Anyway… (Updated)

Let’s not be downhearted.  I am okay- well, no that’s a lie.  I’m going through seismic changes, I guess, painful ones.  As is my life right now.  I know I am not alone, but I feel very alone, just because there are so many banshees in my head, and I’m so scared of the future, I don’t know who to talk about it to or how to talk about it.  I feel guilt very acutely, and I am struggling with it because I have hurt people that I love. I did talk to my CPN who thinks my rationale is sound but my behaviour is possibly not, and that I am probably going through a hypo/manic episode, with a vicious edge of depression.

On my restricted blog (yes, I have one that only friends can read), Crikey, I was being funny.  I have a Livejournal. Brain_opera if you’re interested.  It’s for day to day crap and my friends in London to sort social stuff out. I made a list of things I need to do.  They include:

  • Start eating properly.  I tallied up my daily calorie count as an average, and for three weeks, I’ve been averaging out at about 600 a day, sometimes slightly more, sometimes slightly less, sometimes nothing at all.  I am going to force myself to eat at least three things a day, even if they’re tiny.  This isn’t deliberate; mixture of stress, grief, depression, mania and exhaustion.  I have been on the verge of collapse quite a few times and my manic energy means that I need to be eating more, not less.
  • Sleep.  Because I haven’t been.
  • Keep the place tidy. Whoops.
  • Try not to start caning the booze.  I’ve been drinking but not an awful lot and I have stopped drinking home alone.
  • Stop dodging my CPN appointments.
  • Properly discuss therapy which I think I desperately need.  Problem with it is that I need to be more stable in order to engage.
  • Stop skipping medication doses.  Yep.  I’ve been afraid of going to sleep (hate sleeping alone, hate waking up alone) so sometimes have been skipping doses.

Basically; start small by trying to take care of myself a bit more.

I’m not around tomorrow and my sister is coming on Wednesday so I shall be quiet.  My friend Nick told me I should make a list of why people care about me, and what’s good about me, and in it maybe I’ll find the reasons to carry on.  I shall, but for now, my lovely readers, I pass the tasks onto you.  Tell me five good things about you.  If you please, and if you like, and if you don’t want to, then it’s okay!   Even if you’re just proud of the way you do something, tell me.

I’ll tell you two things I am proud of (I can only think of two right now, alas): I am proud of the Radio 4 play, even though I got rabbit in the headlights about it and had to run away for a little while because, although I was proud of it, it’s quite strange for even more people to know me for being manic depressive.  I’m also proud of the fact that, for the most part, I give people good and sincere advice.  So there you go!


EDIT:  Excuse the shouty bold, rather irritated.   Continue reading

It Pours

I had a post to write, but it’s been kind of blown out of the water by the news that my granny Kane has just died.  No, not even this granny, Granny Molloy, who is hanging on.  The other one, which was somewhat unexpected to me as I didn’t know the extent of how ill she was in hospital.

I wasn’t close to her, but I didn’t dislike her.  I was far closer to my Granda Kane, her husband, who died last year.   And aside from my uncle Brian, I despise everybody in my mum’s family because they are poisonous, manipulative, loathsome human beings.

I’m still saddened by her death because it feels like my family is being wiped out.  And so last Christmas was, well, the last, and will end a tradition of a lifetime.

Mostly, however, I’m just worried about my mum.  She’s not really well (mentally) and has been looking after my granny almost since my dad died.   I worry that this might be a catalyst for madness, and I don’t want to lose her.  On the other hand, I’m hoping it gets her away from her ridiculous siblings and she begins, maybe, to live her own life. 

I’m not going to be able to attend the funeral due to my current benefits-what? situation, and also that one of my best friend’s weddings is on Saturday and I have already shelled out for train tickets, so I’m too broke.  I feel guilty about it (she deserves to have her grandchildren there, and I want to be there for my mum), but also slightly relieved, as I’m exhausted by funerals, exhausted by death.  I have watched too many people go into the ground in the past few years.  It isn’t how I want to remember them.

My granny wanted to go, though, and did so in her sleep.  She has been heartbroken since granda died.  They really loved each other.  So I am happy, in one sense, that she’s no longer in pain.

There goes the plateau of calm and peace I had reached today, anyway. Ah, what a sodding mess my life is right now.  Alas.


The Spiky Sea Urchin has been trying to claim me.

“The old brag of my heart- I am, I am, I am”.

Okay.  After a good ten days of my activities mostly consisting of thinking of inventive ways in which I can hang myself (“Do you have a plan?” Oh yes.), chainsmoking, wanting to throw myself out of a window because of guilt and grief and crying, it’s time to regroup.

I haven’t been answering any correspondence and am seriously behind in…everything.  Many thanks for people who’ve written to me but coherant thought has not been forthcoming.  I have been really ill for a while, waaaaaaaaay more than I have let on, and it’s coming to a head.  The abortion, which was a decision I had to make because of this stupid fucking illness that I didn’t ask for, kicked me over the edge. I’m off to be gently chastised by my CPN (and strongly suspect that it shall be suggested that I’ve been suffering from dysphoric mania, because I have) later in the first appointment in a month that I’ve not ingeniously dodged.

It’s funny, that the more I rebel against my illness and my treatment, the worse my illness gets, thus entrenching me even further in the role of Seriously Mentally Ill Woman, a role I have been desperate to shake off, hoping that if I did, then it would all disappear, and I wouldn’t disintegrate with the despair of another 12, 20, 40 years having to live with this horrendous life-ruining, beauty-destroying “bipolar disorder, y’know, the artist’s one, the one it’s cool to have,  the one that’s killed people, and is killing me and that means nobody trusts a word I say and some are afraid of me or disgusted by me or just gets plain hurt by me.  That one”.   I have been trying desperately to escape it.

I’ll write about it all later.  I need to come back to life.  That’s what all the changes have been for, but christ, it’s so difficult when life has been hurling shit at me endlessly, and I lost the will to live and the ability to.  I am going to live, I am going to make my life better and not make anyone else’s worse anymore.  I will not let this illness destroy something beautiful and break my heart ever again because I’m going to fucking deal with it, proper.  First stop: oh ye gads, I’m asking for therapy.  Me and therapy weren’t friends, but let’s try again.

I’m not thinking really straight at the moment.  I’m going on gut instincts, which may mislead me, but I am trying, very hard.

BUT!  I have been keeping myself busy, social and also a bit drunk, so have not slid into despair.  And I am very aware of how fortunate I am, have been, to be loved.

Oh, and my benefits still aren’t sorted.  I was preparing myself to go and sit in the housing benefit office for an hour today, then I coughed so violently I vomited over myself.  Maybe I should turn up like this, and point to my greening top and say, “You make me sick”.  Har.


Going through horrendously painful and difficult emotional time right now.  Back soon.

Oh for god’s sake.

I shouldn’t be weighing myself (I was keeping the scales for my friend, I forgot to give them to her), but I have, and I’ve now dropped below the 8 stone mark, the lightest I have been in my adult life.  Despite being my little eating disordered self, I am not jumping for joy.  This is not deliberate; I have completely and utterly lost my appetite due to immense emotional stress over the past few months which have forced me to rethink my life.  The last thing I ate was at 11am yesterday.  

My friend Sarah came around bearing bread, which I’ll get around to eating when food feels more appetising than the cat’s litter tray.  Although I tried to entertain her by making my belly talk to her.  WHAT DOES IT SAY?  “Hello…Sarah…”

edit!  Sarah’s bread is bloody delicious!  I am eating it all!

