It's 1345 and I've had a nap on the sofa in front of the news. The crisis in mental health is still one of the top stories, with the Care Minister saying that mental health has long been the poor relation of physical health. Well fancy that - I've been saying that for as long as I can remember, having been a second class citizen for 20 years. The first thing my GP said to me when I moved here was that psychiatry had been his worst subject in medical school - so I didn't feel exactly comforted or supported for all the time he was treating me. Fortunately, I have instant access to secondary services, so I could bypass him, which he didn't like.
The weather has turned to sunshine and showers, with a high wind - I've got the back door open to air the house. The SAD lamp is on and I've Steamcreamed my hands as they are dry and splitting between my fingers. Bloody drugs. When I was on olanzapine, my face and scalp split open and half my hair fell out, so I'm always a bit anxious if I get a skin reaction to a drug. I'm allergic to some cosmetics - like Clarins and Avon - which make my face swell up.
I think I'll try and do a bit of tidying up - I can't face the study, which is a heap, but I'll try the kitchen table.
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?