Thanks for your advice on Previous, chaps! I have made it private now, mostly because it would be the same advice from a lot of people and because I found the post a bit embarrassing to make. I’m now slightly delirious from lack of sleep.
Now I’m going to write a post specifically to squick out the men, and to irritate people everywhere who cry, “Oh, is nothing sacred?” I could talk about current affairs, Chilean miners, tuition fees, or my vagina. Which one shall I pick?
I had my first cervical smear today. This, coupled with my tutor referring to, “You young people” with her hand not extending to me, makes me feel old. I don’t want the NHS to know I’ve had sex. They might tell my mum.
The nurse was lovely, as almost every nurse I’ve ever met has been. She was immediately recognisable as a somewhat-eccentric, and told me to relax by thinking I was going to, “PEEEEEEEEEEE!”, said with arms windmilling wildly. Whipping off my kecks and climbing onto a high surface isn’t easy for a midget like me and for a ghastly moment I thought I’d have to ask her for help with my bum hanging out. She kept telling me to relax, but her gloriously over the top way of speaking kept making me laugh. “Deep breaths, deep breaths!” she coached, while I huffed back, “I’m trying, I keep laughing!” It was very surreal. As was the fact that she complemented my vagina. I look, “very healthy”, apparently. I can’t say I’ve ever been complimented in such a manner. I’ll take it where I find it, really. I asked her if she ever got tired of staring up women’s vaginas. She said she used to be a midwife then made a face when referring to babies so I assume she prefers the more sedate aspects of women’s health i.e not watching us being gutted. But what a lovely woman. My vagina left the surgery feeling very pleased with itself.
On the way out, I grudgingly picked up prescriptions. Tip: it’s not a good idea to take your prescription for an antipsychotic then wide-eyedly demand, “Did you hear that?!” What I heard was something that sounded like an air raid siren going off outside. It was very abrupt and loud, which is why I asked in shock. How could she not hear it? She didn’t, so god knows. I did the rational thing which was to run outside and examine the sky to make sure we weren’t about to be blown off the face of the earth. I’ve been hearing things recently though not sure I have been hearing things- it’s difficult to tell! My brain noise has been a bit of a roar lately which means I catch myself gabbering away, but that helps me to pick out the relevant thoughts. I think the hearing things is probably born out of that- I don’t feel threatened or afraid of it, nor do I think it’s anything psychotic, and thus, because I think that, it isn’t. It means I sometimes get confused, though.
I’m mostly writing this post to take a break from staring in terror at my assignment. It’s due tomorrow. This study lark is so new to me, and it’s another reason I desperately need to sort out something long term with mood stabilising and why I’m feeling increasingly frustrated with what I feel is a misdiagnosis. My sleep is all over the place which is making it impossible to get into any routine. It’s my fault, though, I should suck it up. But I’m behind my book writing- by quite a long chalk- and not pleased with myself. My social worker congratulated me the other day, saying I was doing all the right things, and she was happy that even though I felt like arse and just wanted to sleep, I forced myself into doing things. But it’s hard not to feel as though I fall short all too often. In another sense, though, it’s exciting, to be writing a book and starting study. But I’ve done neither before in my life. The latter actually scares me more. It doesn’t help that the financial assessment for my course hasn’t happened yet (where the council decide whether they give me the whole money for my course, or whether I have to pay bits myself out of my DLA, because it counts as income), and thus I can’t afford to buy any books. (I bought one, but I have more to get. It’s expensive!)
This stuff kind of intellectually puts me in my place. At school, I was always the best at certain subjects and coasted along on my wave of teacher adoration and fantastic grades despite being too mental to attend most of the time. I was quite intellectually cocky. Now I’m twenty five and completely out of practice, struggling to get into a routine and have no bloody clue what the Harvard referencing system is. My lack of organisation is scuppering me and I need to get a grip. If I want to be a brilliant writer/brilliant nurse/stand up who doesn’t accidentally get drunk, I need to sort it out. And I’m not-gulp- a young person anymore, a revelation which surprised me. And my vagina.
Anyway, back to it, ARGH. Coffee and fag. Sleep sometime this year would be good. If you see me dandering down the A206 naked, know that I’ve made it to day four on two hours and have stopped feeling tired.
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder