It's half past seven - so not really 8 bells, but that's artistic licence for you. I slept, I slept. I was up for an hour at about 0200, but other than that, I was asleep. All those good wishes yesterday must have appeased Morpheus, because when I awoke and looked at my watch, and it was 0700, I could have wept with gratitude. Now all I have to do is get better, haha.
Home Treatment are ringing at 0900 to let me know when they will visit, and I'll be able to report that I slept. My mood is still dark and dreary, but if I can have one night of sleep, I can have others. It's strange - I have about half an hour's respite when I wake, then it all comes crashing down again and I feel crushed by the weight of it. I have to hang on to that half an hour later in the day and remember that it's possible to feel OK. That's very hard to do, but it must be achievable. The mind is a very powerful thing - surely I can harness it a bit? At the moment I don't have the strength, but maybe later in the day if things get a bit easier. Why are mornings so bad, when afternoons get better? What goes on in the brain to make that happen? Why was yesterday morning OK and the afternoon bad? Valuable prizes will go to anyone who can answer those questions.
I have run out of the coffee pods I use in my machine - they should be delivered today, but in the meantime I'll have to cope. Little things are such irritants and that's made me cross. The rubbish bin is full, so I need to take it out, but that seems a monumental task. There are dirty dishes in the sink, but the dishwasher is full of clean stuff that I will have to put away before I can clear the dishes. Things I take for granted when well become labours of enormous proportions. Perhaps if I have a Red Bull my energy will improve - or maybe it will just make me jittery. Make a decision. I'll have one.
My hands are terribly itchy again today, so it's back to the Piriton and the eumovate - I've scratched them raw, I'm afraid. Oddly enough, under my chin is also itchy but not as bad.
It's the Fox Festival this weekend in Cattistock, starting today and ending on Sunday - I'm the Treasurer, but I've had to bang out of everything. That makes me feel a failure. I couldn't even put friends up as I can't bear people in my space at the moment. What a crap friend I am. Disastrous. This illness saps strength from me - I feel weak both physically and mentally, and that's pathetic. I really am beating myself up today - I must deserve it.
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?