Sorry I haven't been blogging for a couple of days - blame the wretched illness. The good news is that I slept last night, thanks to Mr Nitrazepam and Mrs Quetiapine, but tonight once again, sleep eludes me. Disaster has struck in that my coffee machine has stopped working, so I have a cup of tea to go with my e cig. I've ordered a new machine, but until that arrives, it's back to the cafetiere and hot milk.
My itchy hands are back; they always arrive when I put my quetiapine up, so I shall phone the GP for some cream tomorrow. Haven't had a shower for a while - the thought of doing something as difficult as that is overwhelming. Pathetic. My mood was dreadful this morning, but towards the end of the day, it improved slightly. Apparently that's typical of bipolar depression - one can be suicidal in the mornings, but able to hold a reasonable conversation in the evenings. I'm listening to classical music - which is a good sign as I haven't been able to tolerate noise recently. I've just heard Panis Angelicus, which was beautiful - the fact that I can appreciate it is also a good sign. Often when I'm ill, it's either too sad or I panic because I can't feel anything. The front of house me is coping, but behind the scenes I'm still struggling to experience normality.
Sleep is the key, of course - both mania and depression are the results of lack of it. I'm taking, amongst other things, 300mg venlafaxine, so I might bounce through into mania, and I shall have to watch that. Feeling as I do, mania would be a blessed relief. But not the spending.
I shall try again.
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?