mixed feelings

{scheduled post}

A bad day with kindness halfway and a lesson right at the bedtime end of it,.

I’m in a mixed episode at the moment – and it’s a rough one. Although I only worked it out this morning, it explains the past week or so. Psychosis, disorientation, misery, anger, blurred vision – those words describe my morning. I’m usually sure footed on rocks; I had to move like I was 99 years old. The walking was strangely difficult, I decided to just go as far as the reef, sit on it and watch the waves. I navigated slow, cautious through the rocky bits on the beach and made my way to the reef. I’ve been climbing walking hopping from rock to rock across divides and rock pools on it for seven years. I stumbled up the lowest rock, then freaked right out; the reef had been sheared flat somehow, totally flat on top. I crawled like Gollum on morphine. I told myself I was seeing things, but I couldn’t change it and I couldn’t stop the fear.

An excellent analysis : Rapid cycling, mixed states, continuous cycling.

I don’t remember getting home, but I did. I decided that, for a change, I should ask for help. I had to get through two local and uninformed friends’ idiocy without killing either or both. Then I got hold of the bipolar pharmacist who said, “I can’t cope with them at all”, but advised me re meds and asked me to stay in touch. I was right off my head at that point, but I still felt her kindness. Then I messaged a close friend far away and she told me what to do to calm down and she talked me through it. I couldn’t stop crying all morning, but then the meds kicked in and I slept for a few hours. I kept waking blurred and bleary, getting up for a bit and then crashing again.

I had asked the two local people to go and check the reef for me and make sure I was seeing things. One of them went and told me I saw it wrong because of high tide… Last I checked, high tide would make the vertical stuff look different, not the actual top surface that you walk on, unless the water was high enough to pool on the top surface – and it wasn’t. Then she sent me three photos of the wrong rocks, not the reef. So then I was extra depressed and cried hard on and off all day, and I was frustrated and cross about it too. Mostly I was miserable and lonely, but then some sense returned and that’s when I messaged the pharmacist and the close friend.

One of the local friends messaged me, but I didn’t see it. I’ve been reading and writing badly – thank goodness for a decent keyboard and predictive text and a sensible autocorrect. Anyway, then she came to check that I was okay; I felt good about that. The other friend sent me a message during the evening saying she would see me the next day. She’s the one who’s in a new relationship and invisible as a result.

I’m checking myself constantly, I must stop, but I just don’t/can’t trust my perception and reactions right now. My judgment is off, I’m clumsy and slow, I feel as though I’m seeing the world through a fish tank, but I’m a thousand times better than I was at sunrise today.


I thought I’d add the advice I got today here, because it got me out of the howling abyss and into some calm while the espiride kicked in.

Take prn meds for anxiety if possible.
Drink water.
Extra carbs and sugar (to help exhausted brain).
Lie down, feet up (blood needs to go to vital organs).
10 conscious and counted deep breaths (to calm down and get more oxygen to the brain).
Stop self diagnosing.
Sleep if possible.
Lather, rinse, repeat as necessary.

I’d like to crowdsource any advice you have about dealing with the evil, twisted, sandpapery mofo mixed crapisodes, gimme the gold if you please, by commenting on this post. They’re the things that sneak up and catch me unawares and trip me up. Then once I’m on the ground hurting, they piss all over me. Ugh.

Smiths songs always amuse me, so that’s why they’re in this post.

The Fear (Pablo Neruda)

They all ask me to jump
to invigorate and to play soccer, 
to run, to swim and to fly. 
Very well. 

They all advise me rest, 
they all send me to the doctor, 
looking at me a certain way. 
What happens? 

They all advise me to travel, 
to come and to leave, to stay, 
to die and not to die.
It does not matter. 

They all see the difficulties 
of my surprised bowels
by awful X-rayed portraits. 
I do not agree. 

They all sting my poetry 
with relentless forks 
seeking, without doubt, a fly, 
I Am afraid. 

I am afraid of everyone, 
of the cold water, of the death. 
I am like all the mortals, 

And for that, in these short days 
I am not going to pay attention to them, 
I am going to open myself up and shut myself in
with my more perfidious enemy, 
Pablo Neruda.

Thank you for flying blahpolAIR

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