experiencing right now is depression, I’m not daft.  But I realise that is a different kind – this is not the type that makes me question my existence and daydream about ways out.

But it still sucks.

I really miss myself.  Right now all I am is mother, wife, teacher, instructor.  I am not me;  in my purest form.  I am a version of myself that is adapted dependent on audience.  I miss having the opportunity to be the pure, uncensored self that I am when I have time in the presence of those who have no expectation of me – they like me for who I am and demand nothing of me except my company.  Except they’re nowhere to be seen.

I don’t mean to sound like a whiny little bitch.  I’m just tired.  Tired of being the person that I’ve become in recent months.  The longer I spend in this shell, the more I forget who I really am.  A stranger looks back from the mirror and walks in my shoes.

Come back to me, me. Please.