All of nextofkin’s life (I just have one member of my immediate family left), Christmas happened on Christmas Eve – because my mother’s happiest Christmases were spent in Germany. It’s impossible to wander too far down memory lane, or get wistful and misty eyed, because reasons. If you’ve been subscribed to this blog for a while, or you know me, you’ll know. If not, you probs guessed correctly anyway.
Around 6pm, we’d go and stare at the sky, looking for Father Christmas. By the time we got back into the house, voila and amazeballs, there’d be presents under the tree. My mother went to enormous efforts and – actually I can’t think about it anymore now. Nextofkin tends to maintain radio silence over the festering season, which makes me sad, but the poor dude has his own issues. And a much nicer family than ours was, thank fuck.
Tomorrow it will be xmas day and I will go spend some time with the hospitalised neighbour and, if my driving stays safe and my nerves quiet long enough, I’ll visit friends afterwards. I didn’t think I’d be in the city for it; what a strange year 2014 has been. Highlights? Lost job, diagnosed bipolar 2 … 1 liftoff and two lovely visits from dogsarebestpeople.
(I made the meme.)
About that diagnosis – seems that process is as progressive as the disorder itself eh? Have any of you still got the same diagnosis (version of bipolar) as you started with?
Me:
Bipolar ii
Bipolar 1
Bipolar 1 & psychotic features
Bipolar 1 with psychotic and mixed features
Bipolar 1 with psychotic and mixed features, rapid cycling & continuous cycling.
And I’m a noob.
This blog is only as old as my diagnosis (five months) – as you can see, I read and write fast and obsessively. It’s my way of demystifying and disarming manic depression to some extent. Also, plenty of virtual friendship, support and advice. I’m glad to say too, that it’s gone beyond bipolar, that you guys just … get it and that I don’t have to patiently attempt to convince anyone that I’m not actually a lazy, malingering waste of space. Hahaha I need to convince myself too. That really did amuse me btw, please don’t stroke my self esteem today, it’s all too exhausting.
Top search terms that pointed to this blog were:
Many, many variations along the lines of I’ve got bipolar disorder, my shit’s out of order. It’s Secrets, by Mary Lambert.
Negative bipolar stereotypes – why do we search for stuff like that? Obvs I’ve done it myself, or I wouldn’t have written a post about it and people wouldn’t get here that way.
Lots of terms about lithium – make sure you get blood tests, stop freaking out, you are not going to die. Either it’ll work for you, or you’ll try something else. Badger your psychiatrist as much as you need to – that’s why they earn the big bucks. Make ‘em work for it.
My uncle is bipolar – I’m sorry, me too. Hope you don’t have it, try not to panic. I think your odds are around 20% but don’t quote me.
Mental illness diary – aha I know what you want. Here you go …
Diary of a raving lunatic:
06:00 woken by nurse ratched with a bucket of icy water.
06:05 took cinematically visible ribs, thorazine shuffle feet, ill fitting white underwear and singlet, hands protectively over crotch and head bowed, to the showers.
06:25 had a nice pesticide shower and then pulled on asylum uniform and headed for breakfast – soupy porridge.
06:45 drooled a bit and laughed like this, nyuk nyuk haw.
07:00 alternated slumping and pacing, swallowed pills. posed for Diane Arbus.
08:00 escaped, murdered some people and burned something down (the voices told me to). Ten nice men took me back.
09:00 twitched. Polished manacles.
09:00 painted a masterpiece with my faeces and sold it to Monsieur Dufy for some lovely beads. Oooh shiny!
10:00 a little light electro-convulsive therapy. Screamed hoarsely. Met Dustin Hoffman. He stared a lot and took notes. Tom Cruise popped in, took my wallet and gave me a pamphlet. Nice man, so cheerful.
11:00 snuggled into straitjacket and rocked. No idea who or where I am, or why all my hair sticks up. Tweet tweet tweet!
12:00 margarine sandwiches eaten by bending head to plate. Clucked like a chicken. Lots of jokes about shoving Sylvia into the oven instead of dinner. Oh how we laughed.
12:30 swallow a thousand more pills. Meet an interesting man who knew a lot about baseball and seemed to have a lot of ideas. I felt afraid, and yet intrigued.
13:00 attempted suicide, but foiled by the intervention of a tragically beautiful french woman and an orchestra.
14:00 embroidered an incredibly intricate manifesto that only I can read.
15:00 had the usual afternoon beating. Howled like a howler monkey.
16:00 frontal lobotomy.
17:00 …
Hope I got that right, I think it’s what they want when they google mental asylum insane spooky ghost diary lobotomy cuckoo. Yup, that’s how we roll. Lunatic chic. Ugh.
*eyeroll* Lunatic chic is a thing, I just googled it. Here’s an example of the interior decor aspect of it.
Oh humanity. Really.
