I’m back from the homelands, imbued once again with the slang of my youth and the teeth-a-chattering of doors slammed in teenage angst still reverberating through me.
I was in Belfast for just over a week, and spent the next two days asleep as I recovered from socialising. I’m still completely exhausted, which is crap, of course. Depression followed me, alas, but I pulled my arse out of bed as much as I could and was fairly honest with my charming host and 11-year best friend so much used to my ways, Stephen, in that I wasn’t feeling great. I did crawl into bed at a birthday party, but there were only six of us, and five whom were interesting people so I wasn’t too missed. My medication doesn’t seem to work very well anymore. I’m sleeping terribly which is contributing to the daily exhaustion, and I am feeling, as mentioned, really quite shit and physically blasted apart. But I’m trying to do the most obvious, most loathsomely over-touted thing to help myself: DIET AND EXERCISE! Ish. I’m attempting to leave the house at least once a day for a little walk to perk myself up and sellotaping my fingers to my sides so I don’t resort to the usual depressive mechanisms of weight loss, since I can’t keep my head out of the fridge. I can’t take antidepressants so I’m pooling all my resources to keep me out of the depths.
But, er, Belfast was fun! Robert came with me, and surprisingly, my family no longer want him dead. It’s quite novel to be able to mention him- nay, have him with me- without one of my sisters telling me not to ever speak his name again then dashing holy water all over me. They were furious when we got back together, but it was nine years later, we are different people. Taller, anyway.
I did lots of things such as…
Catching up with my friends:
The above being Stephen, playing his melodica at Lavery’s, where Robert also joined in in a terrifying rendition of Hey Ya…
Meeting my honourary nephew, Adam! Adam is the baby son of two of my oldest friends. I introduced them, in fact. I take pride in this because they got married and didn’t kill each other.
I surprised myself by being okay with Adam. I’m usually quite tearful and wistful around babies these days, but it was just nice to see my friends, and new parents, and to hold the tiny little nearly-new thing. I was a bit wistful later but I’m looking forward to future visits and seeing how he’s grown. It’s quite strange that he’s just there, all of a sudden.
Went to a past pupil’s pub quiz where I ran into half my old school teachers, and where we won a bottle of wine for best name:
Getting together with my family and wandering the Giant’s Causeway:
Where I took lots of photos:
That’s the last of lovely photos, because my beautiful 50mm lens fell out of my bag and I can’t afford a new one. Bollocks.
In the time I managed to stay awake or not hide in the bedroom, I had a lovely time. I didn’t eat any fish heads.
Lovely enough that it reminded me that I don’t really want to live in London anymore. I’ve lived here for seven years this month, ever since I was seventeen. I was in love with it for a while but living on a loud main road, awoken five times a night by sirens, it kind of takes the magic out of it. Ah well. I could just move elsewhere, even elsewhere in London, but I am more broke than I’ve ever been right now, so that particular dream is on hold. I have been sadder here than I was in my week in Belfast, though. I felt- at home, I guess. Usually I hate going back- it can feel claustrophobic, dead- but lately I’ve been increasingly homesick. Maybe it’s the lack of effort and expectations involved there. I can sleep for a week and nobody would hassle me to wake up.
Anyway- I want to write about something else, so new post time…
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder