Hello there! It’s very late, as I have just returned from one of my forays in the Really Real World.
I’ve been extremely antisocial lately. I almost lost the ability to converse in the flesh; I found my words tripped and spiralled and I didn’t know what to say, because there was too much to say. How long has it been since I asked someone how they are? Today I’ve been out twice. I went for a cup of tea in the greasy spoon with my friend, where I fought the ever-present tremor my medication gives me by bravely spilling both my drinks and apologising for shaking like a geriatric alcoholic. Then I went to another friend’s club night, feeling as though I had emerged from a decade wrapped in plastic, in a warehouse somewhere, waiting to be found, having given up shouting, having given up on ever making a sound again. The world is baffling and new.
For the past six weeks I have barely worn make up or brushed my hair, and I have felt unwomanly, even though by all accounts I was experiencing the most womanly experience that womanly women experience. It was strange to stand in company in eyeliner, to dance, to laugh and to be dressed up. I am trying to ease myself into sociability again. I haven’t felt alone even though I isolated myself, but I do still jump a little at the sound of someone else’s voice.
Thank you for all your lovely kind comments and e-mails. I was so frightened the reaction would be horrible, so it was a great relief, and support. I am, and have been for ages, behind in all correspondance. I have had, as you can appreciate, a lot on my mind, and I’ve been going through it all privately. I haven’t really felt up to replying to things.
I don’t have much to say. I attended my first CPN appointment in over a month on Thursday. The “team” has moved, and surreally they have moved to a building almost exactly identical to the old one, save for slightly darker blue chairs and even more exposed wiring. We talked a little about what’s been going on lately, but I haven’t felt like talking about it, I still don’t. What is there left to say now?
She broached the subject of the future, but I sidestepped it. I don’t want to think about that, either. Not in terms of children. It is a question I have had to think about for years due to health issues; if this has taught me anything, it’s that this is not the time to think about it, that I wouldn’t be ready anyway no matter how much I hypothesised.
I have to take a pregnancy test in another two weeks but I know I’m not pregnant. Not only by the excruciating, shocking pain that heralded the end, but I knew I was pregnant instinctively, now I know I am not. My cravings have disappeared, and so, largely, has the exhaustion, although I am still very tired. I haven’t been sleeping well at all. The hunger and the nausea has gone, replaced with an indifference to food. My moods have calmed down and settled into a sort of blankness. After the storms comes the silence. Sometimes I am rushed by sadness.
And there is the emptiness, the little emptiness.
I am coping, better than I thought I would be, which makes me feel callous. It is in part not thinking about it, nor ruminating on all the issues of self worth/self worthlessness that it raised. I was spiralling into a horrible place, and now I am clawing myself back out. I don’t know if I’ll continue to feel okay or not. It comes and goes. I feel bad that I’m relieved to have my body back, but to me, where body control is an issue, it was terrifying to be aboard a vessel I couldn’t steer.
For now what I would like to do is start properly writing again and to conquer my inertia. I think I had a life to return to.
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder