I went to see a psychic last Friday, for the experience - I saw her before and she was very good, so I decided to go again. The first thing she said was that when she was tuning in to me, the spirits had told her to ask about my GP and my specialist. Clever, as she didn't know I was bipolar, and that I've been seeing my GP for arthritis. She said I should change my meds, which, oddly enough, I have just done. My Mother turned up, along with a burst of music - she used to teach piano. I have to cut the cord with the RAF, which, if you've read the blog, you'll know that I had some trouble with. She asked me if I'd had trouble getting a pension from them, which of course I had.
It will, apparently, be a good year for me, with a few minor wobbles. I will meet a man in June at a literary function. (Problem is, I don't want to meet one!)
I came away and reflected. She was so remarkably accurate that I begin to wonder whether there's actually something in it. A friend and I are going to the Spiritualist Centre in London in February, so that will be another interesting experience. Can't wait!
Happy Sunday everyone - I'm off to do the washing.
WELL HELLO! I'm so sorry I've been so absent for so long. I couldn't face writing for a while as it would mean having to remind myself that I'd been so ill. I still haven't re read the bits of this blog that contained the very severe entries - it's too painful. However, I'm here to say that there is life after depression, and it doesn't involve going manic!
I hope everyone had a reasonably passable Christmas. I didn't see the New Year in as I was playing poker for money and had to concentrate on my cards - I lost £20 overall, which as we were playing for two days, doesn't seem too bad. I haven't made any New Year resolutions, so the fags are still here as is the vanilla coffee. However, I have tidied my study and thrown out 12 bin bags of rubbish. Mostly old paper and past history - but what do I do with old cheque books?
I'm 58 in a fortnight and in a slight fizz about it - I had a terrible feeling of mortality the other day, as I get ever closer to 60. I can't think where the years have gone - 16 in the RAF, 7 married, 6 working on a psych ward; that's 29 years - what happened to the rest??? I suppose quite a lot of time has been spent being ill and being hospitalised, which is a bit of a bugger, but what did I do with the remainder?
I went to see a psychic yesterday, and I'll tell you all about that tomorrow.
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?