Last week I almost fainted from lack of food and had to be physically steadied.  I need to get a grip and force myself to eat.  I have yet to get to bed.  I couldn’t face my bed, the pillows. Because if I sleep, then I have to wake up. I’ve spent the past seven hours crying on and off as four years of my life hurtle towards me in equal amounts of joy and agony, that I am losing, and although I am trying to do what I know in my gut is best, healthiest, happiest for everyone in the long term, to not lose everything, in the short term, in the now, I feel profoundly alone, stockpiling all my affections to try and get rid of that horrible feeling, and full of rage and grief and sadness and self abasement for not being strong enough, good enough as a person, trying hard enough, for letting people down and wishing so very violently that things had been different, with less endless crap to wade through,  so that the purest thing of all wasn’t stifled and changed, so I was less restless, disconnected, and knowing that I could keep trying, but it wouldn’t work, and I would always end up back in the same place, with the same grief which would hurt more and more, still 23, still with no clue who she’s meant to be (and now I am crying again).  

My head is killing me and feels gigantic and swollen.  I’ll lie down soon.  I want a bath, want to clean my flat, want to feel semi-human again.  I had a dental appointment at 11am that I can’t be bothered to go to.  I’ll get back to looking after myself properly.  I’m a big girl, I can do it.  I can stand on my own two feet but sometimes like everyone else I stumble to the ground and it is hard to get up.  I do look like a lady of the sorrows right now with my cried out skin and bombed eyes.

I’m not mentally unwell at the moment, not more so than usual.  People have been questioning whether I might be slightly manic due to my lack of sleep and lack of eating.  I don’t think I am. It is pure stress.  I am a bit more impulsive than usual but this is a culmination of, everything, to be honest, and kind of losing my rag a bit and knowing that I need to shake myself out of a coma before I become a dead dear at twenty five just staring, paralysed.   I’m not depressed.  I am incredibly, incredibly sad in a human way (nothing I want to discuss).  

I will feel better, just not right now.  Instead of doing my usual dusting myself off in that English way I have being an Irish person in England, I’m just allowing myself to bawl.

Ah, sweet self pity, eh.  I’d like to thump myself on the head.

Anyway, enough ranting.  

I am also stressed beyond belief.  My DLA didn’t go into my account- I am on zero benefits.  I have no money.  I went to sort out Income Support yesterday but everything else has been messed up.  It feels like nothing I’m doing in my life, in all respects, has an iota of positive impact.  That I make people miserable and even the benefits office seem to have some sort of vendetta against me and are determined to see me scavenge in the bins of the slightly better off than the underclass like me, which, at times like this, is exactly what I feel like. Right now jumping off something high seems attractive because I’m so sick of it all.  I could jump and wrap a letter from the DWP around my neck like an attractive bib with the word, “THANKS” scrawled on it.

Now I have to wait for the fuckers to open their phone lines.  At least the DLA people are somewhat more helpful than Income Support as they seem accostumed to old dears rather than rambling young whippersnappers like me.

Yes, Radio 4 listeners.  FEEL THE TEDIUM OF MY LIFE!

Absent friends, here’s to them

Excuse my status as an absentee blogger- I wasn’t in London for most of last week, and to be honest, I’ve had little to say for myself, other than I’m thinking about learning how to use a crossbow so that I can personally acquaint myself with the staff of the DWP.  Emotionally, I’m going through a bit of a difficult time right now, and it’s nothing I find particularly easy to share. 

What I have wanted to say, though, while trying to avoid being sentimental or corny, is thank you to everyone who has emailed, commented and found me on Facebook to say lovely things about the play and to share with me their own stories.  I have been totally overwhelmed by the response.  The night before it was broadcast I couldn’t even sleep due to the dread that I’d be sought out and headbutted by the irate listeners of Radio 4.  So thank you for proving me wrong on that count.  I have thrown out my special helmet. 

Please be patient with me when it comes to responding; I have a few hundred e-mails to get round to at the moment.  I’m rubbish at the best of times with e-mails due to my appalling lack of organisational skills and my equally appalling memory.

When I live my dream, please be there to meet me, let me be the one to understand.

Three years ago today, this happened.   Continue reading

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