the bipolar is not the only fruit linkdump

Numerous links and one single poem.

United Kingdom:

Southwark, in London, has a rather amazing thing. It’s a weekly popup café called the Dragon Café, aims at being the antithesis of shitty mental health care and you can read about it here. And in case you miss the link in that article, Mental Fight Club is the brains behind it.

He isn’t saying anything new at all, but it’s well said and even rather poetic at times:
The last time I thought about taking heroin was yesterday. I had received “an inconvenient truth” from a beautiful woman. It wasn’t about climate change – I’m not that ecologically switched on – she told me she was pregnant and it wasn’t mine.
Russell Brand – 10 years drug free

Take the UK Bipolar Services Survey here.

A piece about cyclothymia on the marvellously named Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM) website. Idk why they insist on using the tag ‘Bi-Polar’.

Me, Bipolar and Nick Clegg. (Durham)

United States of America:

For a tedious little knobhead, Tom ‘bipolar isn’t real’ Sullivan has stirred up an interesting conversation, particularly around his “apology”.

Was Bobbi Kristina bipolar?
The third (and open access) International Journal of Bipolar Disorders came out last month.

Drug companies are “like high school boyfriends,” Oliver quipped (via Salon). “They’re more interested in getting inside you than in being effective once they are there.”
John Oliver Mauls Big Pharma


Victoria Maxwell is a charismatic keynoter and performer whose honest, often hilariously irreverent approach to her own experiences disarms the prejudices often associated with mental illness, even as she provides crucial information on how to deal with it openly and effectively – in the workplace and elsewhere.


And now, a poem.

Louis MacNeice – Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

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