Just had a little nap in front of the TV, because I'm worth it. It's 2045 and MIranda is on the box, followed by Have I Got News For You, which I shall probably watch in bed. I haven't done much blogging today, as I've been too tired to concentrate. But now here I am, fag in the ashtray, ready to go.
It was good to get out from these four walls today - it seems as though I've been here forever, but that's suited me as it's safe here. I felt a bit unstable outside, but I've got to get over that if I'm to get better. After all, what can happen? Outside isn't that scary. Can one become institutionalised in one's own home?? If so, then I think I am. So it's time to start making the moves before it gets worse. I did do the washing today, so I'm quite pleased with myself - it's drying over the Rayburn; mostly pyjamas as that's all I've been wearing recently.
There's a discharge planning meeting for me next Monday - here, I think, but I'm not sure. I'm putting up my venlafaxine tomorrow so with a bit of luck, I might start to feel more sparky. Mustn't go manic though, so I shall have to keep a close eye on my mood. I hate doing that as it takes away spontaneity - am I high if I'm happy? Am I depressed if I'm sad? The normal human emotions are always being judged if you're bipolar, both by oneself and by others. It's intrusive and it's a bore.
I've taken my pills and I'm waiting for them to start working. I've no doubt I shall wake so I'll continue this then.
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?