It's 1530 (7 bells, unless it's a dog watch) and I'm exhausted - there must be something in the air, as Merrick is snoozing in the sitting room, too tired to ride back to Dorchester. My mood is flatter than yesterday - so it was lucky I didn't pay any attention to the fragile improvement on Thursday morning. The day stretches interminably in front of me; I don't even have the respite of knowing I'll sleep tonight. Maybe I will, but on the other hand lies more madness.
My coffee pods arrived at lunchtime, thank goodness. I had to have a cup of tea this morning instead - I don't like instant coffee, so made a pot of tea. I have 4 teapots, the result of a previous manic spend - not good, but better than 4 sets of golf clubs, 12 mobile phones, 4 laptops, 3 DVD players and a TV, all of which arrived a few years ago. I don't understand the logic of manic spends; all I know is that I HAVE to have these things, which I subsequently don't know what to do with. Driving gloves are a case in point - I have 3 pairs - but I only ever wear gloves in the winter, and they are made of sheepskin. What is it in one's brain that always makes one buy things that are totally unsuitable when high? Why is the act of spending money so necessary?
A while ago, I was listening to Classic FM and there was an ad about home insurance and flooding - I thought it said, at the end, "Well, you wouldn't want to be a nutter, would you?" Horrified, I emailed Classic FM and got a reply quite quickly. It said: "Not nutter, Madam, but otter - you wouldn't want to be an otter". I felt a complete jerk.
No Ariadne's threads today, just another, closer, glimpse of the mineshaft. When I was seeing the RAF psychiatrist in London some 22 years ago, he told me to imagine depression as Winston Churchill's Black Dog - was it in the room, or outside? I said it was on my lap, to give him some idea of how I felt at that time. Well, it's in the room now, but not, thankfully, on my lap. Maybe I'll be able to kick it out of the room tomorrow.
I'm lost without my personality - that part of the brain that makes me myself. Of course, the thing that make me a person is the thing that is damaged, so no wonder I'm struggling. HT said this morning that I don't like to be needy, and they are quite right - I hate having to rely on others, but I need to at the moment, and I have to remind myself of that when I feel like rubbish. There are people out there who can help, so thank you to them.
And thanks to HT, who had the time to chat with me and grounded me.
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?