I've put on a bit of weight during this episode - HT were right to ban egg banjos. I have said before that I hate my body, and it's true - none of this "my body is a temple" lark in this house, oh no. However, I have a reality gap - I still think of myself as slimmer. When I'm depressed, I don't care what I eat, I just try to remember to do it. My weight is one of the reasons I don't give up smoking - I daren't put any more on. There are two other reasons - a. I enjoy it and b. I don't want to go manic, as I did last time. So I carry on.
The gloom is here, enveloping me again, like a dark mantle. It's always bang on time and I am unable to recall a life without it. I know I had a life, but where's it gone? My world has shrunk to the kitchen and the bedroom, and I spend little enough time in the latter. I love my bed - it's really comfortable and today I've got clean sheets, but it won't make me sleep. I imagine that losing sleep will take its toll as I'm stressed out by it, and I am not good at stress nowadays. Kate gave me a useful tip yesterday - not to say "I can't" but to say "I don't". So, "I can't go to a morning meeting" becomes "I don't go to morning meetings". It just shifts the control emphasis away from not being able to do things to choosing not to do things. I have decided not to go to morning meetings anyway - I just can't face them, even when I'm well.
What has my life been about, I wonder? I know it wasn't my fault, but I still feel I failed at the RAF because I was chucked out. That was such a damaging experience for me. I also lost my job on the acute psychiatric ward because of my illness. Actually, I don't think I've said much about the ward - maybe next time. Now I'm going to make a hot milk.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?